When I was little, about age 4-6, me and my cousin would catch baby birds. We tried to take car of them. At one point though I wondered what would happen if I squeezed one. My cousin was inside doing something so I thought id test and see what happens. So I squeezed it. At first the bird was confused. I squeezed it harder and it started to squirm and tweet in pain. I learned that the harder I squeezed them the more they would react, so I continued to squeeze it and I felt… Happy… Pleasure… Satisfaction..? God I dont know what it was but something about it… I just loved it. I think I even giggled a little. I gave it one last squeeze and I heard a snap. The bird shot its head up as blood poured out of its little lungs. The blood got all over my hands and I was kinda shocked. I dropped the bird and looked around quickly. I knew that playing with the birds was bad but I knew murdering them was definitely bad. I went over to this old well in my grandmothers back yard, tossed it in and wiped my hand on my overalls repeatedly. I was sad that I killed the bird but I think it was more that my fun had to end so soon. When my cousin came back outside he asked me where the bird went. I told him it flew away. He was disappointed and we continued the day like normal. That was my first kill. Ever sense iv found some kind of enjoyment in torturing animals. I rarely do it now and its turned into just loving them and laughing when they get scared by something followed with calming pets. Of course my desire hasnt gone away. Iv just learned how to bottle it up. God I really want to do it again and remember how it felt. My baby bird count is I think 4-5. I also learned that my grandfather found the birds bodys and threw them away. I guess it was just curiosity that tainted the cat… Or blessed it… Heh… Im so sick…