Dragon Tongue

1 - ...So I May Have Killed a Guy...

I mean it wasn't my fault. He- I- yeah, never mind, it was totally my fault. He was just standing there, and I- well, I hit him with the door... and I don't mean that I opened the door while he was standing there, I mean, I ripped the door of its hinges and hit him with it... But in my defense, I-... I got nothing.

I knelt there beside him. He wasn't breathing... at least, not that I could tell. I had already set the door I had hit him with on fire... y'know, just in case it was going to be used as evidence. I put my finger in my shirt, to protect from fingerprints, and then proceeded to see if I could feel a pulse.

I gave up after I remembered that I suck at finding pulses.

At this point I was beginning to panic. I was going to be arrested. The cops were gonna come, they were gonna see the dead guy in front of me, and they were gonna arrest me. I would spend the rest of my life in jail. I was going to meet a mean cell mate named Bruce and he would use me for practice. I'm only 17, I'm too young for jail! But then I realized something even scarier: what was I going to tell my parents?!

My heart nearly skipped a beat when the guy woke up. It didn't look like I did too much damage to him. He had a bloody nose, maybe broken...

"Wha-what happened?" He asked, sitting up as he clutched his head.

"y-you mean you don't remember?"

"No, I remember... I don't remember."

"Well, we shouldn't dwell on it then, you should get going, and I should go too," I gave a nervous smile.

"Yeah," He got up. "Why is my nose bleeding?"

"Uhhh... Allergies?" 

He nodded and left.

Thank goodness he was okay. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I had done any real damage.

My relief soon faded as I realized I still had to face my parents.

I entered my house, my mom and dad were there cooking dinner. 

"Hey, Blane, how was your day? Anything interesting?" My mom asked as she chopped up carrots.

I hid my dirtied hands behind my back. "Uh... yeah-"

"Blane?" My dad turned around to face me. He looked at my hidden hands, then back at my face, which was racked with guilt. He let out a disappointed sigh, "Don't tell me-"

I closed my eyes and nodded. "I did it again."

My mom stopped chopping. "Blane Palmer, What has gotten into you?!"

I buried my face into my hands. "I don't know! I- I can't help it! It's not- It's not me! I can't-"

My mom came over and set down a plate with carrots on it. 

I grimaced. "I- I hate carrots..." I whispered.

My mom raised an eyebrow as she dumped the whole bowl onto the plate. "Is that so?"

I pursed my lips. My parents, mainly my mom, were scary when they wanted to be...

"Blane, we raised you better than this. What did you do this time?"

I looked down as I fiddled with my hands. "I-I hit a guy-"

"That's it?" My mom sat down next to me.

"-with a door..."

She sighed and slumped her head into her arms on the table. "It's never it. I really need to let you finish before I get my hopes up."

"Blane, this has got to stop. You need to control your actions. You are 17, we should have to be dealing with this," My dad said, turning around to continue cooking.

"It's getting worse, Mom," I say, not looking up from my hands. "I don't know what it is, but there's something wrong with me-"

"I'd say! You are very violent for your age! You used to be the kindest boy on the earth! What happened?"

I looked up. "I-I don't know. I'm- I'm sorry!"

My mom's face softened. "Dinner will be ready soon. Go wait in your room while your father and I talk."

I nodded, and walked to my room.

It had started not too long ago. It only came as rude or violent urges and thoughts. They were easy to push away at first. But... they got worse. Eventually, I couldn't control it. Everytime I thought something mean, I would say it. Everytime I got a violent urge, I would do it. I couldn't stop myself. It wasn't me doing those things. I couldn't help it. Who knew how far this would go?

I sat down on my bed, and looked at my hands. They had charcoal and splinters in them. I sighed and plucked the splinters out, then proceeded to the bathroom to wash the charcoal off. 

I looked up in the mirror. 

I had brown hair, and black eyes. I was maybe and inch or two taller than average. I wasn't a bulky or a scrawny kid. I was just... average. I had the looks of an average person, then why couldn't I act normal, too?! 

My mom called me in to dinner about five minutes later.

I sat down at the table, my parents still didn't look too happy. Who could blame them? I looked down at my plate, which still had the mountain pile of carrots on it. That, along with chicken, rice, and mashed potatoes, all of which could hardly be seen over the carrots.

I opened my mouth to say something, but I decided otherwise.

"Look, Blane," My dad finally spoke. "we know you have been going through... tough times lately, y'know, with school and everything, but it's not good to keep emotions bottled up-"

"I don't have any bottled up emotions," I interrupted.

"I'm not so sure about that," My mom joined in. "Even so, all we're saying is that you can talk to us about anything. However," she stabbed her fork in to her chicken, which made me draw back in slight fear. "you will need a punishment for your actions."

I pursed my lips again, and grasped the edges of my chair so hard, my knuckles turned white.

"See your plate?" Her eyes were cold and deadly. "Eat it."

I gulped. 

"All of it."

I picked up my fork slowly. My dad looked shocked that she had given me such a harsh punishment. "Honey, I-"

My mom held her hand up, cutting him off.

Suddenly, my heartbeat increased rapidly, my breathing was rushed. My grip around the fork tightened. 

My parents drew back, confused.

I only had one thought that played over and over in my head:

Kill them.