Note: Standards disclaimers apply. Story and characters copyrighted to me and Stark. Purely fictional
Author's Note: Inspired by Stephen King's "The Dark Half". This was written on Decmber 2001 as a story for 'Wazzup?', a group magazine/project. Story is co-written with my friend Stark.
Darn Innocent
There was a boy who was once innocent and jolly. His name is Peter Bachshund. He used to play outside with his friends. He was so happy with his life toghether with his parents who had all the time for him because no work can distract them from their child.
But when Peter turned five, Mary and Thad decided to work so that they could give Peter everything he wants and needs and in preparation for Peter's future. Work seemed to be the liking of Peter's parents. They were always busy. Then, things began to change. Peter could see his parents anymore whenever he wakes up or by the time he gets home. His parents always left early in the morning, before he wakes up and go home in the dead of the night.
The sweet little boy who used to exist became a rebel. Rage, anger and bitterness were sown in him, which led him to do badly at school. During highschool, he and his so-called friends started using drugs. he continued 'til college but through those years, Peter's parents didn't even bother to ask him how he was doing or if he was doing okay.
One rainy night, Peter came home, half-drunk and half-high. he crept up the staris towards his room. Thunder roared and lightning cracked overhead. it was like a scene straight from a horror movie. But the the storm was having a curious effect on him. A small voice inside taunted him to go to his parent's room and watch them sleep.
As if controlled by a force, he proceeded to his parent's room acting like a small kid, afraid of the storm. A menacing gleam is seen in his eyes. He opened the dorr slowly, making sure the hinges woulndn't creak.
He stood noiselessly at the foot of his parent's bed and watched their peaceful slumber amidst the storm outside. He saw something shine in the corner of his eye. Lightning crackled. That something was a letter opener.
Still contralled by the force, he snatched the letter opener and started to play with it. The small voice taunted him again.
"Do you know how it feels to die in your sleep? I know you want to and know is the perfect chance to give you a clue. Go on. Do it."
Peter pondered on the thought for a moment. At the back of his drug/alcohol-high mind, something told him this was wrong. But he pushed the though away. Curiousity got the better of him. He crept towards his father's side of the bed. His father was lying on his back. Peter let adrenaline take over and started stabbing his father, his first blow was straight to the heart, killing his father instantly. Not contented, he stabbed the corpse again and again. Still he wasn't please, he started stabbing his mother.
Blood oozed out onto the ecru sheets, painting a curious design of red haphazardly slapshed over the sheets. The ecru sheet posed as its canvas and blood was abstractly painted on.
Satisfied, he fled the house thinking both of his parents were dead. He ran and ran, with no sense of direction, oblivious to the storm, and ran even more 'til his legs were heavy as lead and his lungs were about to collapse.
Meanwhile, in the Bachshund's residence, something moved beneath the bloody sheets. Lightning clapped. A woman emerged from beneath the blankets. Mary Bachshund survived through the killing frenzy her son made.
Several years later, someone left a colorful package on the porch right in frant of the door. The anonymous giver laft no clue of who s/he was or what s/he wants.
Mary took the package and the the attached card. it says, "To Mary Bachshund, Merry Christmas! From someone who loves you."
Mary opened the gift and pushed the tissue paper aside. What contained it shocked Mary. She let go of the gift, fell on her knees and sobbed. Inside box were black roses, a skull and a portrait of herself dead.
OWARI
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