Untitled 2

A Story by .

He was late home from school. His detention lasted longer than expected. A plate was thrown across the room aimed at him by his mother when he entered the kitchen. He was supposed to help with the tea.

The stand arguing for what feels like hours, each of them just shouting at each other until he finally shouts “ you don’t understand, f**k you!”

He ran as fast as he could straight to his room thinking of nothing more than how much he would love to kill everybody who loved him and then himself.

He reaches his room where he walked straight to his bed and sits head in hands playing the image of himself slowly imbedding a knife into his mothers neck and then his fathers, he played this over and over and over again.

The front door opened he knew that was his father coming home, he knew he was about to be beaten for slur of abuse he just gave to his mother.

What he didn’t know was how badly he was about to be beaten.

He had never seen his alcoholic father move so fast as he sprinted through his already open bedroom door shouting “so you think you’re f*****g clever do you, I’ll f*****g show you clever you little c**t!”

His fathers hands were like slabs of meet hitting him in the face, the beating didn’t stop.

His fathers hands just kept hitting him, he beat him within an inch of his life before standing above him and staring down at his bloody swollen son.

He spat on him and left the room shaking his head.

Even through all of the blood and swelling the only concentrate on anything other than the image of him swinging wildly for his father with the largest blade anybody could ever imagine.

He closes his eyes still only replaying his fathers death behind them.

He awoke in a cold sweat knowing exactly what he had to do. He left his room in silence. The only noise he could hear was the noise of his heart beating surprisingly slow considering what he was about to do. The kitchen door opened with the sort of silence that could put shivers down anybody’s neck. Not his though, he continued to the kitchen draw. It opened, he removed the largest knife he could find.

He glared down at the blade, adrenaline began to race through his body.

Now his heart began to beat faster. And faster. And faster.

On his return journey back up the stairs he moved much quicker than before, he couldn’t wait.

He passed his room and went straight into his parents room.

He quietly and softly whispered the words “ mother, father.”

Both of them awoke suddenly to the sight of their son . His father asked “ what are you doing?”

He replied without words only by holding the knife to his neck and thrusting it directly in, blood squirted across the room. It hit his mother in the face.

The delight he feels seeing the faces on his parents as he collapses to the floor makes him realise he has hurt his parents more than any knife to them could have done.

He closed his eyes the happiest he has ever been.

© 2009 .

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runaway smile_<3

I think that this is a good write, but that it could've been a lot deeper; for example, the buildup to the end instead of just coming and the reader being like "oh my" the writing could've been more poignant, there causing the reaction to the end being a tear or the reader actually feeling the pain of the knife.
I like this.