One of my first memories is of the day that I changed. I was five. I can’t recall the details of it. I just remember the way that everything felt. Back then, things were different. I couldn’t see what was happening I could only feel it. I could only hear, smell, and taste it. I could feel the weight of the knife in my hand. I could smell the tang of cat piss. Hear the steady pounding of the rain hitting the window. My mouth tasted sour, it tasted like iron. It tasted like I had been sucking on ball of iron or something.
I remember thinking, wishing I had juice to get this sour taste out of my mouth. Then I heard the hissing of the cat. It was the whole reason for this. I had come for it at last. It had pissed in its last lunchbox. My legs burned from chasing the cat through the house. My forehead and hair was slick with sweat but at last I had caught Mr. Fluff Fluff. With one hand I held him down; with the other I held the knife. There were no thoughts, just a feeling going through me that I can’t describe or explain.
There was a knowing throughout my body no through my very being of what I had to do. Of what needed doing. I couldn’t feel the resistance. Again and again I brought my arm up and down. Countless times I stabbed the cat. Losing count as the blood lust filled my body I thought that my arm was so heavy. I was so tired. You wouldn’t believe how tiresome stabbing something is, how much energy one must put into it.
The thought going through my mind was thank god. The sour taste of iron had left my mouth replaced with something bitter and thick. It wasn’t until after my parents had pulled me away and cleaned me up did I come back to. Not until dawn had come, had I stood at the window as I watched my dad outside in the pouring rain dig a grave for the cat that I thought I loved. The same cat that I played with and loved since my parents had brought him for me two years ago. I cried. That whole day I cried for Mr. Fluff Fluff. I knew that I was the one that killed him and yet at the same time I couldn’t understand why or how.
“Let’s come back to that memory later,” A voice said and I opened my eyes and looked over at the chair to see my therapist writing down in his notepad everything that I had just now told him. “How are you sleeping Ian,” he asked me and I sat up.
“I take naps here and there doing the day. After school mostly but sometimes I can take them right before I go to school. Once dawn comes I’m fine,” I said and he wrote that down as well.
“I want to try the sleeping pills with you again. Your father told me the other night you were standing over the baby’s crib. Did you want to hurt your little brother? Tell me what you were thinking. How did you feel last night? You mention that you don’t feel it the same way as you once did.”
“It’s different now then how it used to be. I can see through the eyes now. I can feel my heart quicken because I know what’s coming.” I laid my hand over my heart. “My brother was bathed in moonlight. Lying in his crib he was so little. In many ways he reminded me of the cat Mr. Fluff Fluff that I just told you about. They were so small and helpless. At least a cat has claws to fight back but what does he have.”
“Did you want to kill him,” Dr. Grey asked. I looked over at him, graying brown hair that was short and balding. He had that ring that men get around their head, where the top was just bald and shiny but around the edge was thin graying brown hair. He had glasses over his hazel eyes. With those round frames he looked more like Harry Potter then any man his age should. Always dressed to the nines, he had removed his suit jacket today but the vest remained on and buttoned up. Since I killed that cat ten years ago I have been coming to Dr. Grey. Though, in ten years he has never diagnosed me with anything. He says that he doesn’t like giving children pills and the only form of medicine he has ever offered was sleeping pills.