Post by unlockedmind on Sept 16, 2014 14:11:05 GMT -5
Disclaimer: If you're too sensitive for your own good, might not wanna read this.
Holding back his tears, the small boy – no more than 7 years of age - choked out the words, “I hate you!” His mother, her face cold and hollow, brought her still hot pan against the boy's posterior. The hot pan that was being used to cook breakfast left a dark, blistering red mark on the boy's hind. The child's face reddened with anger and pain, tears pouring from his tired eyes. The child dropped to his knees, weak from fear and pain.
His mother said in a harsh voice, “Sit down. Now.” Obediently, the child stood up and limped to a nearby chair at the kitchen table; his ankle injured from when his father slammed the boy's bedroom door on him the previous night. The mother added on, “Don't you dare speak. You hear me, you little shit?” The child tried to regain control over his emotions; he didn't understand why they were like this to him. He believed he did nothing wrong, but was still being punished.
He said, his voice covered with sobs, “Yes, Mother...” His heart was crushed, lacking in love and compassion. His soul shattered, broken apart by those who gave him life. Even in his young age, he wanted death. His ankle throbbed and his rump continued to burn – starting to blister even worse. What seemed to have been out of nowhere, a ceramic mug flew from the living room and struck the boy against his face. The child screamed, the worst of the pain above his eyeball; where his eyebrow is. At first glance, only a bruise would be seen... But upon closer inspection, it was obvious to see a slight dip in his brow; the bone broken.
The father walked in and scoffed at the boy. “Get over it..” and slapped him across the face. The child was flung from his chair and landed on the ground with a sickening thud, his head bouncing off of the ceramic tile on the kitchen's floor. The boy's world spun around his gaze, the pain gone for a moment. His parents' voices were muffled in his dazed state.
He thought to himself, “Am I finally dying? Is this.. The end? Please, God... Please let it be the end.” The boy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He began his final prayer in hopes that it was the end for him. He then started to feel a throb in his head... The voices of his parents coming back. He opened his eyes and the world came into focus. He slowly sat up and got back into his chair clumsily. He began to cry. A deep, sorrowful cry. He prayed to God for the suffering to end. In mid-prayer, his head was grabbed by his hair and yanked upwards to look up at his mother. She began to yell and insult the boy. Calling him worthless... An accident. The child was used to the words of sheer hate.
“I wish you were never born, you filthy rodent! You are worthless! A piece of trash!” She yanked a handful of hair out of his head. Slowly, still very dazed, the boy laid his hands on the top of his head – now a bald spot – as the pain began to rise and come back. He didn't cry or make a peep. The pain silenced him completely. It had, quite literally, broken him. In a sudden spike in rage, the mother punched the boy across the face, almost shattering his jaw. Rather than pain rising in him again, pleasure started to fill him. The boy giggled a little.
Later that night, the boy hatched an idea while he laid in bed. He said to himself, “Maybe.. They hit and hurt me because they love me..? Is that how love is shown...? If that's how it's done... Then I want to tell mommy and daddy that... I love them... Very... Very much...” The boy hopped down from his bed and walked out. He stumbled and limped into the kitchen, finding his way through the dark. He dragged a chair to the counter and got up onto it. He reached for a rather large butcher's knife that his father would use to cut the meat up. Figuring that it was sufficient, he nodded and giggled again. He quickly hopped down back onto the floor and limped to his parents bedroom as fast as he could.
He opened the door quietly and sneaked up onto his parents' bed. He started with his mother first... He sat up onto her abdomen and lifted the large knife into the air. He brought it down quickly and into her chest – just between her breast. The stab fractured her sternum and pierced through the bronchial tubes that connected her lungs together. A joyous smile was on the child's face as his mother's blood spurted up onto his face. He brought the knife back up and impaled it into her neck. The knife entered easily, causing the mother's blood pressure to drop. She passed out and laid limp. She didn't made much of a sound as the kill was exceptionally quick. The boy carved the knife out to the side in her neck – cutting through her jugular and nearly decapitating her.
The child crawled next to his father and looked down at him. The boy thought of everything that the father had done to him... The child murmured, “Daddy loves me very much... I must.... show him....” The boy brought the knife up into the air once more and thrust it into the area of his neck at the base of the skull. It was an instant kill as it severed the father's brain stem. The boy twisted the knife in a semi-circle to cause a much more gorey scene. He called out in a joyous voice,“I love you both... So much...!”
The child looked to both of his parents with an elated smile. He laid in their bed between them after he smeared the word “SLASHY” with their blood on the headboard. The term was his new name... He liked the sound of it. Before the boy dozed off into sleep, he gave the corpses a soft, affectionate kiss on their cheeks and whispered, “Good night mommy and daddy... I love you...”
The Beginning
Holding back his tears, the small boy – no more than 7 years of age - choked out the words, “I hate you!” His mother, her face cold and hollow, brought her still hot pan against the boy's posterior. The hot pan that was being used to cook breakfast left a dark, blistering red mark on the boy's hind. The child's face reddened with anger and pain, tears pouring from his tired eyes. The child dropped to his knees, weak from fear and pain.
His mother said in a harsh voice, “Sit down. Now.” Obediently, the child stood up and limped to a nearby chair at the kitchen table; his ankle injured from when his father slammed the boy's bedroom door on him the previous night. The mother added on, “Don't you dare speak. You hear me, you little shit?” The child tried to regain control over his emotions; he didn't understand why they were like this to him. He believed he did nothing wrong, but was still being punished.
He said, his voice covered with sobs, “Yes, Mother...” His heart was crushed, lacking in love and compassion. His soul shattered, broken apart by those who gave him life. Even in his young age, he wanted death. His ankle throbbed and his rump continued to burn – starting to blister even worse. What seemed to have been out of nowhere, a ceramic mug flew from the living room and struck the boy against his face. The child screamed, the worst of the pain above his eyeball; where his eyebrow is. At first glance, only a bruise would be seen... But upon closer inspection, it was obvious to see a slight dip in his brow; the bone broken.
The father walked in and scoffed at the boy. “Get over it..” and slapped him across the face. The child was flung from his chair and landed on the ground with a sickening thud, his head bouncing off of the ceramic tile on the kitchen's floor. The boy's world spun around his gaze, the pain gone for a moment. His parents' voices were muffled in his dazed state.
He thought to himself, “Am I finally dying? Is this.. The end? Please, God... Please let it be the end.” The boy closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He began his final prayer in hopes that it was the end for him. He then started to feel a throb in his head... The voices of his parents coming back. He opened his eyes and the world came into focus. He slowly sat up and got back into his chair clumsily. He began to cry. A deep, sorrowful cry. He prayed to God for the suffering to end. In mid-prayer, his head was grabbed by his hair and yanked upwards to look up at his mother. She began to yell and insult the boy. Calling him worthless... An accident. The child was used to the words of sheer hate.
“I wish you were never born, you filthy rodent! You are worthless! A piece of trash!” She yanked a handful of hair out of his head. Slowly, still very dazed, the boy laid his hands on the top of his head – now a bald spot – as the pain began to rise and come back. He didn't cry or make a peep. The pain silenced him completely. It had, quite literally, broken him. In a sudden spike in rage, the mother punched the boy across the face, almost shattering his jaw. Rather than pain rising in him again, pleasure started to fill him. The boy giggled a little.
Later that night, the boy hatched an idea while he laid in bed. He said to himself, “Maybe.. They hit and hurt me because they love me..? Is that how love is shown...? If that's how it's done... Then I want to tell mommy and daddy that... I love them... Very... Very much...” The boy hopped down from his bed and walked out. He stumbled and limped into the kitchen, finding his way through the dark. He dragged a chair to the counter and got up onto it. He reached for a rather large butcher's knife that his father would use to cut the meat up. Figuring that it was sufficient, he nodded and giggled again. He quickly hopped down back onto the floor and limped to his parents bedroom as fast as he could.
He opened the door quietly and sneaked up onto his parents' bed. He started with his mother first... He sat up onto her abdomen and lifted the large knife into the air. He brought it down quickly and into her chest – just between her breast. The stab fractured her sternum and pierced through the bronchial tubes that connected her lungs together. A joyous smile was on the child's face as his mother's blood spurted up onto his face. He brought the knife back up and impaled it into her neck. The knife entered easily, causing the mother's blood pressure to drop. She passed out and laid limp. She didn't made much of a sound as the kill was exceptionally quick. The boy carved the knife out to the side in her neck – cutting through her jugular and nearly decapitating her.
The child crawled next to his father and looked down at him. The boy thought of everything that the father had done to him... The child murmured, “Daddy loves me very much... I must.... show him....” The boy brought the knife up into the air once more and thrust it into the area of his neck at the base of the skull. It was an instant kill as it severed the father's brain stem. The boy twisted the knife in a semi-circle to cause a much more gorey scene. He called out in a joyous voice,“I love you both... So much...!”
The child looked to both of his parents with an elated smile. He laid in their bed between them after he smeared the word “SLASHY” with their blood on the headboard. The term was his new name... He liked the sound of it. Before the boy dozed off into sleep, he gave the corpses a soft, affectionate kiss on their cheeks and whispered, “Good night mommy and daddy... I love you...”