Today is the anniversary of my first confirmed magickal, well, kill.
I did not know it was a curse at the time. It was a 12 year old getting out some frustration by writing out a death warrant for somebody and then putting in the desk and forgetting it. Well, somebody up there read it and two weeks later, on this date, the target was found dead, shot in the back of the head. Along with his grandmother who was also shot in the back of the head.
Now, I would like to say that I was jumping with joy and celebrating but that is not true. It scared the living shit out of me. People did not get murdered in my part of the world back then. That was for people who lived in cities and good riddance to them. I became seriously paranoid and could not wait to learn how to shoot a gun myself. There was, of course, no possibility that it could ever come back to me. I was in school when it happened, 15 miles away. You can’t ask for a better alibi than that unless it is being with a group of 40 friends in a lounge 50 miles away.
And it took a few months for it to sink that there might be a connection, and then of course that had to be tested. And the technique worked, though rarely with the sort of spectacular results of the first effort.
But it was a good beginning to a long and evil career and a life that I have never been given reason to regret.
So now I look out the window at a gray, cold day. A day like that day 50 years ago. The day that a black light was born in me, and a pathway to power revealed to me for the first time. This a memory to be savored. And day to celebrate. It was, for me, the day of liberation. For while one may forget the name of the first love, one never forgets one’s first kill.