AN: Earl is my own creation. This takes place anywhere before the sixth season-first person from Earl's on POV- and will follow him from his first kill until he gets his just reward. Enjoy! Please review.

The first time it really was an accident. I mean, it was lucky, but I surely didn't plan it. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was God's work that put her in my path, who knows? The lord works in mysterious ways.

She was some no name Mexican girl, which is ironic seeing how she changed my whole life, fresh off the boat and definitely as dumb as a sack of tacos. She didn't speak a word of English, (god almighty, do any of them bother?) when I literally ran into her on that warm summer night.

It's early morning and I'm coming up to the end of my shift. I'm a deputy sheriff with a solid fifteen years behind the badge, but lately I've been switched over to more desk work, so I started picking up some extra shifts with our local college security force. Really easy stuff, a regular beat around the campus from 11 p.m. to 5 a.m., so I've spent the night cruising and listening to some good old fashion music. Not that crappy teeny bopper shit that's all about lesbian sex or drugs, but good classic Led Zeppelin. Excellent stuff.

So I'm driving down a side street, listening to Jimmy Page really rip it, when I start to feel one of my migraines coming on. Goddamn migraines. They always start the same way, this low thump, thump on the inside of my skull, like a drum. I can't see real well for a second so I pull over and turn off the radio. But my head is still thump, thumping so I put my head down on the cool steering wheel and block out the streetlights with my hands. After a few minutes I feel a bit better and I figure it's probably because my sugar can get low if I don't eat, so I turn off the car and walk the half a block to a dingy corner store to grab some food.

Ten minutes later I'm looking down at my hotdog and trying to decide if the chili is actually made of meat, since the Middle Eastern asshole behind the counter might put anything in there. Can't trust a man who wears a towel on his head like a freaking woman out of the shower, and I hear they eat actual dogs sometimes; fucking disgusting. Anyway, I'm all focused on the hotdog, when she comes stumbling out of the alleyway and knocks the damn thing outta my hand. Right out of my hand! I yell out and try to wipe questionable chili off of my uniform, all the time cursing up a storm. It scares her a bit, the cursing, because she stops for a moment and stares like fucking deer. She must have pegged me for a cop in a second though, because before I've even had a chance to look her over she bolts. Runs like the devil himself is chasing her. So, and for the life of me I don't know why, I follow after her.

I catch up to her pretty soon, she's limping and she's missing a shoe so she's not all that fast, and after a couple blocks she runs into a dead end. I stop at the entrance to the alley and lean against the wall because I'm a bit winded and felt kinda nauseous from the running. She's moaning at the wall, struggling like a drowning cat to try and climb up it. She's wearing this skin tight neon orange dress- if anything that short can even be called a dress- and as she squirms the top keeps slipping down so she has to keep pulling it back up. When she sees me walking toward her, her eyes get even wider and she starts gibbering away at me in that damn language of hers. Still panting and ignoring my stupid headache, which is back, I reach out a hand just to grab her arm to lead her out of the alley. I swear I was just gonna take her back to my patrol car and run her license, if she even had one- I didn't see no purse or nothing, and to try and ask her a couple questions. I mean, in my experience a person who bolts like a marathon runner just because a cop looks at them is definitely guilty of something.

But as I reach out she swats my hand away and starts yelling at me. Which kinda makes me mad, because who is this little shit to be screaming at me? So I pull out my badge to knock some sense into her, make her show some respect, but damn if that doesn't get her started even worse. She starts jabbering even louder, like being louder is gonna make me understand her any better, and she's moving her arms around. So I reach out and catch one of her flailing limbs, she isn't really all that strong looking, but it's like a demon possesses her right at that moment. She starts twisting and kicking, clawing at my hand on her arm, and still fucking chattering away all shrill and obnoxious.

So I shove her away, but she screams, which rattles around inside my head and feels like nails on a chalkboard. No one could stand the racket she's making; its torture listening to her carry on with her squawking. My headache has really gotten going now, all thump, thump, thump, which is making me dizzy and all I want her to do is shut up.

It's no wonder I snap. I just want her to fucking be quiet, show some damned respect. I kinda black out for a bit, all I can see is red and I guess I start smacking her, harder and harder. Then I close my fist up, because the noise she is making is inhuman, like a freaking animal or something, and I punch her right in her yowling fucking mouth a couple times. I don't know how long it goes on.

Finally I come back to my senses a bit; at least she's stopped screaming. She's curled up on the ground and there's a lot of blood, and for a second I think she's passed out. But then she starts kinda shaking or something, and she's murmuring. So I lean in, because all I can hear is my own blood pumping in my ears. She's begging, not in English of course, but I can guess.

And then, the weirdest thing starts happening. I'm looking down at this fucking waste of space ball of nothing, all covered in blood, and all of a sudden I feel like I'm actually awake for the first time that night. Like I have stepped out of the fog and everything is real and my head is clear. And I realize she's gonna actually die.

But I'm tough, I don't get scared or anything, I just kinda take a breath and accept it. And once I've done that, I start realizing that anything that happens now doesn't really matter. Whether or not I do anything, it'll end up the same way. It's gonna die. It's inevitable. After all, it's not like anyone will miss it- it's probably illegal anyway. 'Inevitable,' I start repeating to myself, proud of my ability to keep it together so well in such a stressful situation.

And then I start getting kinda turned on. In the struggle it's top has come down again, exposing some nice perky coffee colored breasts and the darkest nipples I've ever seen. It's been a while since I've gotten some, my crazy ass wife is always getting her panties in a bunch about something, and I start thinking what a waste it would be to pass this opportunity by. A damn shame, I keep thinking. So I kneel down and turn the damn thing over. It brings up its hands for a second when I pull up the skirt and unzip my pants, but it's weak by then and I just swat the hands aside.

I'm done real fast; there weren't even any panties and all the blood pumping through my veins has me really turned on. So then I get up and start to look for a rock. I'm still feeling really clear, and I've decided I should probably do the Christian thing and put the sorry thing out of its misery. I know I want something big and heavy and maybe pointed, so it'll be quick. I find a cinderblock behind a dumpster, and drag it over. I'm lifting it up over the pathetic thing's head when it turns its bloodshot eyes up to me. It's not speaking any more, thank god, but I feel this strong sense of understanding, like I can tell what its eyes are saying. 'Do it now,' it's asking me, 'please help me out and do it quick.'

So I drop the block, throw it down sort of, and it hits the head with a wet smack. The body convulses a bit, and I'm not sure if that's normal, so I picked up the block and drop it a few more times just to be sure. I see the skull crack open and there's a lot more blood and something else I think might be brain, but the body stops moving.

I'm not really sure what to do next. I don't go to a lot of crime scenes, deputies are usually called to transport folks or to bar fights. So I think about all those crime shows on TV and start wiping stuff down- like the dumpster and the cinderblock. I stand back to make sure I haven't missed anything and check the time. A quarter past four a.m. My shift is basically done anyway, and I'm tired as shit from all the running and lifting and thinking so I figure I'll just bag it for the night.

I walk exhaustedly back to my car. One of the street lights comes on right as I'm about open the door and I can see my reflection in the window, and I suddenly realize I'm covered in blood. But it's mixed in with the damn dog chili, and I can tell the wife I got called to a domestic disturbance or something if she get's real nosy. I shrug it off, get in and drive home. I fall asleep on the couch watching an infomercial for car wax.

The next day they found the body, but nothing ever came of it. Just another illegal and the evidence pointed towards a prostitute. They never even figured out a name.

But I remembered long after everyone else moved on. I realized the next day that my headache had completely disappeared during the whole thing and for the whole month afterwards I felt really great. Rejuvenated, my wife called it.

I took a swatch of hair they had taken for evidence, and I wound some twine around it and kept it as a good luck charm.

It was a couple years before I got to do it again.

hope you enjoyed it! Please review. Next chapter up soon.