Entry 1: 1st July 1874
Marsha Grey …..Her long luscious hair intoxicates me every time she passes by. She deserves me, she needs me , she just doesn’t know it. He isn’t good enough for her. I’ll show her, she’ll appreciate me. The urge has been growing stronger every day since Father took me to the woods. I can still see the blood flowing from his neck. I had to do it. All i can see is Marsha Grey’s veins throbbing with bright red blood, one day I’ll do it…….
Clint sat down with his father in front of the fire place, cinders jumped from the wood, illuminating the small cabin. They always went hunting in the woods every weekend. Clint’s father poured himself a glass of whisky and downed it in one gulp. ‘ Boy, when you hunt, its a game of strength and you should always win the prize,’ he bellowed. Clint knew why he said that, every hunting trip they took, he always failed to shoot the deer. He didn’t understand why he needed to kill the poor animal.
“Get up boy, follow me’, his father growled at him as he led him outside. It was freezing outside and Clint shivered as he shuffled through the dried leaves. His father led him through the thick dark forest. It was almost midnight,Clint didn’t understand what his father needed to show him so badly.
From a distance, he could hear whimpering. it sounded like a wounded dog. As they made it further into the woods, the whimpering got louder. His father suddenly stopped and stared at a tree stump. A dark figure was tied to the stump and struggled to move trying to get free. Clint’s father shoved him towards the dark figure and handed him a pistol. “Take care of the mangy mutt’, he bellowed as Clint staggered towards the animal.
Clint got closer and realized the dark figure was no animal. It was actually the towns’ sheriff, Rick Broderick. His leg was badly mangled and he had a gag on his mouth.Blood trickled from his forehead and soaked his white polo shirt. He had a busted lip and his left eye was swollen to the size of a grape.
Rick looked up at Clint and tried to scream, but all he could let out was a whimper. He looked back at his father and knew what he had to do. Clint stared into Rick’s eyes and pointed the gun at his temple. His hand tightened around the pistol and his trigger finger squeezed.
The bullet blasted through the nozzle and straight through Sheriff Rick Brodericks’ temple. His body lay there lifeless. A sense of fulfillment filled Clint. He didn’t understand why taking a life made him feel this way. He felt a smile creep in, he tried to fight it away. His father grabbed his arm and pulled him close. ” This is who you are meant to be, this is who you have always been’, he whispered as he led Clint back to the cabin.
There were so many questions Clint needed answered. Why the Sheriff, why did he feel fulfilled when he pulled the trigger. That is when it all began….