Bloody Birthday

Birthday parties are so depressing. Depressing enough to murder someone or to commit suicide?

Today was his birthday.

He never understood the concept beneath all that party and happiness. That was just something he couldn’t relate to.

The parents didn’t know what to do. “My… Such a cute little child. He should be happy playing along with the other children. I don’t know what we did wrong.” “I told you, you shouldn’t have smoked during pregnancy.” “Me? It’s your lazy and depressed outlook on life he’s inherited.”

The guilt game had just started and the darts flew across the table, trying to hit as many headshots as possible (triple points).

(This is stupid. What are they thinking? I have my own mind; I can make my decisions. The only fault I can blame them is that they don’t realize my awakening. They still treat me like a child, who I’m not.)

The house was so cheerfully depressing that he felt faintness amongst all that plastic cover of happiness. His parents were trying too hard and all their attempts were just as lame as they were increasingly demented threats to the poor boy’s sanity.

“Did you speak to him? Well, did he like it?” “I don’t know. He just locked himself in his room as soon as he saw the clowns and the balloons.” “Well… I’m sure he’s just overwhelmed by all this excitement… It’s not everyday you turn 10, you know.”

The twitch on her hands as she held the knife was happening one time too many. She had her back to her husband, cutting strawberries into a bowl, seasoning them with her bittersweet tears as she cut herself.

She let the blood drop onto the strawberries and then started to smile.

Knocks on the door. “Honey, it’s time to cut the cake. Everything will be over afterwards so just come on out. Let’s just cut it, okay?”

Reluctantly, he stepped out of the room. He looked up and saw his own mother’s face contorting in an inexplicable mix of emotions as if her face had turn into liquid. He was unsure.

She looked down and saw her own child’s face remain as still and lifeless as a rock. She started to remember that she had never seen him laugh. Not even the faintest smile. It broke her heart. (He’s miserable, I can tell. How can he live like this? He’s always so depressed. He never laughs. If he can’t be happy, then…)

She led him down the stairs and sat him at the center of the table. All his “friends” were there, but he didn’t even look at them.

They started singing as enthusiastically as one could when you face a birthday boy that almost screams from the top of his lungs: (Someone, please, kill me now!)

They were halfway done singing. The mother grabs the knife to cut the cake. Truly, a knife more sharpened than it needed to be.

Happy birthday, dear K., Happy Birthday to you.

Clapping sounds, the crowd cheers.

The boy leans over. Fills his lungs full of air.

Mother moves gently behind him to help. One hand held his back, another held the knife.

He starts expelling the air on his lungs. Mother cuts throat. Blood gushes onto the cake putting out the candles.

What was his wish, anyway?

Author's Note

Please tell me what you think. I would greatly appreciate it!

Reviews

[Jéssica Fernande..]

this is so powerful and chilling, yet, very well written - everything flowing so well.. and the way you put the emotions into words, genial!

[Marie]

This is a very challenging story. I had to read it twice to get the full meaning. I can't quite classify it.It isn't fantasy, but not quite main-stream either. I'd like to see what else you can do.

[Tamelia Jade]

Ewies haha :) I loved this, it was really great. I loved the way it flowed and how you described his feelings because I think you got it perfectly! Great story, thank-you :)