Personal Narrative: My First Murder

Sometimes it is all I can think about. It is all I want, all I need. The feeling of euphoria it gives me is incredible. If you are wondering what I am talking about I will explain, but be warned this may not be to your liking.

Murder. It's all I think about. When I’m walking down the street, while I’m in a café. I yearn for it. I committed my first murder at the age of 16. It was not intentional, however it gave me a feeling I will never forget.

I was arguing with a male friend of mine, and his family wasn’t home. But, when the argument got too heated I burst. I have always had a temper, but have never taken it out on someone like this. I wrapped my little hands around his wide neck and squeezed. He was shorter and much weaker than me

even though it looked quite the opposite. I held on until I could feel his pulse on my fingers stop. He never fought it; he just sat there with shock on his face. After I let go my first reaction was fear, but after a moment's hesitation pride replaced that. I was proud that a small girl like myself could kill a man. I felt a power, and happiness that could not be described by words. I never wanted to feel like I did before. Then realization hit; I needed to hide the body. My first thought was to leave him and pretend I was never here, but his neighbors saw me walk in. Next, I thought of burying him, but the wild animals would dig him up. I finally decided on wrapping him in a garbage bag, cutting him open to release internal gases, I would then dump him in the bog at the national park that no-one goes.
This was the beginning to a long spiral downwards. I removed myself from groups and I almost completely stopped talking at school and home. They never did find the body of my friend and just told everyone that he ran away, but I knew the truth.
A few years later I was walking through a little town north of Chicago called Rich Hill. It was nothing special; a bunch of antique shops and antique looking people. When I spotted the cutest little shop. I had never seen this shop before, but that is understandable since it is behind some larger buildings. I wondered what little treasures it contained and that prompted me to go in. The second I walked in the door a short old woman with a sour attitude approached me. She was yelling at me for coming into the shop even though the sign said that it was closed. I looked at the front window that she kept pointing at when referring to the sign. There was no sign placed in the window nor anywhere near it. In fact I spotted it sitting on the floor in one of the corners. The woman kept screaming; calling me names that would surely send her to hell. I lost it; I shoved her into a shelf of glass angels. Ironic based on her nasty behavior moments before. She didn’t even have a chance to register what had happened before I pounced on her with a plastic candlestick. After I was finished I gently placed the closed sign in the window grabbed her keys and locked the door behind me. I drove home with the candlestick in a plastic bag from the shop. Once home I gathered firewood and burned it in a fire. This was my second murder in 2 years, but who knew there were more in my near future.