My First Kill

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Abandoned
A female killer remembers her first kill.

Submitted: January 01, 2019

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Submitted: January 01, 2019



I guess you can say I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.  My mom was a single parent working at a bar to support us.  When her pay and the tips weren’t enough she would let guys take her to a motel, that was how I came about.  My father could be one of a dozen guys and I don’t care to find out which one.


I never hurt an animal in my life, they just didn’t interest me.  I guess I always had the feeling, the need to hurt people though.  I would make other kids cry and even the boys were afraid of me.  I was petite, but I knew how to hurt them with words and like to pinch and punch.  I never got in trouble for it because I let them know if they told I would do worse.


After a while that lost its appeal and I wanted more.  I planned it all out, every detail down to the tiniest thing.  I didn’t have a victim in mind I was going to let them choose themselves.


I had to steal some clothes and borrow my mom’s make up, but one night when she was at the bar I slipped out of the apartment.  I was sixteen and didn’t have a babysitter, mom couldn’t afford one anyways.


I knew where the prostitutes stood and I found a spot that was empty.  I knew what kind of guy I was looking for and waved away a bunch that didn’t fit my plan.  I was about ready to give up for the night when he pulled up.


I leaned down and looked into the passenger window of the tiny car.  The fat man behind the wheel was sweating and looking around nervously.  I didn’t have to be a pro to know this was probably his first time.


I smiled and used the line I had heard in so many movies and tv shows.  “Want some company?”


“H h h how much?”  He stuttered as he glanced around.


I almost laughed.  He couldn’t be better.  “Fifty and we can do it in your car.”


He just nodded, and I climbed in.  I gave him directions to a spot nearby.  Empty warehouses with no street lights.


We parked, and I started kissing him.  His hands shook as he tried to fondle me.  I let him go for a few minutes then I pushed him back and straddled his lap.  It was tight and he couldn’t move at all now.  He reached for my chest as I grinded on him.  He was getting excited and so was I, but for a completely different reason.


I reached down and pulled the knitting needle from my boot.  I had sharpened the tip, rubbing it on the hard brick wall of my bedroom as I planned this.  The other end was wrapped in tape to give me a better handle.


I pressed my lips against his forcing his head back.  He was looking into my eyes and I wonder what he saw there.  The needle went in so smoothly, straight down the ear channel.  He felt it and tried to jerk away, but I slammed it in.

His body jerked beneath me as I watched the life drain from his eyes.  My lips against his allowed me to breathe in his last breath.  I don’t know how long I sat there on his lap looking into his dead eyes, but finally, I snapped out of it.


I had made sure to touch as little in the car as I could, so I wiped what I had touched off as I got out.  I ruffled through his pockets until I found his wallet.  I stuffed it in my boot with the knitting needle and walked away.


It got a minor mention in the paper the next day, a week and it was all but forgotten about.  I’m sure it is a cold case on some police detective’s desk now.  I had found that I had gotten such a rush out of it, but I wasn’t dumb.  You get caught when you turn it into a ritual.  I try to come up with new ways each time I feel that need and so far, it has worked. 

© Copyright 2019 Ian D. Mooby. All rights reserved.

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