It was the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. But that first time, I didn’t know any better. It was clumsy. It was awkward. I was scared out of my mind. And it was pure luck that it happened.
Most will tell you their first time was a matter of planning and preparation. That they put hours and weeks into making sure they were ready when the time came. They’ll brag about it afterwards like it was just another day, some conquest to be had, and how popping your cherry is just a rite of passage.
Well, I’m here to tell you that might be true for some, but as to the majority, that first kill… leaves you blank. It took hours for me to stop shaking. I even threw up once. And I’ll never forget his face, even though I’m not sure my conscious didn’t fabricate one up in order to deal with the guilt.
Since then, I’ve racked up twenty-three more. Let that settle for a moment. Twenty-four lives stopped at the end of my weapon. Funny thing is, I don’t remember them all that well. But that first one, he’s still haunting my dreams when I sleep too long.
Yeah, it wasn’t my last, but I’ll never forget my first.