A dimly lit kitchen stood infront of me. At a table sat my dad, clearly drunk. He was swaying slightly from side to side in his chair. His hair all ruffled, with my chizzled features and intimidating green eyes.
He didn't notice me come into the room. I looked around the kitchen and saw the nearest wepon I could find. A large kitchen knife. I went to grab it. My dad saw my movement and stood up fast, pushing the table and the chair to the floor. "What are you doing up so late you anoying little prick?" he sneered in a drunken voice.
A small voice in the back of my head edged me on in a sing song voice. "Kill him, kill him."
I knew the voice was from Rogers for some reason.
No wonder he sounded familiar when we combined.
I smiled involuntarily. I took the knife in my hand and stalked towards my father. "Goodnight...dad," I growled.
His sneer faded and was replaced with a look of confusion. "Go back upstairs before I use that knife of yours on yourself," he thretened weakly. That made me mad and histarical. I started to cackle as i steped closer and closer to him. The knife feeling amazing in my hand. I griped it tight, and lifted my arm to come down in a wide arc towards my devil of a father's chest.
Then, someone grabed my arm. I tried to shrug them off but they would not budge. I looked over my shoulder at who was keeping me from attacking...and what I saw shocked me.
It was Rogers, who, somehow, got into the dream. How? I had no idea. But I knew for one thing, he is soft and shows mercy.
"Let go of me, Rogers," I growl.
"I'm not going to let you kill him! He's your father!" he replys.
I laugh. "Father? Father? This man has done nothing for me. All he did was misstreat me and make me feel insignificant. I'm fed up with it! So if you let me kill him before he gets away I won't resort to hurting you."
"I'll let go when you drop the knife!" He replied.
I sighed and let the blade fall to the ground. He let go. I looked back at my dad but he appeared to be frozen in fear. As a matter of fact, everything is frozen. The sound of the wind is gone and the ceiling fan isn't moving anymore.
I look back at Rogers. "How'd you do that?"
"I-i don't know..."
Then my dad un-froze along with everything else. He saw me and Rogers, and stumbled to the back door. I searched for the second nearest weapon within arms reach. The pale glint of a dull blade shined in my eyed. I found what it was withing less than a second.
"Dont you dare do it you sociopath!" Rogers growled. Ignoring him, I grasped the hilt of it, not knowing what he weapon was, I bolted after my "Father" with lightning speed.
"Toby stop!!" I heard my mom scream from the stairs. Before I was able to reply, the weapon was launched from my hands. It flew, flipping in the air. Then, after a painfully long moment, it burried itself deep in his back. He arched his back and screams in pain. Then he fell limp to the floor with a thud.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I sat up in my bed with a start. Massaging my temples, I agreed to myself that that was one of the most fucked up dreams I ever had. Hands down.
"Where had Rogers come from?" I wondered aloud. Whatever he would do in my dreams, I definutely didn't want him to be interfearing with my favorite nights. I always love the feeling of the blade driving through that cruel, fucked up man's chest. Through the bone and, tissue. The thunk as the blade burried its self in his heart. So satisfying.
