[ WP ] Killing any creature inflicts an illness or blight upon yourself , for example killing a spider gives you a persistant itch , and killing a dog renders you paralysed for a long time . You 've just had to kill an animal that was attacking your young child , and are now suffering the consequences .

It was n't something I could explain. I think the last time I tried to explain it to someone I was ten or so, and learned to just not talk about this anymore because of the attention it brought me. 
 
 To be fair it might have all been in my head, and maybe it still is. Any time I killed something though, whether a worm on a hook or a fish I was going to eat at camp, it made me sick. A mouse I hit on my bicycle, for instance, made my bones hurt for a week. 
 
 When I was thirteen I shot a deer. I knew it would hurt me, and I could n't tell my dad, and he was drunk and mad and said `` Do n't you dare miss.'' so I did n't. I hit it in the lungs and it died terrified, coughing up blood, and unable to catch its breath. I was anemic and asthmatic the rest of that winter. 
 
 Even eating meat always made me feel sick afterwards. My father used to make me eat it, and even when I threw it up I'd still get sick. When I had tried to tell him about this at ten he accused me of making things up; of being a sissy. 
 
 This was all years ago though. I've been a vegetarian for a decade now, and healthy because I had n't hurt a fly in about as long, either, and kept a healthy distance from my father. 
 
 Except at family events, I could n't avoid him there. I had n't been able to avoid him at the last, not by a long shot, and neither had my own son, who I was happy having grow up without knowing his grandfather. 
 
 Craig's a good boy. He's gentle at four, but I do n't know that he's like me. He's the kind of kid that can just go find something else to do without it bothering him if another kid takes his toy. He's a good boy. 
 
 At the last gathering one of his cousins, a year and a month younger had taken a train from him. Craig did n't mind; he seemed to get his cousin was littler and did n't quite get certain things yet. He went to the sandbox, got a truck, and went about his business playing trucks n' trains with his cousin. Did I mention he was a good boy? 
 
 `` Craig,'' my father called from behind a wall of his empties stacked neatly around his plate at the table `` c'mere.'' 
 
 I watched, frozen in horror. The old man still intimidated me, and I felt paralyzed as Craig wandered over to him. 
 
 `` You're just going to let him take that from you?'' He had asked, and I saw Craig getting small under his gaze like I always had. 
 
 I found my courage and walked over to them. I could n't believe my ears as my father told my son to go hit his cousin and take what was his back, but I had come between them and sent my son back to play wordlessly, before spinning on my father. `` They're three and four!'' I'd said hotly, trying not to make a scene. `` Is n't it just good enough that they're happy to get along? Do they have to hurt each other for you?'' 
 
 As my father stood I'd felt as though I'd committed a grievous mistake. He put a hand on my chest, pushing me back. `` What, you want him to be a weak little pansy like his dad?'' He'd pushed me again as he stumbled towards me, stinking like beer and kraut. `` You just want a little *girl* for a son like I had?'' 
 
 And in that moment I lost it. I really had n't meant to do anything terrible, but I lowered my center of gravity and threw myself at my father. He seemed so much bigger than me; I did n't think it could hurt him. 
 
 My father had lurched back though, unable to catch his balance and wound up sitting in his dinner on the picnic table behind him. He'd fumed, and charged me like an enraged bull. 
 
 It was just a lucky punch. I've never thrown many, but I caught him in the side of the head just above the ear. All the noise, hate, and anger that had been eminating from him seemed to cease, and he fell to the ground like he'd been unplugged. I caught his eyes on his way down, just as whatever it had been animating him simply... ceased to be. 
 
 Nobody said anything for a long time. My own cousin ran and got the children away, but nobody screamed or cried. At least, I did n't hear them if they did. What had I done, I thought. Killing worms and fish had brought me torture, but I'd just murdered a human being. 
 
 The short police investigation and decision not to press charges, and the ease with which the rest of my family or, my father's other victims seemed to get along without him feel like unimportant, far away things of no interest. Doctors found something in his head, I ca n't be bothered to remember what, that explained why a single blow like that had killed him. I think they said something about a blood balloon, but really do n't care. 
 
 I've left Craig in the care of my cousin for a few days, waiting for whatever horrible punishment I'd receive for what I'd done to descend upon me. I expected my skin to start sloughing off, or to cough up blood, or wake up, as if I could sleep, to find my legs had become necrotic due to a clot. 
 
 But nothing happened. Maybe it was because I was defending my boy, or maybe its because what I killed was a monster, but it's been almost a week now, and I think I might be in the clear. 
 
 Tomorrow I'll probably go pick up Craig.
