Three, 6, Twine

A fictional story about someone who had a bad life and took it out on the one that tried to make it the best it could be. When being null is the worst; love is not the answer.

The was a chair, a door, and a closet. That was all that was left of my mother. She had nothing to leave and no one really to leave it to. Thats me. No one. I have no face, no feelings; nothing. I'm null i guess. But she wasn't null. You would think that she was by her limited life style but she wasn't. She was vibrant and full of life, joy, energy, excitement! Love. Thats what she had the most of. Love. Love for everyone and everything in the world. She would show me that all you needed in life was love to get you through the day and the rest would follow. The day she told me that, was the day she died. 

I have always been simple. Nothing more, nothing less. I farmed but wasn't a farmer. Grew my own food and killed my own livestock. I didn't need much. But the one thing i needed most was love. And i had it. My mother was the one that i loved more than anything in the world. And she loved me just the same. My father was a drunk. One who didnt do anything and died because his stomach burst from drinking. He drank his life away. But my mother didn't. She was murdered.

When i think of my childhood, pleasant thoughts dont come to mind. There was a dog who bit, a drunk of a father, and a brother who never cared for a soul in the world. My mother loved us all anyway. I wish I didnt grow up the way i did. Hating my brother and father, loathing my mother for not leaving them and taking me with her. The only things in the world that meant a thing to her, killed her.

A saw, a nail, and twine. Thats what they killed her with. My brother cut trees for fun. He believed that too much standing still was bad for anything and felt anything idle was to die by motion. Not in motion. My father always tripped on one nail the stuck out from the floor. He was so drunk all the time he would forget it was there and stub his toes on that nail no matter what day of the week it was, without fail. I loved twine. My family was was so poor we couldn't afford anything. But there was a a butcher a mile from home that wrapped his meat in twine. I always wanted to weave with wool, but twine was all i had. I liked to weave the twine so tightly together that not a single fiber would break loose.

My mother in her chair, shoved in her closet, with the door closed. Tied down with my tightly weaved twine around her neck, arms, and legs. The nail wedged between toe nail and flesh till every toe was purple and bleeding red. Her idle hands being sawed off one by one. The twine. So tight around her neck she couldn't let a single word out. Or breath. 

She was murdered by the ones she loved most in the world.

On her chair.

In her closet.

Behind a closed door.

With a saw.

A nail.

And some twine.

I loved my mother and she loved us. But i have no face, no feelings; nothing. I am Null.

Author's Note

Just a sample story to get my juices flowing