The Devil went down to Austin

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Date: Wed 07 June 2000 19:53:16 0500 From: ‹ host@ashield. com› X Mailer: Mozilla 3.01 Gold (Macintosh? I? PPC) To: ‹host@ashield. com› S ubject: drowning The first time I knew I would kill? I was six years old.

I'd snuck some things from the kitchen-vials of food colouring, Dixie cups, a pitcher of water. I was in my bedroom mixing potions, watching how the dyes curl in the water.

That doesn't sound like much, I know. But I'd spilled a few cup full’s onto the carpet. My fingers were stained purple. It was enough to give the Old Man an excuse.

He came in so quietly I didn't hear him, didn't know he was standing over me until I caught his smell, like sweet smoked beef.

He said something like, "Is this what we clean the house for? We clean the house so you can do this?"

Then I realized water was running in the bathroom. I remembered what my friend had said.

I tried to apologize, but the Old Man caught my wrists, dragged me backward, using my arms as a harness.

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