First time I killed someone was when I was 13.

Flashback - exactly 16 years ago.

It's been almost three days since me and my sister had anything to eat. Crusts from thrown away, out-of-date sandwiches barely count. There hasn't been much rain recently and drinkable water was getting rarer and rarer. The cold weather didn't help much . And there is only so much begging would do. That's when I saw him; another homeless guy, just like me and my sister, munching on what looked like food. I saw him turn around the corner and out of my sight. I knew him, we beg in the same subway station as him, never talked to him though. I knew where he slept, under a bridge, a block from us. I looked at my sister, cold and shivering, barely able to sit straight. And right then I knew I had to do something, if not for me then for her, the only thing left I have in this world.

"Stay here, I will go get us food."

"Come back quick."

I stalked my way to the homeless guy. I knew where he slept. Hiding behind the support of the bridge; I saw him rearranging his blankets, getting ready for the night. He didn't finish the food he was eating, understandable, he would want to conserve it for more dire situations. I couldn't see it before, but it was a sandwich he was eating. Stealing from him without being seen was impossible, he was practically hugging the sandwich, also understandable. And it's not like he would just give it to us. I looked around and no one was in the vicinity. Couple of cars crossing the flyover but no pedestrians. I walked over to him, with a rock that barely fit my hand, and my hand behind my back. As soon as he saw me approaching, he got on the defensive.

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"The fuck do you want?"

"Food."

"I ain't got nothing. Now get the f-"

-BAM.

I slammed the rock over his head. He was already on his knees, screaming and clutching his bleeding head. I took him by surprise, he wasn't expecting me to get violent.

"What the hell are you d-"

-BAM.

The second hit put him on all fours, he started coughing blood, momentarily unable to scream.

"Take it! Just take it. Le-"

-BAM.

The third hit put him flat on the ground, now barely able to make coherent sentences. His head clearly split open.

"Plea-"

-BAM.

He stopped moving.

-BAM.

-BAM.

-BAM.

-BAM.

Five minutes later I found myself walking back to my sister, food on one hand, blankets on the other and in my pocket some loose change the homeless guy got from begging. I don't know if my sister heard the screaming, he didn't have much of a chance to scream anyway. She never asked me how I got the food, or why I had blood on my hand, or why we moved the next morning. She never asked and I never gave an explanation.

I could have probably done it without killing him. On my way to him I couldn't stop shaking, and the only thing pushing me was the image of my sister shivering and whimpering in hunger. "I have no choice."- I kept telling myself. "I have to do it. Either that or we starve to death." After the first hit, it's as if an invisible weight lifted off me, and his pleading just made me want to hit him harder. I couldn't stop myself. On my way back I felt happy, happier than I ever felt before. It's as if I was released, as if nothing else mattered, not the hunger, not the thirst and definitely not the blood of a dead man on my hands.

Flashback end -

It's at these moments that I always reminisce. It's the perfect moment after all. I always have a clear head moments after a kill. As the adrenaline is washing off, I think to myself, tonight was a good night. As was 16 years ago.