Short Stories

Perfect Home

 "I know I'm an only child now, mother, but I'd much rather be an orphan if it means you and father are gone too.", the boy spoke through silencing tears.

A fearful woman lied defenseless, bound to her bed, next to her husband who had already took his last breath. A boy of the age of 15 towered over her, wielding a blade that was dripping fresh blood above his head with a face of pain. The woman sneered and rested her eyes close. She spoke with a kind of calm tone, but yet a tone of disgust. It was only a voice the boy could ever recognize so distinctly and a voice that only the woman in bed could make so perfectly. "I pray you never take another breath without remembering the breaths you've taken away tonight. We always knew you were a disappointment."

Tears dripped down the boy's cheeks and mixed with the blood splattered upon his face. "Shut up! Just shut up already!", the boy screamed before thrusting the knife downward into the woman's chest. He yanked it out again and buried the knife back into the woman. Over and over again, repeatedly, the boy stabbed his mother to death out of a burning passion fueled by hatred and anger. Once the boy was satisfied, he threw the knife across the room and stumbled to the corner, crying his heart out from pain. The boy was now an orphan, his brother killed first then his parents; but they deserved it. God, did they deserve it, the boy thought to himself. Sirens wailed in the far distance and people barged into the boy's home. It was over now. He was free.

***

"So why did you do it?", a new man questioned. The man was a detective now working on the case of Alex Cyrillus, the 15 year old boy who killed his family.

Alex sat in a metal chair handcuffed to the table. He was under pressure and felt enclosed in the small room. The walls closed in on him and his chest tightened, too fearful to speak. A cold sweat beaded his pale forehead, his puffy red eyes and blushing cheeks were the only color left in his face. His eyes looked blank and hollow as his gaze stared off into space.

"Well? Why did you do it?", the man repeated himself.

Alex could feel the stares penetrate through his body. He could feel the other detectives staring through the one-way glass. He could feel the stare of the detective in the room, pressuring him into talking. Alex knew his parents deserved it, he knew they had no right to live and they were better off six feet under with his brother. "They deserved it...", Alex finally croaked.

The detective became angered, his hand curled in a fist slamming it on the metal table. Alex jumped at the sound, he flinched in fear, bracing himself for the screaming that was to follow. "They deserved it, huh? When did you become the law?!", the man screamed, "Just confess to i-" The detective was interrupted by another man entering the room quickly.

"Sir, may I?", the new man almost stated the question towards the detective as if the detective had no choice.

The detective grumbled to himself and turned to walk out the open door. The new man walked into the room and closed the door behind him. The man was nicely dressed in a vest, collared shirt, bow tie, slacks, and black dress shoes. He looked more approachable and kinder than the other man, but Alex didn't let his guard down. He knew all too well, violence and abuse knew no stereotypes. It didn't discriminate for those who seem to be even the nicest and the humblest of people. Even the most perfect people could be hiding the most secrets behind the curtains of a house.

"Alex? Is that your name?", the man asked calmly.

Being unable to speak, Alex nodded at the man in hopes it would suffice. Expecting an angry reaction, Alex was greeted by a kind voice instead. "Well, hello, Alex. My name is Dr. Manoel, I'm a psychiatrist. May I take a seat?"