*Hello everyone! This is my first story on watt pad! This is a short story only containing a few parts, but I hope you enjoy it!*
“Hush child, the darkness will rise from the deep and carry you down into sleep …” hums Nora rocking back and forth on a plain white couch, dressed in a plain white gown, in a plain white room.
Muttering next to her and disturbing her lullaby sits Hannibal, a small beady eyed man in his late fifties. Hannibal appears to be in a trance, gnawing on what was left of his scabbed bloody lips. Dribbles of blood run down his chin and onto his chest, staining his bright white straight jacket. As he stares blankly at the white wall before him, Nora notices a small, dirty porcelain doll leaning against his chair. Jagged cracks and chips distort the doll’s face, fashioning it into a sinister leer. Nora gazes as though entranced by the gleaming green eyes of the doll that seem to return her gaze lovingly. All Nora can see is the green eyes of her baby boy she had held in her arms all too long ago, and his tortured screams. Yet again Nora lapses back into one of her trances, where all she can hear are her baby’s cries.
In her mind, Nora stands in her cramped apartment where her baby shrieks as her landlord demands her rent money.
“WHERE’S MA MONEY, WOMAN! I KNOW YOU GOTS MA MONEY! IT TWO WEEKS ORADUE! I NEED DAT MONEY NOW!” Dexter screams in a fit of rage, pounding on Nora’s kitchen table in impatience.
Remnants of his last high are evident around the holes of his nostrils. Nora stares at the white powder caked on Dexter’s nose. He notices her stare, and attempts to brush off the rest of the drug, inhaling deeply. Nora, unsure of what to do, backs up and stands protectively in front of her baby’s crib. She knows the cocaine is overshadowing Dexter’s judgement. He needs the money to get his next high; she needs the money to keep her baby boy alive. Her baby, now wailing like a banshee, generates screams that fill the tiny apartment.
Nora in a terrified voice pleads with Dexter “P-Please Dex. Just give me one more day. Just one more day! I promise-No...I swear I’ll have it tomorrow. My baby, you see h-he has Type One Diabetes. I need this money to buy insulin for my baby. H-he won’t make it without it.”
Nora’s eyes fill with tears and she gestures to her baby frantically, hoping somehow to convince Dexter that she really needs the money.
Dexter with his gaze as cold as ice, shakes his head unmoved. He doesn’t care about her, or her stupid baby; in that moment all he could think about was the powder white substance that rules his life.
“I AIN’T ASKIN’ AGAIN! IF YA DON’T GIMME MA MONEY NOW, I’M GONZ TAKE YO BABY, THEN IT DEAD ANYWAY!” Dexter shouts his voice harsh and unrelenting.
Nora could see he is not giving up and begins to panic.
“I’m not messing around woman.” Dexter whispers in an eerily calm voice as he pulls out his revolver.
Nora’s eyes widen in panic. She knows this is it, if she doesn’t act soon her baby will die and her life will be meaningless. Her husband left her; her family abandoned her; she has nothing left. This is it. I’d rather die than let him take my baby. Nora contemplates before lunging at Dexter, sending them both crashing into the wall.
The gun goes off.
Silence.
Stillness reverberates throughout the apartment sending shivers down Nora’s spine. Spatters of red sludge drip out of the baby’s crib staining the white tiled floor.
Nora howls like a wounded animal. Seemingly possessed, she grabs the gun as though it is a reflex reaction, points it at Dexter, and pulls the trigger without blinking an eye.
