A collection of short stories in which the root of their love is simultaneously the harbinger of their demise. Because the risque of the heart's desires is often found embedded in the knife jutting through it.
"...you're writing style is top-notch...
The liquid slid down his throat as his father ran in. But instead of being white teethed and joyful, he was bloody and frightened. "Dad?" Axel muttered. Then his mother stormed in after, her Christmas sweater ripped beyond recognition. And they stared at him like they hardly knew him. Or they wished that they didn't. He was sure he heard his heart crack.
"Why did you have to drink Axel?" they said simultaneously.
His bottom lip quivered. "I-I'm sorry."
And everything came rushing back to him like a powerful gust. The memories he'd tried suffocate revived itself. Back from the dead. Back for revenge.
Then his little brother, curly hair soaked in velvet and skin burnt black as leather, waddled in. "Why did you have to drink Axel?"
And like a mere mist or an insignificant illusion, their bodies dissolved and the kitchen revealed to still be empty, the decorations non-existent, and the happiness a lie.
He took a shot.
Because as the harsh liquid scorched his tongue, he remembered everything. A year ago today, his father never took the vodka from his hand. He allowed him to drink. A year ago today, his mother never suggested Monopoly over vodka. She allowed him to drink. A year ago today, his little brother was just as innocent.
So when his mother needed to pick something up from the grocery store, he thought he was sober enough to drive, he thought he was doing a kind gesture, he thought he was being a man for his family. He didn't know he would crash the car. He didn't know he would kill his family. He didn't know that a year from then, he would come home to an empty house and lose his mind overtaking one less shot.
Axel took another swig, his body slumping to the kitchen floor. Hazy and dreadful, he realized that the Axel who hopped in that car was not the same Axel who was wheeled out. Somewhere pressed between the seats that wrapped around that tree, he had died with them.
By the time when the darkness had flooded him, he was in the best state of unknowing bliss, a naïve cave that kept his mind completely aware. But as soon as the deceitful light cracked through his eyelids, his stomach twisted and his chest caved. He didn't need the doctors to tell him what he'd done.
So Axel loves the darkness because it is a soft hush to wipe away his tears, just like his mother's words.
So Axel loves the darkness because it is a comforting hand to grip after the day was done ruining him beyond repair, like his father's hands.
So Axel loves the darkness because it is a blanket of familiar shadows he can engulf himself in, like he did with his brother's sheets on that day.
He took a shot. Then another. And another. And another.
The darkness, unlike this... building, had his mother's comforting whispers and his father's strong hands and his brother's soft blankets; it was irrefutably, undeniably, without a doubt, his home.
Authors Note
There you go! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I loved writing it because it really was such a great experience. Go ahead and give that vote button a click if this part made you feel some typa way, comment and tell me what you thought and don't forget to share this story with your friends! Thanks for reading!
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