How's this for a Wet Dream? [Nightmare On Elm Street]

Chapter 19: Planning, Accomplishing

With the mention of the school shooting thing, I wondered exactly how deep inside my mind Freddy had been. I hadn't actually ever wanted to kill anyone before. I mean, sure I'd though about it but only in a fantasy sort of way...letting off steam I guess. But mostly it was just my Mom...and, I guess if I were honest with myself...I had legitimately thought about killing her before...

My mind flashed back then to the night I had planned to end the suffering. Mom had never been the same song everything happened with Dad. Not to say she was the perfect maternal figure before that. But she became depressed then. She had suicidal thoughts. She got up many days quite late, telling me she wished she hadn't woken up at all. She spent most of her time at home, Doing this that and the other to pay the bills. Selling things, dipping into savings. Fortunately the home had been paid off so there was no rent or house note... I remember she often asked if it were wrong of her to wish she was dead or that Dad was. I, of course, tried to assure her to the contrary while simultaneously suggesting she talked to someone. Though she wasn't sick. Didn't need help, she insisted. It was bullshit and she knew it.

Nonetheless, the scattered meals, the over sleeping, and even drinking more often... So much proved otherwise. Not that I could tell other people. Firstly, I didn't have anyone. A couple of family members...my shallow friends... But nobody would see it. She was too isolated. Put on too good of a face. And 'it was just a bad time, she'd bounce back.' When I had mentioned something to her sister, I had been told that. Ha. Whatever... I guess everyone was too focused on themselves.

But these things and her unfairness to me continued. Only last year, I had decided I had enough. I wanted her gone. Dead.  No longer hurting herself or me. And I didn't care if I got caught. Juvie, prison, a psych ward...no possible terrible outcome could be worse than being stuck with her. Even when I turned eighteen, I still wouldn't have anything but her...still wouldn't have the strength of will to make her hate me. Because that would also come with me being the bad guy. Everyone would take her side and she'd make sure of that.

That night, she had been saying she wanted a drink but that she didn't need it. I coaxed her (easily) into buying the liquor anyway. You need a break, I said, just a little treat. It's not like you drink all the time... She liked mixing her own drinks at home so she typically would buy a couple litres of different alcohol and some mixes. She would have a few drinks then dump the rest of the beverages out in guilt. That night, as I went to bed, I asked if she was going to make a drink. She said she would have one before she laid down. So, I lay awake, pretending to have fallen asleep for another hour or so before I heard her make her way to bed.

Giving it some more time, I crept out of my room and stood in her doorway. I called her name or 'Mom,' rather, a couple of times. She didn't move or otherwise respond so I knew she was asleep...or else she'd bitch at me for being up. There was one gun in the house at the time. When we were left alone, she had gotten it for protection even though she hated guns... It was a small pistol. P30something? I really didn't know much about those things...but she kept it in her nightstand.

I went inside her bedroom, cautiously, approaching her side. I spoke her name once more and no response. Putting my hand on the second drawer knob, I slowly pulled it open to be sure it made no noise. The pistol was laying there... I loved my hand onto it, lifting it inside the drawer, but not out in case she woke up before I was ready. My heart was thudding in my chest. My Dad had taught me when I was pretty young how to shoot a couple different types of gun. Another kind of pistol- like the ones police carried- and an assault rifle. But it had been so long...

I fiddled with the weapon. My hands were shaky. I knew the safety had to be on, but I couldn't figure out if I was switching it right... I didn't want to shoot it without being sure it was armed. Mom shifted in her sleep then and I instantly put the gun back down and slid the drawer closed. I didn't move from my position. Instead, I stood there, just staring at her. She was still asleep. Forget  shooting her! I thought. The lamp on the table was heavy. If I hit her hard enough... My vision darted between her body and the lamp. Images of me hitting her over and over on the head...even her waking up, dazed, trying to fight back as I kept striking her...flooded my mind.