I was a cruel child. Not regular cruel, or 'naughty boy' cruel but genuine vicious cruel. I was the type of kid who would salt fish gills whilst the fish was alive and kick puppies if I was bored. Not a nice boy but one who survived on good deeds and pleasant manners. I was good at the con trick. A sweet choir boy facade, I could walk on butter and leave no trace.
However a dark heart lurked within my frame. By the time I reached 8 years old I was plucking goldfish out of their tank at home and stabbing them with corn on the cob spiked holders, caught in what I can only describe as a morbid fever. Utterly thrilled by the power I had over the death of another living creature when I was so young, I knew too soon the mechanics of a kill. Newts were also not spared from my madness and I would collect them in tens to put in a giant boiler tank in the garden filled with a black water. Not all would be killed but many were unfortunate enough to be splattered against the wall by use of catapult.
What would possess such a normally mild mannered and timid boy to become such a fiend at times? I was born into a loving family and wanted for nothing. In fact I was a spoilt brat and seldom did anything not go the way I wanted it. I got all the love and attention I needed but always in the back of my mind was death and its grand mystery. The reaper has sat on my shoulder since forever, like a pirates parrot headbutting every idea into a grim scuttle that holds the pitch gem coals of mourning, loss and misery.
I remember well how I would creep downstairs whilst my parents slept and headed to the goldfish tank with sadistic intent. Plunging a hand into the cold water I would grab the slowest fish with a rising, grisly excitement ringing through my spine and place it on a table, getting my pyjamas wet from the poor creatures thrashing. It was this moment during my mania which felt the most potent; the time just before the kill, where I had all power in my young, tender hands. Sometimes the motions of the fish could break the spell which seemed to hold me mesmerised and I would feel pity and put the goldfish back but usually it ended in the other, gorier outcome.
As the intense power buzz reached the summit in my perverse head, I would bring the sharp prongs of the corn cob holder down onto the body of the miserable fish and smile whilst stabbing it repeately. Not frantic stabs; stab one, watch it dying, stab two, watch it dying, stab three, look at it dead.
And after life had been snuffed out I would flush the carcass down the toilet and put my corn holder 'weapons' back into the drawer.
In the morning I would get the obligatory ticking off by my mother but I do not think my parents were that worried about their sons disturbing habits. It only happened twice with the fish so perhaps they thought I disliked those particular fish? And the catapulted newts was a one off. I was not an evil child, I didn't kill every animal I found. Bigger animals such as cats and dogs were never in danger, in fact I was (and still am) an animal lover excluding those instances where I temporarily became manic.
The only other time I experienced one of these dark 'outbursts' was a few years later when I discovered a slow worm under a flat piece of plywood in the garden. I happened to have a nitrogen spray on me (another story) and that same dark mist descened upon my spirit and I was compelled to spray the reptile, suffocating it in spray while I looked on in glee.
I am at a loss in explaining these quite frankly sick (but mercifully brief)periods of my bygone years but I am relieved to report that they did not shape the man I was to become. These were aberrations in an otherwise normal childhood, a childhood I must add that was filled with a LOVE for nature and animals. At all other times I have acted with nothing but kindness towards other creatures, weeping uncontrollably in some instances over losses at pets and tragic stories.
Its fascinating how many serial killers have began their 'career' doing what I was doing and quite frightening if I allow myself to think how near I was to the same edge. But whilst their rage, hurt, anger, call it whatever, consumed them making them target bigger animals before moving onto humans, my rage was quelled by a streak in my spirit which smothers everything; it is gentle and kind, it is the backbone of my very being. Beyond my rough exterior and savage yells lurks a peaceful imp.
And God love it because without it there would be only steel along with the cold, black eyes of a Great White shark. Also learned men would be proved correct with their tedious theories and never ending waffle and I could never have that.
Friday, 25 June 2010
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