I'm not a simple man, though I've been called that, and endless other names throughout my life. Children have always run away crying for their parents when I approach. I've even been hit with umbrellas and handbags by some of the mothers. I guess they're just frightened of my appearance, even though Mum always said I was 'special' when I'd asked her if I was ugly.
It took me years to accept that I was different to the other kids. They all had two eyes, two arms, two legs. Me on the other hand, had fingers and toes attached to stumps which made it difficult to walk at times, and one eye a bit lower set than the other. I couldn't ride a bike, or run; I'd always be sitting and watching the kids play from my special spot in the bushes. The other kids didn't want me to play with them anyway, so I'd spend my time with my little insect friends. We had some good times. They didn't normally live very long, so I was always making new friends. I had a spider friend once. He tried to bite me when I took two of his legs off. I guess he didn't like that very much, but it was funny to see him running around in circles the way he did. I don't like when I get hurt, so I had to teach my spider friend a lesson for trying to hurt me. I was going to smack him, but I knew he'd try to bite me again. I was only going to scare him, so he'd learn, but the squishing noise that came from under that rock told me that he'd never try to hurt me ever again.
Thankfully, as I grew older, my stumps grew too. Sure they didn't quite look like other people's arms and legs, but at least I could wear normal clothes. The lump on my shoulder got in the way most of the time, so Mum started cutting a hole in the right shoulder of all my tops. In Winter she'd buy me large sized sweaters so I wouldn't get too cold having a hole in my shirt.
Mum was a good woman. Even after my father died, she never left my side. I never told her why I hid in my closet the morning Dad died. She wouldn't have understood, and I hated when she got angry. I knew Dad liked to shave after his bath, and I knew he was running late. That's why I helped him. He didn't appreciate my help though, he just kept yelling 'No!' before I put the electric razor in the tub. I didn't like when he got angry either, but he didn't stay that way for long. He went really quiet when the razor went into the water. It made a big splash. I still remember the bubbles flying up into the air. I would have stayed to play with them, but Mum was running up the hall so I went to my closet instead.
I can't remember how long I stayed in the cupboard, but I remember coming out when I heard Mum calling my name. She said we were going for a little drive. Mum wouldn't tell me where we were going, she just said it would be a surprise. We never went outside anymore. Not since I'd grown too big to be seen wearing a diaper, so I was really excited. When we got to the woods, she turned off the engine and told me to go and play for a while.
The woods was such a pretty place. I ran straight to a big orange butterfly that was fluttering its pretty wings as it flew. Butterflies had always been my favorite friends. I loved the way their little legs would tickle my fingers as I held onto their wings. They're messy things though. That day, I got so angry. I'd only been playing with the butterfly for a short while, when I pulled one of his wings off and he got his goo all over my fingers. I think Mum got angry with the butterfly for doing that too, because she tried to shoot him. She missed him and hit me instead, which got me even madder. I tossed that butterfly and looked at the blood coming from my hand. I don't like when I get hurt.
Mum had this strange look on her face when I'd started to chase her. I only wanted to teach her a lesson for hurting me, but I don't think she understood. She ran so fast, it took me a while before I finally caught her. It was fun playing with Mum like that. When I did catch her, I pinned her down. She started slapping me, which hurt, so she really needed a good lesson. I picked her up by the shoulders and banged her head up and down on the ground. I kept telling her that I didn't like things hurting me and that she shouldn't do it again. When I got her blood on me I got really mad. I picked Mum up from the ground and threw her in the car. I think that's when her neck snapped. Now that I recall, her head did go on a funny angle when it hit the side of the car's roof. Her arms were all floppy, so I had to get some rope from the trunk and tie them on the steering wheel. Because her head was all lop-sided, I had to put some around her neck too and tied it to the back of the car seat.
It took me hours to push the car back home. Thankfully, it was dark when I untied Mum and carried her inside the house. I don't think the neighbors would have said much if they'd seen me carry Mum. They were used to seeing her staggering around, so if anybody had asked, I would have just told them she was drunk. Dad once told me that she started drinking when I was born, which I'd thought was strange. I never asked him why. I was tired from pushing the car, so I just left Mum on the kitchen floor so she wouldn't bloody the carpet, and went to bed.
In the morning, I picked her up and sat her at the kitchen table. The back of her head was pretty messy, so I took out the roll of cling wrap and wrapped it around to keep all the bits inside. It mushed her hair, but I thought if I put a nice hat on her head you'd never see it. Mum liked to read, so I took her into the lounge and sat her in the rocker. She was a big Stephen King fan, so I took down her favorite book and sat it on her lap. Her head still looked floppy, and I had to fix it.
I went to the kitchen and grabbed a broom from the closet. After breaking the handle in half over my knee, I went back to the lounge. I tilted her head back, and worked the broom handle down her throat. It took a bit of pushing to get it all the way in, but I managed to get it in when I stood on the chair and used my body weight to push it hard. Once her mouth was closed, she looked better. Her throat bulged a bit, but at least her head was sitting up straight.
There was a family that had just moved in down the street. They had a daughter Missy, who looked around eighteen I guess, pretty little thing. She had hair the color of the morning sun that went half way down her back. She must have had a thing about people touching her hair, because every time I tried to touch it, she'd scream. Her sparkling blue eyes would open wide whenever she saw me. I think she had a crush on me, because she would always run inside when I went near her. Shy, I guess.
It was a beautiful Summer day when I noticed her parents pulling out of their driveway. I knew Missy was alone, and would probably be lonely, so I went over to keep her company. She didn't answer the door when I knocked, so I went around the back. The rear door was unlocked, so rather than having Missy come all the way downstairs to answer my knock, I thought I'd save her the trouble and let myself in. The shower was running upstairs, and I could hear Missy singing. She had a lovely sweet voice. I climbed the stairs so I could hear her better.
Missy was getting out from the shower when I entered the bathroom. Gee, she had a loud scream. I wished she'd been singing that loud, so I didn't have to go upstairs to hear her. She started slapping at me, screaming and yelling at me to get out. I held up my hand to thwart off her attack, but knew she had to be taught a lesson. I don't like when I get hurt. I went to grab her, but she slipped on a puddle of water at her feet. She wasn't very bright I guess, Mum always made me put a towel on the floor when I washed. When she fell, arms and legs flailing, her head made a loud crack sound as it hit the floor. She didn't look that pretty with all that blood and stuff oozing out of her head. She was making me sick, so I left.
