Where are you? WHEN is the better question!
752 Words
I walked the walk of shame. I had sat in front of my now ex-girlfriend, who was sitting behind a screen. She was ashamed and disappointed, that much was obvious. Around her was my family; my mum, holding onto her cross and muttering a silent prayer. Probably damning me. My dad held his arm around his forty three old wife, his fifty six year old rich man demeanour almost swallowing everyone around him. He wanted to be the most important man there, so obviously he'd where the most expensive things; a Rolex golden watch on his left wrist, 24 carrot gold bracelet on his right. Christian Louboutin shoes on his feet, a designer shirt and blazer upon his torso. Trousers fitted and made by the finest tailors in the city. Practically swaying around his absurd amount of inherited wealth in everyone's gaze, anyone who would look at him anyway. My little sister, only sixteen and three years younger than me, smiling and looking strangely excited. Her eyes devoid of sadness and full of a sick amusement. It was like she was looking at a pet being put to sleep.
He... hurt me... The tears had looked so real at the time. So real, so authentic. Can... can you help me... Randy? I grit my teeth, anger raging within my gut. I felt cheated, betrayed. I screamed curses directed at her, spit flying from between my lips. If only I had done this. If only I hadn't listened. If only had hadn't cared for her. These were examples of the thoughts that went through my head. I launched forward, kept back restraints. I felt a doctor tapping my arm, my blue vein almost popping out. I felt the needle push into my skin, separating the flesh and entering the vein. The liquid soon following. The effects hit me only a few seconds after, my head swaying, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. My mind had felt fuzzy, my body becoming weak. I fell back against my chair, my voice dying down to slow, incomprehensible and slurred lines of threats, of promises. Of regrets. I look back to my family, all of them looking relieved. The disappointment is dead! I could almost hear them think this, the thoughts entering my head. I looked past them, to the back. A boy stood there, dressed in white with muddy brown hair that hung below his eyes. Blood slowly seeping down his forehead, where his skull was crushed with a hammer. I give a slight smile, acknowledging him. This is what you wanted to see... right?
This last thought was what guided me to the depths of hell. To the depths of where I was going to spend the rest of eternity. Or what I had thought was going to be my eternity.
I opened my eyes, to greet what looked to be a grey sky. I blink a couple of times, expecting something to change. Expecting the sky to at least look evil. That wasn't all a dream... right? I sit up to be greeted by what looked to be a small park, houses and shops on the other side of it. I felt a pang of familiarity, of nostalgia. This... This is... "This is where you were born, Mr. Bennet." The voice seemed to come from a man next to me. I hadn't noticed him before, but I was shocked to realise that I hadn't. He was ridiculously tall, dressed in what looked to be a butler outfit. White gloved hands behind his back, he was just staring at the swing, the rusted chains fit to break under the weight of his gaze. "W-what?" He sighed and looked down upon me, as if I was an ignorant six year old. Not a nineteen year old child murderer. "You are dead, Mr. Bennet. You had died, now fit to go through your personally designed punishment." He turned back to the swing. I swallow and stand, not even reaching his chin. "Punishment...?" I mutter. I had expected fiery pits, a three pronged spear gutting me every so often. Not... my childhood home town. "Yes, your punishment. You all deserve no paradise after all." Wait, I thought, you all....? He pointed behind him. "Let us get this segment out of the way." He turned to me as I soon realised what he was pointing at. A small two storey house, with two newly weds and a crying baby only born a week ago. My home. "Shall we?"
- Writer
