Confessions of a Serial Killer

She turned to leave, but just then her father walked through the barn door, his gate reflecting the darkness of the expression on his face. Uncle Willis walked right up to me and grabbed me by my shirt collar, twirling me around. "Go back to the house!" He ordered Sarah over his shoulder. He threw me to the floor of the barn. The thought that the man was incredibly strong flitted across my mind as I skidded on my hands and knees. He tried to kick me in my stomach, but I doubled up into a fetal position and took the brunt of the blow on my arms. It hurt like hell! "Go back to your hell hole, you fucking maggot!" He shouted at me as he tried to get a grip on one of my legs. I kicked my legs frantically and tried to make space between us by scooting across the dirty concrete floor on my back and arm. He gave up trying to kick or hit me finally and just stood over me glowering. "I want you out of here, you filthy mud hen!" He continued to shout. "I don't want you anywhere near my daughter with your back-woods, devious ways and your criminal influences!" He crouched over me, threateningly. "Do you hear me, fuckhead? Get out! Get on your way!" I had created enough space to safely get to my feet. My face was bright red and I could feel the blood pulsing against my temple. I felt numb, except for my left arm which had taken the force of his kick. It hurt like the devil. The other arm and one knee hurt as well from the fall to the floor and my crab-like movements across the concrete. I figured the skin on those limbs was probably scraped pretty bad, at least they felt like that. I picked up my back-pack and walked ahead of him, somewhat sideways to keep him in my vision, toward the open door of the barn. He moved slightly ahead at the plow and his attention on me waned as if he was distracted by something. There was an axe handle leaning against the plow and I swept it up as I passed. I dropped the bag and hit him in the head with the axe handle with all the might I could muster. Uncle Willis dropped to the floor like a bag of potatoes, completely unconcious. That made no difference to me as I continued to pummel his head with the axe handle until his face and head were unrecognizable. Even then I didn't stop. Finally I tired, sated of the extreme effort, and dropped the axe handle to the floor. Heaving from the exertion, I looked at Uncle Willis as he lay there, his legs splayed out in his usual dominant position, but his arms tucked under his body. His head was gone - at least anything resembling a head. In its place was a mass of blood, bone and tissue circling where his head should be like a halo. What an odd picture, I thought admiringly.