Cussedness Corner

"My work may be garbage but it's good garbage." Mickey Spillane

Killing is not an easy thing to do


The only reason I have never killed anyone is pure dumb luck.

When I was fourteen, my grandfather (drunk at the time) went after his rifle to shoot my grandmother.  I grabbed my baseball bat and positioned myself to beat his head in as he came out of his room.  I stood there for what seemed like forever, making my peace with having to kill someone I loved to save someone I loved more.  I have no idea how long I actually stood there waiting, but when he failed to come out, I went in.  He had passed out drunk with the rifle across his lap in the act of loading it.  I took the rifle out of his hands, carried it into the garage, put it in a big old vice and yanked the firing pin out.  then I put the gun back in his lap.  It wasn’t until deer season arrived that he saw what I had done. LOL.  and of course I never confessed to doing it.

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5 comments on “Killing is not an easy thing to do

  1. Mike Brendan
    October 24, 2008

    A friend of mine (who shall remain nameless) was a tank commander in Iraq. His squad had been set up in a village and had been getting shelled by the OpFor, all the while being told “don’t retaliate.” This went on for a month, and finally the got the order to retaliate. And so the tanks rolled in.

    Hair trigger tempers would be putting it mild for this engagement. And one lull in the combat, my friend popped the hatch for a look around — and watched an insurgent dive into the street while loading an RPG. The only weapon he had to bear on the enemy was the main gun, a 105mm cannon.

    My friend gave the order to fire.

  2. RHFay
    October 24, 2008

    When I was a teenager fresh out of high-school, and with my future apparently shattered before my eyes due to circumstances and bad decisions I don’t care to go into, things got so bad between me and my hateful step-father that I came really close to killing him one day. Let me just say that blind rage literally does exist, and I know what it’s like being driven by anger, hate, resentment, and constant emotional abuse to the point of potentially taking a life. It’s not a pleasant place to be in, but thankfully I did drag myself back before it was too late.

    That’s when I truly realized how bad the home situation had been all those years. I finally discovered the true extent of my pain, how battered and scarred my mind and soul had become. The wounds have since healed, but the scars remain.

    And my mother doesn’t understand why I don’t really want to go back home for a visit. Hmm… Why would I want to subject my wife and daughter to that garbage?

    My own drunkard of a granfather was frequently physically abusive. I had witnissed him beating my grandmother on multiple occasions, even though the rest of the family thought they had somehow sheltered me from it.

    One day, when I was but a wee lad, I decided enough was enough and I tried to intervene. As my grandfather beat on my grandmother while she was on the floor pinned against a wall, I grabbed a nearby laundry basket and tossed it over my grandfather’s head. He then turned around and slammed it on my head. Luckily, I wasn’t really hurt outside of sore, red ears. My mother actually stopped sending me to my grandparent for a while after that, but that didn’t last.

    Funny thing was, as far as I know, I happened to be the only one in that whole family that ever raised a finger to stop it. And I did stop it, at least for a moment.

    Once I was an adult with a family of my own, and my grandfather came back on the scene after spending fifteen years living with his mistress, I told my grandmother that I would use deadly force if he ever harmed my wife or daughter. She told me that I couldn’t do that. I told her simply “yes I can”.

    Thankfully we were wise enough to stay away once my grandfather’s behaviour became more and more bizarre. He would sit on the front porch drinking whiskey and yelling profanities as passers-by. He also hated a large photo of my daughter when she was a baby that my grandmother had prominently displayed in her house. In his alcohol- warped mind, my daughter was always staring disapprovingly at him.

    They are both dead now, so my grandfather is no longer a threat to anyone. Hopefully my grandmother has finally found some peace.

  3. cussedness
    October 24, 2008

    I know way too much about blind rage. When men have physically assaulted me, blind rage would engulf me and I would do substantial damage to them when I was young. I don’t know if I still have that blind rage. However, if I can judge based upon my grandmother. It’s still there, lurking beneath the surface. When my step-father got ugly and threatened me at the dinner table in her home one day, she stood up and hit him right between the eyes with a heavy crystal glass. She was in her 60s. She warned him several times to stop, and then she hit him.

  4. RHFay
    October 24, 2008

    I think my own blind rage hiding under the surface has abated over the years. I’m still a bit tempermental, and I can be rather hot-headed at times, but the wild rage has been partially tamed.

    However, I have no doubts that I could still stirr up that rage if need be. I could release the monster inside in defense of my family, if you know what I mean.

  5. cussedness
    October 24, 2008

    I know what you mean, Richard. I have frequently referred to that dark side of me as my monster. I have often feared it. But I have also been grateful for it when it kept both myself and Sovay safe.

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This entry was posted on October 24, 2008 by in Janrae Frank.

Janrae Frank

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