| Subject: Chapter two: Let the insanity begin. Warning-Full of anger, hate and different descriptions of death. |
Author:
Torleep
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Date Posted: 07:08:51 09/24/03 Wed
In reply to:
Torleep
's message, "Advance notice" on 07:02:56 09/08/03 Mon
Chapter Two: Disgusting yet interesting
‘Darn people,’ thought Shaun. He was lying on his bed, watching T.V and had just seen another ad of girls acting as though the world is good. ‘They’re all fools. They could die any minute and they’re discussing which lollies resemble which guy they know. Idiots.’
He looked at his bedside clock. It was eight fifty-six. His dad would be home from the pub soon. ‘Tonight’ll be the last night they fight about money and whatnot. Oh, the enjoyment. The pure insanity!’ he thought again. He looked over at the sharp, shining, stainless steel knife next to his clock and the never-used baseball bat , which his father had bought him for his seventh birthday, resting up against his cupboard. His plan was perfect.
Shaun turned his attention back to the T.V. as Blue Heelers came back on. He liked this show as it was home-grown Aussie and not as full of idiots as many of the other shows on. And he could use the plans of many of the criminals on the show to formulate his own plans, remove mistakes and add in good ideas.
His father was a little later than usual tonight. Shaun had to sit through another session of idiot-filled ads before he heard his father’s car come up the driveway. Just as officer P.J. was chasing down the latest crim, he heard the front door open and shut again.
Shaun rolled off his bed and stood up. He grabbed the knife and strolled towards the door, picking up the baseball bat as he walked by. The yelling began just as he walked out his door. A second later, his baby sister Melinda began crying. Shaun walked down the hall into her room and looked down into the crib. Melinda’s head was popping out from the sheets, high-pitched screaming emanating from it in a constant stream. Shaun smiled at her and reached down into the crib. He then pushed her head back, placed the knife against her throat and pulled. Her crying ceased. He wiped the blade across the sheets to keep it clean. As Melinda’s blood spilled out, spread across the sheets and began dripping to the floor, Shaun left the room.
He walked halfway back down the hall and turned right, into the kitchen. He put the knife on the benchtop and walked to the fridge. He opened the door and pulled out a pop top. He popped the top and sprayed some of the juice into his mouth, listening to the fight. His mother’s voice had gone high-pitched and his father sounded excessively angry. Shaun put the top of the pop top back down, put it back in the fridge and closed the door. He began counting as he sauntered back to the knife. ‘One, two,’ he picked up the knife. ‘Three, four, five, six.’ the yelling stopped and something hit the ground hard. Shaun hid the knife behind his back and, moments later, his father entered the kitchen from the loungeroom. He was breathing heavily and looked very tense.
Shaun acted as though he didn’t notice. He put the bat down against the main food cupboard and looked at his father, who spoke. ‘What’ve you got your bat for? It’s a bit late to play, if you want to start. Maybe on Saturday.’
‘Sure dad,’ replied Shaun unenthusiastically. He watched as his father went to the fridge and pulled out some lettuce, a tomato and a block of cheese. He put these next tot the bread and, opening the utensil draw, began rummaging through the contents.
After a minute of fruitless searching he turned to Shaun. ‘Have you seen the good knife?’ he enquired.
Shaun, revealing the knife from behind his back, answered ‘Here it is, father.’ He strode forth with his hand outstretched towards his father and, as his father reached out to take it, Shaun pulled it back, took one extra step forward and thrust the knife into his father’s stomach, sharp edge up.
The man’s mouth opened wide in shock as Shaun slid the knife up. As it began to grate the bottom of the ribcage, he pulled it out. Blood was slowly slopping out on to his feet, mingled with other fluids from his father’s wounds and the blood dribbling from his father’s mouth.
His father gasped, ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’ spraying Shaun with blood in the process. That was the last he ever said. Shaun plunged the knife between his ribs and into his heart. His eyes misted over and he fell into the spreading pool of his own blood. Shaun smiled again as he heard the dull splat.
Retrieving his bat from the cupboard, Shaun stepped carefully past the spreading blood pool and into the loungeroom. The T.V was on and Blue Heelers was just finishing. His mother watched it every week as well. Shaun turned his attention to his mother, who was slumped unconscious on the floor.
Shaun stood over her and began the final part of his first plan. He placed the knife edge against his cheek and slid it down. He winced as he felt his skin split and, as warm blood dribbled down to his chin and dripped onto the floor, he knelt down and placed the knife in his mother’s limp hand.
Next, he held the baseball bat in both hands. Still kneeling, he slowly swung it back behind his shoulder. Then, quick as lightning, he brought it back over his shoulder and crashed it into his mother’s head. He repeated the process many times, but did not hit hard enough to kill. He heard cracks and squelches, and blood began to drip from her mouth, but she continued to breathe.
When Shaun stopped, he stood up and drop the bat next to his mother’s body. His smile grew wider as he walked back into the kitchen. Again he avoided his father’s blood pool, which had ceased to spread, and walked to the microwave. He picked up the phone, began to sob piteously, and dialed 000.
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