1 Name: Nightshade : 2011-08-20 01:15 ID:iow9x/pg [Del]
Walking down the street, he kept his eyes fixed to the ground. He reminisced about the day he just had.
The morning started like any other. Yelling reached his room from the living room below. His parents were having their disagreements again. His mother’s shrieks pierced his ears and his father’s shouts made him fall into himself. He couldn’t decipher the topic and didn’t care to try. It made no difference if he knew or not.
Pulling himself out of bed, he glanced at the time. He still had time before school. He jumped in the shower and let the water run down his body, relaxing his muscles and waking him up. Once dressed, he grabbed his iPod and his school bag and walked out the door. Leaving the verbal violence behind, he blasted music into his ears, drowning in the angst of his favorite bands.
At school, students gathered with their friends, talking about TV shows and the latest gossip. He walked to an area devoid of curious eyes. He took out a few pills and downed them. He allowed the pills to take affect on him, numbing his senses and his pain.
In class, he sat in the back corner, day dreaming about freedom and death: the death of his parents, the death of the student body and faculty, the death of himself. He imagined carrying a gun to school, hidden in his jacket. He imagined plunging a knife into his parents as they sleep.
At lunch, he sat alone, mixing weed into his food. As he ate, he thought about living on his own. Out on the street, he would sell drugs and make a small living. He could end up in a juvenile penitentiary or an orphanage. Surrounded by happy teenagers, he imagined how there lives must be, with parents who love them.
He spotted a girl sitting with her friends, apart from the conversation. She spotted him, her eyes devoid of emotion. They communicated silently from afar. Pain, loneliness, despair, emotions unknown to others flowed freely between them.
When lunch ended, he followed her, keeping a distance. She ignored him until she got to her class. They stared at each other silently before he walked away to his own class.
He decided to ditch class and wander the halls. While walking, he started to imagine kidnapping the girl. He thought about tying her limbs together and drugging her. He thought about keeping her to himself for company. He imagined what kind of life she must live. Were her parents abusive? Were they drug addicts? He imagined running away with her.
After school, he searched for her. When he found her, she was standing alone by the side doors, staring at nothing. He casually stood next to her, saying nothing. They acknowledged each other’s presence but didn’t speak. Time passed and it started to get dark before she decided to go home. He followed her silently.
They walked down a secluded street. She stopped walking and turned to face him, pulling out a knife. He watched her, eyes empty. She reached for his hand, making him hold onto the knife. He watched curiously, wondering what she was planning. She pointed the blade to her heart, pressing the tip against her skin through her shirt. Applying pressure, she made him draw a crimson line across her heart. The cut wasn’t deep enough to kill, but just enough to scar. She let go of his hand and the knife before turning to walk away, bleeding through her shirt.
He watched her leave before looking down at the knife in his head. As if in a trance, he watched the blood glisten on the blade. Wiping the blood with his shirt, he started his walk home, thinking about the events that occurred.
Once he got home, he took note of the darkness in the rooms. The silence calmed him, knowing his parents were either gone or asleep. He quietly walked up the stairs and slowly opened his parents’ bedroom door. He noticed both of them sleeping in their separate beds.
Taking out the knife, he held it over his mother’s chest, the blade aimed for her heart. One thrust and she would be dead. No more cries. No more screaming. Without blinking, he grabbed a pillow from the floor. In one motion, he plunged the knife into her heart and muffled her screams with the pillow. Within seconds, the screams subsided. He glimpsed at his father, snoring loudly, unaware of what just happened.
He walked towards his father, pillow in one hand, knife in the other. He remembered the beatings he received. The cuts, the bruises, the scars that came from his father’s own hands. He held up the knife, the blade still dripping with his mother’s blood. Pressing the pillow over his father’s face, he sliced his neck open slowly, reveling in the agonizing screams of his tormentor.
For making him suffer and making his mother into the horrible woman she was, he wanted him to suffer. Still holding the pillow in place, he slashed his father’s wrists and chest repeatedly, letting the blood flow freely onto the white sheets. Once the screams stopped, he cleaned the blade and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
He remembered the girl. He remembered the cut she had made over her own heart and began to wonder. He held the blade to his own chest and dragged it across his heart. He watched the blood spill from his own chest and walked out of the house.
Outside, he saw the girl standing in front of his house. Her shirt was stained red from earlier. Her face was emotionless as she watched him walk towards her, knife still in his grasp. He walked passed her, ignoring her completely. She followed him silently, letting him lead the way to her own house.
