-My grandmother gave me my first vibrator. We were on a long train trip and she gave me a box full of drawing supplies and crafts to keep me occupied. Mr. Squiggly pen sure did keep me occupied. Come to think of it, how the hell did I ever make that connection? I was like, 10.
-After Mr Squiggly pen finally died, when I was thirteen, I was very upset. How does a thirteen year old get herself a new sextoy? I stole it from the nightstand of a neighbor I was babysitting for. I knew she would know I stole it, but be too embarassed to confront me. I washed it with windex.
My deepest darkest secret: I was 11. They were fighting again. He was yelling at her, he only wanted her, and maybe their child, not her fucking kids. They didn't have enough money to play family. If the kids weren't there, they could be happy. I was on the front porch, rocking myself and crying. We had a lot of barn cats. A little kitten approached me. For no reason it scratched me visciously on the leg and then scampered away. As something crashed inside I snapped. I picked up the kitty and hurled it at the shed wall. Immediately I felt so sickened... I heard a myelp and watched the kitty fall to the ground with a thunk. I was horrified. I genuinely liked kitties. Cautiously I went to see if it was okay. It wasn't. I think I broke it's back. I went hysterical. I took the kitty into the house, crying, interrupting their raging fight. "Mommy...mommy I found this poor little cat... omg mommy what happened, the poor kitty what are we going to do???!!!" and as my mom comforted me, I heard the voice of my stepfather. "It's that dog". He came over to us. He had the rage in his eyes. "Look, you can see there where the fur is wet: spittle". "No, I don't think it was the dog..." I mumbled. "Cari, we can't have this. I already warned you we'd have to get rid of the dog of it didn't stop killing chickens". (His idea was to tie the dead chicken around her neck until it rotted off, which seemed to be working). He strolled to the oak hutch and reached up... when I saw what he was reaching for my legs buckled and I almost fainted. "NO!!!" But he was talking over me, calm, calculated, with the rage in his eyes. That's how he always made it feel better, by torturing some animal to death. But not my dog. Even as I wailed I heard him explaining.... "two chickens, now a cat, what's next, your little sister"? I heard the front door slam. Mom restrained me from following him. I raced to the window. "here girl! Here Maggie!" he called. I saw her race up to him from the barn, wagging her tail. She thought they were going hunting. I could smell the woodsmoke burning, felt my mother holding my head against her chest, stroking my hair. I wached them go behind the chicken coop. BOOOM!!! The unmistakable sound of my 410 shotgun. He fucking used my gun. Then I heard it again, a few seconds later. The rest of that night is a blur. Sitting in my chair under a red light I had taken from the incubators weeks before, I kept imagining Maggie coming to get me. Why did I lie? It wasn't against the rules to throw kittens. I would have gotten in no trouble. But I knew it was wrong and so I lied to cover up my own shame. And he killed her for my crime. He fucking killed my best friend. Maggie was the best dog ever. She had an amazing nose and was so smart, she knew how to use it to help me. When we hunted she always retrieved, no matter how many barbed wire fences she had to get through. When I lost a piece of riding equipment, I just had her smell the halter and said "go get it, girl"! and she would retrace our trail, coming back hours later with the object in her mouth. When I lost my shoes, I made her smell my feel and she happily retrieved them from waaay over by the swimming ditch where I'd left them. I used to put a horse halter on her, which fit just like a dog halter, and she accompanied me on so many rides... all those rides I took to escape what was happening at home. The next morning I went to look and was shocked that he didn't even bury her, he was gone for so long. It looked like his aim wasn't very good and the first shot had torn her face off. Her shattered skulls brains and blood were fucking everywhere. And it was all frozen. I had to pry her remains with a shovel and then I tried to bury her but the ground was too hard, so I put her in the bottom of the dry cold ditch and covered her with rocks.
-Michael, my stepdad, was my hero. I loved him. He pretended to like me too, but all he was really interested in was fucking my mother and corrupting me. He's the one who brought crack into our home all those years later. But back when I was 11, we lived on a farm and we had many, many animals. Michael taught me how to butcher them. We would butcher them and my mother cleaned them. She was always in the kitchen and never saw what he did. I remember harvesting chickens with him. "You grab a few like this" as he callously went after them. If they were hard to catch he beat the shit out of them and broke their legs until they stopped moving. When we butchered rabbits, the cute fuzzy ones that I sometimes went out to pet, he explained that you hung them upside down so that they would bleed out when you slit their throats. Michael nailed their back feet to a board. I watched them squeal. Rabbits dont really have voices but they made the most desperate noices when he crucified them and slit their throats, the thick blood gurgling out, steam coming from their open throat holes. Sometimes I could see their little hearts pumping furiously as they died. Michael showed me. When we brought back fish in a bucket, he always cut one fish open, to watch it and the other fish eat its own entrails. And that is how I came to be a little bastard who hurts animals. We had too many roosters; they were fucking all the feathers off of the chickens. Michael told me to dispose of them, in any way i wanted, he said with a grin. I took one rooster and disabled him - by shooting him in both wings and both legs with my bb gun. Then I threw him into the pigpen and watched as the pigs fought over his broken but still very much alive body. They ripped him asunder and I don't think he was dead until he was in two different pigs' stomachs. I've seen michael shove sharp things up animals' asses to get them to move. Ive seen him beat an animal with a hoe until thick ropes of blood were flying and the animal was no longer moving, but still he beat. I helped Michael butcher and poach our neighbor's cow. We spent all night butchering; we buried the skin and head behind my room. When a cat needed neutering, Michael put them in a burlap sack with a hold in it. He pulled the cat's nuts out, sliced them out as if he were peeling grapes, sprayed it with iodine, and that was that.
Thus conclused my deepest secret. I loved a man who was evil, and bred evil things into my heart. Those years are why I will always be a vegetarian.
[img]http://a.im.craigslist.org/wb/wN/JlAJzS6s36uxWLoTVAezHhtGuWqk.jpg[/img][img]http://i5.photobucket.com/albums/y175/Denverbroncofrk/weedgurucopy.jpg[/img]
