The Kill that made me feel Good

CIMG1063The kitten doesn’t like me. When Dad found her this morning on the doorstep, he thought it would be a nice idea to wake me with her. But instead of a pleasant wake-up call, the kitten scratched my head. When I come back from school it stares as me as if I weren’t a part of the family. We have decided to keep her in the carrier at nighttime.

            I’ve just brushed my teeth and I’m ready to go to bed. Daddy has placed the kitten in my room. Her evil eyes are scrutinizing me.

            “Hey princess, look, you have company tonight.”

            “But cats rob little children’s breath, Dad!”

            “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve told you not to read horror books, haven’t I? She’s just a little baby; give her a chance to get used to you.”

            I never used to be scared of the boogieman, candy man, hollow man or even the postman, but she? This is the first time I’ve had a living creature at the end of my bed. Dad gives me a kiss good night, then turns off the light in the hallway.

            The kitten doesn’t make any sound until 3 a.m. I wake to hear her pitiful meowing and switch the night lamp on. I notice that her head has got stuck in the bars of the carrier.

“Shut up, otherwise you’re going to wake up my parents!”

            Carefully I try to push her head back into the carrier.

            I don’t know what I have done, but all of a sudden her meow stops, her eyes close and she hangs her head down as if dead.

            “Kittie?”

            Two seconds later she opens her eyes and pulls her head back forcefully; she continues to meow even louder.

            “Shut up! Shut up!”

            I desperately grab for something from underneath my bed and find the pair of surgical scissors that I stole from one of Daddy’s colleagues. I hate this creature; I never realized that animals could even express anger, agony or anguish.

            “Shut up!”

            Mindlessly I stick the pair of scissors into the carrier – turning and twisting violently.

            “Shut up! Shut up!”  

            The sharp end of the pair of scissors has entered flesh. I hear a small groan and then feel no more movement. There’s blood on the tip of my pair of surgical scissors.

I hear no one down the hallway, either, and no squeaking of coil springs.

It’s dark inside the carrier. Touching the blood, it looks like cranberry juice from concentrate. The meow sound is still resonating in my ears; I hit my palm against my head a few times.

Before undoing the hook of the carrier, I wait a little longer. Maybe the nine lives myth is real after all.

I undo the hook and hold the carrier upside down so the kitten’s body falls onto my magazine. I got her in the stomach. She is not coming back to life.

I remember Dad saying that I will make a wonderful doctor. In fact, I want to be a surgeon. Looking at the kitten’s motionless body, I feel like a veterinarian during an operation. Now the wound needs to be sewn. Maybe her third life will commence after the suture. I shall get thread and needles. But first I have to sanitize my hands.

 

(Extract from Chapter 15 – Somewhat Damaged, 2007-2016 (c) P. Deckard)

One Response to “The Kill that made me feel Good”

  1. Sam says:

    You are so fucked up!

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