Perfect Family

Chapter Nine: Philza Minecraft

[Edited]

fast forward to after dinner (they are all asleep and this is a dream/flashback :) 

TW: Blood, guns, knocking out, kidnapping

Third Persons's POV

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Phil was stuck in what seemed to be endless black void. Everything Phil tried, failed. Run and find the nearest wall? No end. Try digging through what he seemed to be standing on? There was nothing. He was levitating. Try to climb through what might be a ceiling? There isn't one. Or it's too high for Phil to get to. 

"Kill . . . kill . . . kill." The word lingered around in his brain even after he stopped hearing them.  Franticly, he spun around, looking for the source of the noise. But he couldn't find it. Without warning, a man, slowly struted towards him. He had a lime green crop huddie with a plack shirt under it and black cargo pants almost as black as the void around them. But his most noticeable trait was the pristine white smiley face mask he wore, covering up his face. And it looked like he was . . .

. . . laughing?

"Don't you want to help a dear old, friend?" The odd man asked after he was finished with his silent laughter. "I only have a few jobs for you. Then I'll be out of your hair." Even thought Phil wan't able to get a peak at the strange man's face, he somehow knew that he was smiling.  

"Kill them, you have to kill them . . ." What Phil assumed his was the stange man's henchman chanted over and over. Unless . . . it was his imagination.

"Kill, raise, and train . . . then give him to me. It's just like the others. Not to hard.  It's not like you would want to have to take care of monsters. Don't worry you'll know what to do." Smiley deadpanned. And somehow, deap inside of him, Phil knew that Smiley wouldn't take no for and answer. 

It looked like his levitating time was up, because Phil was definitly falling.

The familiar sensation of having a gun on hand washed over him. The power in his hands. The knowledge that someone was going to die. The thought that one wrong slip up and he himself could be dead.

 He was doing it again.

"Where is he? . . . I know you're hidding hime somewhere. All you have to do is hand him over. Then life for both of us would be so much simpler. You would be free of the responsiblities of having a child, and I wouldn't have to kill you! " The silence cut through the air like a knife. Guess they weren't giving up their child as long as they lived.

Too bad they wouldn't for much longer.

The gun went off two times, like so many times before. The crying child with abnormaly pink hair was surpisingly easy to find. He had come running once he heard the gun go off. He must have been tucked away in a seceret compartment. But for the first time in his career, something made Phil pause. It was the look of absolute fear in the child's poor innocent little eyes.

And then he was falling again. This time into a different room.

Now he was in the kitchen of a familiar house, one that he visited every almost night in his dreams just like the one before. 

"Look at me . . ." He teased as the parents of the next victom stayed where they where not moving or looking up at him. "Look at me and tell me where he is now!" Still no response. The two gun shots went off again. He must have had a big temper that day. And that doesn't mix well with having a gun on had. But as much as Phil wanted and tried to change what had happened every night, it was always the same. It was like he was trapped in the body of someone else, paralized, not able to do anything, not able to feel anything but sadness and guilt. He was just stuck.