His first time was when he was ten years old. Her name was Sharon. Never mind the last name; he couldn't remember it for the life of him. He could see her face though, pretty white skin and blonde curly hair. She was laughing, always laughing. Laughing at some obscene joke one of the other boys told her, giggling with her friends about whatever nonsense occupied them that day. Laughing at Cletus when he asked her to the school dance. That was the last time she laughed. Her mouth in the shape of an O as the laugh turned into a gurgle. What could have been her last sight? The fire in Cletus' blue eyes, the wicked triumphant smile showing that at last he had her full attention. He had stuck the small plastic knife in her stomach, her liver to be exact. He had learned that in science class, and daddy had said that school was useless.
He could hear the laughter now, as Sharon fell to the soft green grass, the knife still embedded in her torso. It was all around him. More than that, he could feel it and see it just as well as he could hear it. It was as if someone was writing it on the clouds, in the grass. He could feel it slithering through the lines of his skin, penetrating his nose and eyes, till all he could see was the laughter. He had shaken his head to clear the laughter away, and finally realized what had happened. He had killed her, his precious Sharon. There she laid, in all her beauty and grace, splayed out in the grass, a pool of crimson growing around her, turning the dirt into mud. What he felt then was indescribable. Elation, joy, and bliss he would realize it to be later, when he could fully grasp the meaning of those words.
Cletus Cassidy had gotten off on an insanity plea. His parents, while not in any opinion loving or caring, had spent their savings on lawyers to defend their son. Into a state funded asylum he went, and out he came two years later, looking quite the same, save for the height increase. He still had his startling eyes though, the eyes that always seemed on fire, shifting around as if looking for prey.
For a few years things seemed as if they were back to normal. Cletus went to school, talked to no one. His mother drank heavily, all night it seemed sometimes, and his father laid on the couch, rising only to use the bathroom or to beat Cletus with the dreaded doeskin belt that was always resting on the coffee table.
It happened suddenly, as all things of great importance tend to do. One moment Cletus was sitting on the floor of the single wide trailer that was home, watching T.V. with no malicious thoughts in his adolescent mind. The next he was on the floor crying, holding the spot on his head where the belt had slapped. His father continued to beat him, shouting at him, calling him nasty names. Soon the belt stopped hitting him. He dared to look up at his father.
"Why you cryin boy? Somethin hurt? Aww little baby cry."
His father paused a moment, then lashed out with his leg, kicking his son in nose. A white hot explosion took the breath from Cletus' lungs. He fell forever it seemed, until he hit that ragged dirty carpet.
When he awoke later that night, he found that he had not been moved. His mother had not even looked at the unconscious boy. There was his father, laying there snoringo n the couch. A sudden rage filled Cletus. He forced himself up off of the floor and walked over to the couch. His hands clenched into fists as he stared at the man who had only hours before beat him so violently. Without noticing what he was doing, Cletus picked up belt from the coffee table and raised it up in his hand. A song was playing on the radio in the kitchen.
"Yakkity Yak..."
Cletus lowered his hand and then quickly brought his other hand up under his fathers resting head, lifting it up. He then wrapped the belt around the still sleeping mans neck, slipped the leather through the metal buckle, and pulled with all his might.
"Don't talk back..."
His father's eyes bulged open, his mouth moving silently. He felt the once strong hands on his shoulders, trying to pry him off, but to no avail. Like Sharon before him, Old Man Cassidy's last sight was that of young red haired Cletus, his eyes aflame, his smile wide.
It was over quickly. The stench of urine told him that. Yet another useful thing he learned at school. The body lost functions upon death. The tyrant was dead. Cletus almost broke out into a dance at the thought. He realized though, that his work was not over. His mother, poor sweet mother, was asleep in the other room. She had done nothing to stop his father from hurting him. She never did.
He moved into the kitchen and searched for something that could help him carry out his dirty business. He found it, an expensive kitchen knife. Ironic that it was something that his mother spent more time with than her own son, and it would be the instrument of her demise.
All these things, and a hundred thousand other things the red and black puddle knew in an instant. It stopped in its draining of the wild eyed mans life, and pondered what it would be like to be him.
The puddle widened and stretched, slithering to cover the body of Cletus Cassidy. It then seemed to sink into the man, through his eyes, nose, and pores. Only minutes after Shang Chi had rendered him unconscious, Cletus' eyes popped open. Very much the same, yet so different.
