The shit I was channeling back    
then was way better than anything else 
that was going on in my life, and that 
included television, movies or even    
comic books.                           
     They were so good, I started to   
feel guilty about not sharing them with
anyone, so when I was six, I decided to
share some with my Mom.                
     I even chuckled while explaining  
the first one.                         
     She didn’t get excited about it,  
like I thought she would. Like it’d be 
fun to watch herself being covered in  
honey, tied to a tree, and then picked 
to pieces by thousands and thousands of
fire ants.                             
     When I got to the part where they 
were forcing their way down her throat,
into her lungs, and then up into her   
* brain, she had this look of fucking      
horror on her face, that I’ll never,   
ever forget.                           
     It’s how I imagine she looked,    
just before she died.                  
     After those first couple seconds, 
she relaxed, tousled my hair, and with 
a sad little smile, said, “You’re going
to turn into a little criminal, aren’t 
you?” and for some god-awful reason,   
the nickname stuck.                    
     From that day forward, that’s what
everyone called me, the “Little Crimi- 
nal”.                                  
     After a while, that was shortened 
to the “Criminal”, until now, most of  
my friends just call me “Crim”. Except,
when they’re royally pissed off at me, 
and then I’m the Criminal again.       



CHAPTER 1: WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 15th
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