The Darker Part

Chapter 1

I always knew there was something dark inside me.

Something that wasn't talked about much by my family or anyone per say.

I knew it the moment I watched my father carry an air conditioner down the stairs. Watching him struggle gave me more joy than any toy car could. It wasn't just the struggle that sent the chills up my body, it was the fact that the cord had become wrapped around his ankle.

I watched him fall down the rest as the air conditioner fell on top of him, the metal blades sticking right into his skin. His neck was snapped and as a seven-year-old, I didn't know much about what had happened.

I could have called 911 like my father had taught me all the time, but instead I wanted to touch it. I wanted to look at his eyes. I wanted to feel the fear and death that was about to take over him.

"K-Kieran, get h..." his words were cut off as I put my hand over his mouth. "Shh daddy, it will be okay. I researched that sometimes people could live with even having a broken neck." I kissed his forehead and I sat on the air conditioner.

Sorry, did I say sit? I meant aggressively jumped up and down on it while the blades plowed my father to death.

"You did good Kieran." I heard the other voice in my head say and part of me was scared, but the other part was jumping with joy.

I played with the blood that was running down my father's body and picking at the skin that was open. I wanted to touch his heart, but before I could go any deeper my damn mother came in. Something clicked back and I started crying.

She was crying and screaming while holding me close. Part of me felt terrible, but good? Which one was I supposed to feel?

11 years later

"Kieran, could you grab Adley's work and bring it to her?" Ms. Smil wasn't one of the bad ones, neither was Adley. Her legs were paralyzed and most of the time, I was one the who did everything for her. Which I didn't mind because her sweetness brought me to smile most of the time.

I handed Adley the work that we're going over today and sat in the back. I wasn't one of those weird kids that sat by themselves, but when I have dark days it's best if I stay away from everyone. I looked at the clock.

9 AM.

I raised my hand to use the john so I could swallow the handful of my mental drugs that the damn psychiatrists keep making me take ever since the accident with my father.

Ms. Smil knew that I needed to go take my medication and always let me go. I wish I didn't have to take it to not feel this dark shadow feeling like it's going to choke every part of me that is human out.

I take my meds and rinse my face in the sink and take a deep breath.

"You are not your thoughts, Kieran." I whisper to myself as I my head gets filled with the trauma that I call my life comes all back to me. The medicine helps my brain shut up for a little while, but it's not permeant.

"Kieran! I feel like I haven't seen you in so long!"

That was obviously intentional.

"Hey Damien! Yeah, football kind of wasn't my thing anymore." We only knew each other through football and he couldn't have been happier when I quit. He got to be the star quarter back. Sometimes I thought about what my hands would look like around his fake ass throat. Not in the good, sexual way.

"Well, you'll find something that really fits your 'special' needs." God, I wanted to kill him.

He waved goodbye after using the urinal and I leaned against the wall as I was looking down at my hands.

I've killed with these hands before.

It was riveting.

It was just a small mouse that had kept coming onto my bed at night and shitting on it. I was so fucking pissed. My cat and best friend, Lilly had been after it for weeks. I wanted the fucker dead more than she did.

It was around 9 PM and my mom knew Lilly had gotten the mouse and it bit her. I watched as it crawled its way into a corner and couldn't get out.

I couldn't let it get away.

I wouldn't.

I thought about all the ways that I could help it. It was bitten anyway and was going to suffer. So. I might as well put it out of its misery.

I thought of a can of corn, then a shoe, but none of that would have worked. May, who was my older sister handed me a broom stick that had broken off.

It was perfect.

I didn't think I could do it at first, but I took a deep breath in.

I stabbed right through to its stomach.

I watched it scream and take its last breath. I watched as its eyes popped out of its head and part of me wanted to pick them out.

Did I want to keep them in a jar? Remember my first kill? The first life I had taken?

I ended up just stopping and throwing it away into a box outside, but I had thought the medicine would really help me not act on these thoughts. The thoughts that have been plowing me since as long as I could remember.

This was the first time I took a life with my own hands.

These two hands.

I clutched them together and them put them into my short pockets.

If I could kill the simplest of things for doing me wrong, could I kill a person the same way?