The Right Motivation

When I was young my family had a small farm in our backyard, not anything big just a couple hundred chickens, some geese and ducks, two pigs and even a goat that I named Quasimodo. Our neighbors had dogs and they would constantly come down the street and try to get into the chicken pen and kill the chickens. Once a dog had a taste for blood they were impossible to stop, leaving you with only two ways of dealing with the dog.

The first way is to tie a dead chicken to the dogs collar and let the chicken rot away naturally. This would leave the scent of rotting meat in the dogs sensitive nose and they would associate the smell of the rotten chicken with the chicken pen and avoid it at all costs. The second method is to just kill the dog.

I felt that it was more humane to just kill the dog than to force it to suffer through the smell of rotting flesh. We lived in the sticks for about three years and so over those three years I killed many of my neighbors dogs and threw them in the woods across the streets. My sister did not kill any dogs or deal with the remains afterwards, she was the eldest and as the eldest she usually got her way. my brother who is one year older than me did not mind killing the dogs but he did not want to deal with the remains. I didn't mind killing the dogs or dealing with the carcasses afterwards, after all they are just animals.

After the three years we moved to a big house with a few acres of land and gained a bigger chicken coop. Our new neighbors did have dogs but they lived a mile down the road and so the dogs were not interested in walking a mile for a meal. the newest threat to the chicken coop was foxes. they were nocturnal and fast so I had to learn new methods to keep the chickens safe.

My neighbors who had raised livestock for years taught me how to set traps that the foxes would get stuck in and that helped me get the drop on the foxes trying to kill my chickens. I dealt with the foxes basically alone since I got up early and both my parents worked hard to provide a good life for us. I realized I enjoyed setting the traps and catching the predators. looking back it was probably a sign that I was not right in the head.

By the time I was twelve I was catching small animals and killing them just because I wanted to. I didn't like torturing animals, like I said before no-one deserves to be tortured, but I was looking for the perfect way to kill. Yes, I know that makes me crazy to think about its red flag number two in my own books. I was looking for the best way to end their life and their suffering. I told myself it was so I could end the ones caught in my traps without making them suffer. I found the easiest and fastest way to kill an animal is to cut off their head. But I didn't like looking in their beady black eyes so I brought the axe down on the back of the neck, executioner style.

When I was fourteen my family left the country and moved to the suburbs of Colorado. Animals were hard to come by in the suburbs and the ones you did come across were peoples precious pets; and they didn't take too kindly to find fluffykins dismembered in their mailbox. when I entered high school I learned that it was pretty easy to pretend to be normal, after all everyone in high school is pretending to be something or someone they are not.

I made really good friends and hung out a lot, I had five really close friends all of them super smart and pretty. We usually hung out and did homework instead of the usual high school stuff like partying, we all tested out of sophomore year and started our second year of high school as juniors. We planned to graduate early each of us headed for that college destination to make our grown up lives the best. Or so we thought.

Senior year rolled around, and my friend Ally, became a little wilder than the rest of us, she liked to go out and party she enjoyed the company of boys and would regularly smoke pot. I enjoyed smoking pot too, it helped me sleep through the night. One day Ally came over to Ash's house, she was covered in bruises and bleeding, she was clearly beaten up and crying. We called the cops to report it. she told them she was raped and my heart broke.

Ally's natural honey colored hair was tussled and messy, her blue eyes were drawn and distant her pale skin had dark ugly bruises on her arms and legs, she had angry red marks running down her back, a black eye and a bloody nose. At the police station she accused three of the guys on our football team for the attack and they were brought in. Unfortunately in our town rich white boys who play football are never to blame.

Ally told them that the other two held her down while Jeremy had his way with her. Jeremy was a big guy at nearly six feet, he was also the quarterback and weighed probably around two hundred pounds. His dad was also a very well-known man, he owned the movie theater in town. A few days later we learned that the cops wouldn't charge Jeremy for the rape and then we saw that rumors started spreading about Ally's personal life saying that she was a slut. For two weeks after the attack, she was tormented by people at school so much that she stopped going.

I remember it was the last day of spring break when my mom and dad called me down from my room and sat me down on the couch. Moms ice blue eyes looked sad; my dad's hazel green eyes were looking at me with pity. Mom finally told me that Ally was found dead that morning; she had overdosed on morphine pills sometime in the night. She wrote a note stating that she didn't want to go on with this world knowing that there was no justice for anyone unless they had money. and since her family was poor there would never be justice.

I don't think that I even cried, I comforted all of our friends but all I could think about was how Jeremy was like a dog who had gotten into my hen house, and I needed to put that dog down. the dog was going to be hunted down and stopped before he killed another hen, and I was going to be his hunter and his executioner. Ally would have her justice, I needed to give her the justice that she deserved. for the rest of the school year I paid close attention to Jeremy. I watched him and learned his every habit.

two months passed and graduation quickly approached. After graduation there was going to be a super graduation party at none other than Jeremy's house. I got all dolled up and went to his party I hung out and pretended to drink while I watched him throughout the night. Later that night I went home and started preparing for his execution. I had gathered his height of six feet, his weight at one hundred and ninety-six pounds and I knew from dealing with the farm animals how hard it would be to take him out. I slept so peacefully having planned his execution from start to finish.

During the summer Jeremy enjoyed running late at night and his favorite place to run was the forest park, I pulled on my jogging shorts laced up my running shoes and started visualized his demise. I had rented a hotel for the night since I was on my way out of state for my new college the next day and placed everything, I would need to kill him in the bathroom. I had the whole bathroom lined ceiling to floor with tarps and knew from watching so many CSI shows that no one would ever know this place would be the scene of a brutal murder.

The tall lean Jeremy was just out for a late evening run, but so was I. I slowed down and came to a rest by the base of a tree to catch my breath, that's when he caught up to me and asked if I was ok. I gave him a thumbs up and a smile, he waited for me to catch my breath before he started talking about who knows what. His voice was droning on, I wanted to rip my ears off, but I looked at him and asked if he would walk me home or back to my hotel room since I was leaving town at first light.

Of course, he said yes, who says no to a ninety-eight-pound girl with dark brown hair and amber eyes? um, no one that's who. That night when I saw him running, I saw clearly what it would be like to kill him, but I couldn't just kill him, that would be so wrong and yet so right. I wanted to take his picture, I wanted to be able to remember him always; he would be my trophy.

He walked me back to my hotel room and talked about playing football in college and maybe going to the major leagues or something like that. I opened the door to the hotel room and invited him in. I had a rope sitting next to the door and my handy axe was stashed away in the bathroom waiting to taste blood.

It was as if fate was smiling down on me, this boy reached inside my room and shoved me back, he got a little handsy and from there it was all a blur. I could feel his hands tearing at my shirt as he pushed me back into the room. I grabbed at the rope next to the door as he pushed me back the look on his face turning from a nice guy to deranged rapist. He pulled me by the hair and shoved me down I didn't scream or make a sound as he pulled at my clothes. I smiled as I looked up at him taking him by surprise, I knew what he was thinking but I didn't hear a word he was saying.

I sprang up and launched myself at him taking him by surprise, all I remember was pulling the rope against his neck and slamming his body to the ground with so much force he was knocked out. It was like God had given me a sign that this trash man was without a doubt mine to kill. I was in a run-down motel that was a pay by the hour type, so I knew there were no cameras around to witness his last moments of life.

I hog tied him just in case he woke up, drug him into the bathroom and cut off all of his clothes putting them in a black trash bag. I pulled out the blue tarp I had bought for my things, took my pink polaroid camera from my suitcase and headed back to the bathroom to take a picture of my prize. I placed his neck over the side of the bathtub, resting on the tarp so I didn't hit the tub and mark it with the axe. I positioned him so perfectly for blood to spray directly into the tub, after all I had practiced on so many animals over the many years. I pulled out my sharpened axe and with just the right amount of force, his head plopped into the tub without cutting through the many layers of the tarp.

Blood went everywhere! I was glad that I watched so many movies and shows like CSI, so I knew to cover the vents with plastic and the sink and stuff but even still, so much blood went everywhere, more than any animal had ever sprayed. I was caught off guard but at the same time it was exhilarating. After the body stopped gushing blood, I chopped off both his arms and legs at the sockets like cutting up a whole chicken. After everything that happened, I felt like he was just so dirty, I filled the tub with water and cleaned his body up, but he still felt dirty to me, I pulled my latex gloves on and pulled out the Clorox disinfectant wipes and went to work cleaning him up nicely. I gave him a manicure making sure to clean out all the dirt from under his nails, I brushed his teeth and combed his hair, now he was perfectly clean, except that he was still a little oozie in places. I took his body pieces back out into the small patch of woods that the park surrounded and one at a time I placed him so carefully piece by piece.

I took his arms and placed them nicely over his chest like a sleeping princess in the woods. I took his head last, I didn't place any of the pieces touching where they were supposed to be attached, no I left a small gap between each pale piece. I found it cathartic to clean his body so, naturally when I thought about burying him, I just couldn't do it, he was my first, someone I would always remember for the rest of my life, but he wasn't enough. He gave me my first taste of blood, and now I felt like the dogs I used to have to kill. The only way I was going to stop was if I was dead. I knew that I was messed up, I was sick, I needed help; I wasn't going to get any thought. I cleaned that bathroom up, put all the bloody plastic into a black trash bag and tied it up and then I fell asleep in the most peaceful rest I had ever had, when I woke up, I wiped everything down with Clorox and hoped into my truck and moved from the suburbs.