FIRST INSTALLMENT:

 1) A worm, when I ran over it on my tricycle at the age of 3.

 I was devastated at the time - wept at the scene of the crime, hunched over the pinky-squiggling death throes of the creature. I felt guilty for days, possibly weeks, which brings into question modern psychological theorizing regarding the age a human being is able to develop a conscious, and feel empathy for other living things.

2) A bee. At a picnic in the woods, I stepped on a bee. Somehow it got under my tiny Dr. Scholl sandals. I was 4 years old at the time. The sting hurt like hell, but what I remember most, all these decades later, is the dead bee nestling, still and furry and stiff, underneath my summer-tanned foot. I again felt tremendous sadness, remorse, and guilt (see above regarding possible psychological implications).

 3) Trust. I opened a jar of creamed marshmallow (brand new) - Had to get a chair and climb up onto the matte-yellow kitchen counter tile to reach the cupboard where it lay in wait for me in the darkness, sickly and sweet, and maddeningly tempting. The assault of my small, 4- year old fingers in the creamy, swirly, blindingly white marshmallow wetness was discovered by my older cousin, who confronted me, Gestapo-style. I lied and said it wasn't me, but we both knew it was.

4) Trust (again). Some friend of my mother's made powder-sugar cookies. My mom put them in the cupboard above the refrigerator. While she sat in the living room talking to her friends, I again got the chair and began my Everest-like climb to where they rested in a tin, seemingly a mile-high away from my 5-year old reach. Mission accomplished: I shoved a few in my mouth as quickly and quietly as I could. Suddenly my mother's piercing, shrill, Edith-Bunker like voice broke through my feasting-induced, sugar-laden trance. "ANGIE? What are you doing???" "Eating graham-crackers," I quickly replied, my face hot with shame, guilt, and the remains of rapidly drifting-away pleasure. "We don't HAVE any graham crackers!" she screamed.

Gulp.

 (And so I am curious: What have YOU killed during your lifetime, dear O.S. readers?)