Author's notes: Of course, some things are going to become really twisted and grotesque. A lot of this stuff isn't for the faint-of-heart. Don't say I didn't warn you.

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"Only a mother could love something like that" is a well-known and often used little insult. It means nothing in the world would ever be able to possibly love that thing. Well, except the thing that made it. But even then that isn't always the case. See what I'm saying? Frankenstein created a monster, then, as he watched it in animation, totally puked at what he did.

I guess that's the way it is when someone gives birth to a monster so vulgar that not even its mother could love it. I'm flattering myself here. Lemmie tell you where I'm going with this…

It had been a few months since my first kill. I remember dreaming about it every night, like a fantasy put on repeat. I remember after I found that real piece of freedom, I knew I couldn't just stop cold turkey. Fuck no! Why stop at all?

Instead of collecting action figures or playing sports, I made animals my hobby. No, not taking care of them, but instead mutilating their bodies and playing with their insides! Oh, I don't know… it just kinda' enthralled me how much stuff was in there and the texture of it all: slimy, gooey, thick, wet… Some stuff was lodged in there good and I would have to stick my whole arm in there to get it out.

It became an obsession. At first, I would just do it when I saw the opportunity, but then I started actually hunting for neighborhood cats and dogs to torture.

By now, Mom had long since enrolled me into public school and I was in the second grade. First grade had gone by quickly. The teachers had to educate my parents about how "special" I was. I've always wondered if they were talking about the "everyone is special" special or "the short bus" special 'cause it worked both ways, you know?

Yeah, came home one day from finger-painting and had red paint all down my clothes. Red's my favorite color, so I happily spilled it over my head and stalked around the class scarin' the girls, telling them that this is what happens when they hit puberty and start getting monthly visits from the devil.

When I got home, I tried to rush up to my room and change before Mom caught me, but she was oh-so-perfectly standing in the doorway, waiting for me when I got there. She did this a lot. She knew what time I'm s'posed to be home if I don't go run around for a while, and she always suspects I've done something I shouldn't have.

Like some rodeo bull, the sight of red on my shirt wound her into a nice fit. She reached back and slapped a hand across my face, this time sure enough to catch my cheek with her nails, and left a good throbbing sting. Then she proceeded to shove me up against the wall and tear the stained clothes away without having to lift it over my head.

By the time she was done with me I was sprawled out in the corner with my body screaming in pain. I had learned not to talk back. I had learned not to fear pain. It was just another side effect of life after all.

Then that damn dog.

I suppose it saw my mother whoopin' up on me and decided it was fun so it took a nice hunk out of my side with its teeth.

"Fucking mut!" and I gave it a good smack in return. That earned me another series of scratches. My mom always did like that dog better than me…

Things weren't always this chaotic, but the more I was bored, the more I wished it was. These were the years when I learned that chaos was fun, especially when you're the one fuelling it.

So my mom was taking a bath that night. I saw the flicker of the TV in there from the hallway and it hypnotized me like a fly heading towards a zapper on the back porch of some hillbilly ranch.

"Cletus?" I was there beside her, behind the small television, watching her watch me.

My arm flew back, her eyes followed it, and her face morphed into one of horror as she realized exactly what I was doing.

The bitch got out of the water not a millisecond before the television sank into where she had just been a moment before.

She stood there with that petrified expression for the longest time like she was in complete disbelief of what I had just done. It gave me such a rush, that face. What was even better was that it was my Mom who was making it. It was the first time I had ever seen fear in her eyes because of me.

She ran from the room and I was left dumbfounded 'cause I wasn't punished! That's when I began to think.

So, it's fear that makes things work? If she fears me, she'll respect me. Damn bitch. She never does anything to me when Dad's around. She's afraid of him! It all made sense.

Later, when Dad did come home, I heard them talking about what I had tried to do. Stupid guy wouldn't listen, said my mom was loosing it, silenced her… I sighed and smiled, leaning back against the wall. Chaos was so much fun. You don't even have to participate in it to enjoy it!

A single day passed. I went to school. The teacher observed that I was eerily silent that day. She tried to ask me what was wrong, but when I smiled at her, a wide, malicious grin, she coughed and turned to walk away as if she hadn't seen it… or was trying to forget.

I got home and Mom was in the kitchen. She asked me how my day was. I didn't reply.

Ever had a funny craving all the sudden like you're waiting in line for a movie and all the sudden you want cotton candy? That's what it was like when I passed the basement door and suddenly got an itch to bleed something. Anything. And that was when that fucking dog ran past me and trotted down, through he door, and into the basement. It was like a holy sign or something.

I followed it and shut the door behind me.

The basement was my dad's workshop. His hobby was carpentry, which made for some very fun tools. I started to play a game where I was the executioner selecting the weapon of choice, letting my hand touch each one of the tools: a saw, sandpaper and… Ooh! An electric drill! This would be very fun.

I turned around with the drill in my hand, squeezing the trigger to see if it was plugged in and working. It responded with a mechanic whir. By now the dog was scratching at the door. Made it easy for me to scoop it up.

It squirmed, it howled. I loved when stuff did that. There was a jerk and a high-pitched yip when I placed the drill to its head and shoved it on through. The bit fell through and exploded out the other side, red and gray goop went flying all over the wall. The dog's body gave one last twitch and fell limp. What a mess it made!

Of course, I had to do my own exploring, ripping open its belly, trying to make heads or tails of the insides… Found its heart. Looked pretty black to me. Explains a lot. Held it in the palm of my hand… crushed it…

That's when I heard the door fly open and quickly scattered to the wall close to the stairs where the person who entered wouldn't be able to see me. I still had the drill in my hand, "Cletus! Have you seen Fifi? What was all that yowling about?"

She stopped. Saw the mess.

"Oh! Nooo!" it was a morbid shriek and it only filled me with a stronger urge to mutilate.

When she started down, I tugged on the cord of the drill. It lifted in front of my mom and caught her ankle. She fell face-first into the ground.

Looking back at me with the blood-stained drill in my hand, she didn't scream or run like I expected, but rather gritted her teeth and rose, "You little monster!"

The drill was slapped from my hands as she grabbed a knife from my dad's workbench and turned it on me, caught me by the throat. I was suffocating, staring at my reflection on the cool metal of the blade rushing towards my face.

Lucky Dad came home when he did.

…Finished her off with the head of a hammer… smashed her up beyond recognition… I watched, biting my lip in an orgasm of awe. I wish I had been given a turn… Humans look different that animals when they're killed. It's much more satisfying when the cry is in English and can be understood…. That "No! Stop!" and the grip of shaking hands on your arms, trying to pry you off…

The cops came by quickly, walking in on Dad finishing Mom off. Seems the neighbors heard Mom's hollering, said it wasn't the same they usually hear.

You should have heard Dad screaming at me all through the trial when I told them he killed Mom for no reason at all…