Thursday September 11

I am naive. Oddly sick. I have been. My mind regularly goes back to the guiltiest moment of my life. The day I killed the baby birds. I was only a little kid, and I really didn’t mean it. I don’t think. But at the same time, in my head and heart, I was strangely fascinated. What happened, is under my deck, there was a robin’s nest. There were eggs in the nest and they were beautiful. I picked one up: it dropped down onto the concrete and rolled down the hill, cracked and runny. That tiny, perfect blue egg. I killed it. I killed a baby. I was so entranced by my small power. One by one, I dropped all the eggs on the concrete and down the hill. Was I held in a trance, amazed at myself and my destructive power? Did I consciously understand what I was doing? I remember feeling a horrible sorrow, but at the same time, an intense triumph. Evil. I felt evil.