The first time they came we were unprepared we could not have grasped the concept of what they were so our minds came up with an explanation we could grasp.  They were gods and monsters, far above us and yet with our motivations and emotions. They have never been back after that first age, until now…

Chapter  1

This first time you kill something you never forget it. I still remember that warm Carolina morning you could smell the pine and hear birds calling through the trees.  I had just had my 6^th birthday the week before and accordingly knew that I was a grown up ready for a mans job not little boys chores anymore.  At least that was the announcement I made to my grandmother loudly that morning over my Captain Crunch.  She smiled at me in that knowing way that adults do when they think they are about to teach a child a lesson.  “So you think you are ready for Big boy chores now huh?” and me with all the Confidence and bluster  of the utterly convinced replied “Yes’ Grams I turned 6 you know and that mean I can do more; my daddy said so” She laughed and said “Ok young man go out to that chicken coop and bring me that old rooster and we will have ourselves a good lunch and dinner” Now this was a big deal for me cause I have never killed a chicken before and was more than a little afraid of the old rooster who had chased me on several occasions before.  I got up from the table walked somberly towards the door and gave my grandmother one final forlorn look of appeal.  She just laughed and said “Go on now you get that rooster or we can’t eat” So I walk out the door into the summer morning and stood to face my nemesis.  I swear I think the old bird knew I was coming because he was waiting for me when I opened the door to that coop.  Now I know killing a chicken would be no big deal to an adult and from that day forward it was no problem for me, but when I opened that door and that rooster flew at me spurs out I was St. George facing the dragon.

I jumped back and slammed the coop door , St George may have been fearless in the face of his enemy but I was for lack of a more clever word chicken.  My back was pressed against the door and I looked up to the house to see my Grams watching me through the window.  It was then I decided that no matter the cost this chicken was dead.  There was a line in some play I think it was Shakespeare when they say not screw your courage to the sticking  place (for those of us that speak Ebonics it means “MAN UP”).   That just what I did.  I snatched open the door and when that old bird made his run at me I swung my fist just like my brothers taught me.  Then I quickly jumped on the rooster and grabbed it around the wings and body like my grandmother does and he immediately was calm.  It turned and looked at me I think he knew what came next. By the neck I wrung him around and around his cries echoing through the yard.  The flailing bird’s spurs caught my cheek opening a cut from my cheekbone down to my jaw and I cried out and let the bird go.  I heard the screen doors metal frame bang  and looked around to see Grams rushing over a look of concern on her face.  “Come here let me see that cut” As my grandmother poked and prodded the cut on my face I watched the chicken flop his last out on the lawn.  It wasn’t the first time I had seen death, but this one was different  I felt a hot rush of pride followed by pain in my cheek from the liberal dose of iodine my Grams had just splashed on my cheek.  Yeah that was the first time I remember killing , but it would not be the last…