Sardonic Humanism

Seven

My eyes fluttered open after excepting my defeat of trying to fall back to sleep. I rubbed my face excessively and scooted my body up so that my back was against my bed's headboard. My bedroom was dark and the temperature was chilly. While staring off into space, lost in thought, a soft noise sounded from the front of my room catching me off guard. I blinked my eyes trying to dilate them enough to see what was causing the sound. "Have you ever thought of death?" a familiar voice called out from the dark sending my body paralyzed. My eyes widened and my breath quickened, my heart pounded heavier and fast enough I feared I was having a heart attack. My bedroom door was closed and my window was mysteriously open; my window was impossibly hard to open since it had been broken. I could hear the masculine voice clear his throat. "I have" the voice said again, this time softer. "Who are you" my intentions were firm but my voice, noticeably shaky and nervous. I could hear him laughing maybe even shaking his head at my command. The room stayed silent, I pushed my hair away from my ears listening to any movement or breathing coming from the opposite side of the room. My eyes, wide and dilated now. "What do you think it's like to die?" he questioned, I slowly pushed the covers off of my lower body and pulled my legs out so that they dangled off of the frame of the bed. "Painless" I responded, standing up and slowly, step by step, walked to the light switch to my room. The voice laughed, becoming even more familiar.  I wasn't fearful, the voice was young, curious.
"Do you believe in Heaven?"
"Yes"
"Do you believe in Hell?"
"Yes"
"Do you think you are going to go to Heaven?"
"I hope so"
He continued to ask questions as I answered, making my way to the light switch.
"You'll wish you hadn't turn the light on" the voice warned with a firm sincere tone. I couldn't care less who I would see, I was just scared of being vulnerable in the dark.  My hand sprawled across the wall dragging and sliding until I felt the unmistakable bump and flicked it. There, sitting in a chair in front of my bed was Seven, although I'm not sure it was really the Seven I knew; his entire body was splattered with blood,  If I'd known any better it had looked as though he went on a slaughter fest. Seven was slouched in the wooden chair and his hands fell to the floor. The hand hidden from me held a metal object. "What is that in your hand?" My voice quivered and my mouth slightly  gapped. Seven looked down and lifted the object in his hand. "Oh this?" he pleasured with a chuckle. "This is a Benelli B76. A pistol, Quinn" his face serious now. My name came from his lips softer than the rest of his sentence causing my heart to slow. This Seven's  voice was far more deep and raspy making him sound like a completely different person. I motion my hand upwards telling him to stand. "Take a shower, now. You can borrow one of Simon's shirts, and you better have an explanation." This was the night I was sure that Seven had killed his parents.

Seven was new to school, not willingly. He arrived the day my brother,  Simon had to leave on some trip. My brother was a drug dealer for Wintercrest's biggest drug lord, he often boasted about that. Recently Simon got caught stealing money from his boss, the ultimate drug lord,  so that he could help out with my mom and I. My dad died of liver cancer. Of course you have guessed he was a heavy drinker, and as you may conclude, alcoholism can lead to an abusive relationship. To this day I have no clue why my mother stayed with him. Without my dad's income,  we steadily fell apart, that's why Jason disappeared for months running and selling drugs to all different people across the country.  But Seven. Seven had been all over the headline news, newspapers and he was the talk of the schools. Seven had been caught red handed with the gun in his hand that shot both of his parents; a bullet once in his mother's head and another a little below the Adams Apple of his father's neck. I didn't believe a lick of it. People were in desperate need of a hit story to take off; to ruin some kids life.  Who knew what really happened but I knew how twisted the medias can tell a story. Remember Simon? My brother got caught selling drugs to some sophomores, you should have seen what the news turned that into. I planned on greeting Seven the day he started coming to Wintercrest High but not the way it had happened.