The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, but wiser people so full of doubts. (Bertrand Russell)

After your first murder there’s really not much that can faze you. The aftermath is messy. The actual action on the other hand is the cleanest most concise moment of clarity in your life. You are in control. You have the power. You, you, you. To be honest, it’s exhilarating, at least that’s how it felt for me that first time. I was taking back control of my life. It was a step forward for women everywhere. A man thinks he can overpower you with his strength, turn that notion on its head. Now I’m not saying I encourage murder, but I am saying if I had the chance to do it again I would, in a heartbeat. The aftermath, well, that was a little more complicated.

Senior was the first one to enter the room.

“Shit.” That was his response. He scooped me up and carried me away from the mess. My parents were next on the scene along with Uncle Tony. Aside from that, I’m not sure what else was going on. Senior carried me to his bedroom. I had only ever been inside his room while hurrying to the panic room. I admired the majesty of the room through the blurred vision of teary eyes. I started crying as soon as Senior picked me up. I cried and cried but I wasn’t sad or remorseful, I was just overwhelmed. There’s something about having a bunch of people looking at me and speaking to me with sympathy that always makes me cry.

The man was a transient hippie. He had no family who would notice and once Scotch dispelled the story to her friends, there were no friends who would care or contest. They didn’t believe in guns but they didn’t believe in policing either so one cancelled the other. Uncle Tony cleaned up my parent’s bedroom.

Senior bought a boat and the next day, Christmas Day, on its maiden voyage, we dumped the body deep into the Atlantic Ocean.

Maybe we should have gone to the police then. I mean it had been self-defence. But it's all part of living the way we did. You give up your right to be governed by the law the moment you decide to live outside of it. We would be hypocrites if we evaded all the restrictions of the law but raced to the courthouse to follow procedure by the letter the moment something went wrong.

Maybe the law could have protected me. But if I was to be honest, I didn’t believe that I needed protection. There would be no one to report the murder. It seemed I was free and clear. After all, who would believe that a fourteen year old girl murdered a man? They would likely assume it had Uncle Tony or my father or Senior. Even if they did believe it was me, what good would that do? Even if it all came out as it happened (like they would believe that) my permanent record would be tainted with murder. What college wants to accept a murderer? Shit like that stays with you for life.