Short Stories

Twenty-Five: Bullet

 Behind closed doors, Somchai wasn't the hard ass everyone believed he was. He was rude and just about scowled at everyone, but he had a dark past. Almost everyone that lived in the building had a dark past. But, they let their past go while he never did. He shoved at anyone who came too close. He would also growl at anyone when they would try to bring up his past. He would then leave the room he was currently in and stomp towards his. In his room, swirling voices clouded any rational thoughts he had, and tears streamed from his eyes no matter how hard he tried to not cry.

Every night he would beat himself up over your death. Your last sentence echoing in his ears as the silence in the room overcome him. He would then just listen and cry, believing that he deserved this. His dad was right, he was worthless. Men shouldn't cry, Somchai's father would repeat as he lashed at his back with a belt. Somchai could remember every detail of that belt, from every groove and crack and how worn and rusty the metal studs were. Somchai bet that if he tried hard enough he could count each individual nub from his memory. After Somchai would be whipped every night, his father would then carelessly pour a light blue potion over his son's bloodied back. The potion was almost sparkly and looked heavenly. It would swirl about the glass as if it had a mind of its own. But, when poured onto his back, the wounds would sting like hell, and the glowing blue potion would turn a mud brown. The texture was soft and airy yet stingy until it hit his wounds. Then, the potion would turn gooey and thick. The wounds would then mend together, leaving no trace of the abuse that Somchai endured every day. His father would then throw the glass and belt onto some nearby table as Somchai lay kneeling there. His father would then tell him to clean up the blood that had splattered across the pristine floors and clean the belt. Somchai would then wipe away the dry tracks of tears on his face and go into the closet nearby and fetch a ratty towel. He would wet then towel under the faucet in the lab and wipe away any evidence of the dark red liquid before his father's guests came over.

But, he would go through with the torture. Just to protect you. You would watch from behind the glass door to the lab, wincing as you watched as the blood spattered against the white floors. You watched the belt come down over and over and over again. The black belt turning red as rivers of the liquid ran onto the white floors. You would hear him grunt at every thrash and watch tears leave his eyes and drip onto the floor, your own tears dripping onto the clothes father forced you to wear. Once Somchai cleaned up the mess, he would throw open the glass door confining you in the room. He would fumble furiously at the belts that held your wrists and ankles onto the chair. He eventually would open them and hug you tightly, hating that you had to witness something so impure. You would sob quietly into his shoulder. He would then promise that he wouldn't leave without you because he knew that if he did, you would then be the oldest. Then, you would have to go through the same pain he did. He then took your hand and took you to the living room, turning the TV onto your favorite channel. He snuggled with you as you laughed whatever joke a character had made. Eventually, Somchai would get up and leave you on the fluffy couch. He would cook dinner, always making your favorite foods instead father's favorite food. It would always make Somchai's thrashings worse. You begged him not to do that, but he ignored you and make your favorite foods every time. After dinner, he would take you to bed and read a storybook to you until you fell asleep in his arms. Your hands would clutch at his pajamas, and he would smile gently and wish you good night. He would then reach over your head and quietly turned off the lamp in your shared room. He would then snuggle closer to you and pull the covers tighter over you as if trying to protect you from evils in the world.

He kept his promise on keeping you safe. But, then father would then sign him up for some program for some extra cash even though father owned plenty. He was forced away from you. Screaming, at his father, at the guards who took him away, at anyone but you. When the front door closed on Somchai, father turned towards you and ordered you to the lab. He wanted to hurt someone.

From that day on, you suffered the lashings, trying to be brave and strong like Somchai. Then, a few months later, you got away. You had snatched his keys right in front of him and stabbed him in the eyes with them. He heard him scream out in agony and the ripping of skin as he flailed at you with his nails. You shoved at him, screaming and sobbing, unlocked the door, and ran away as fast as he could. After what seemed like forever, the neighborhood left your view, and you collapsed into the woods. You lay there in the dirt with the trees towering over you. The keys were still clutched tightly in your hand. You slowly unfurled your hands, groaning at the soreness of your hand. You let the keys fall onto the dirty forest floor. You unwound and wound your hand over and over again until the soreness had gone. You lay there. And fell asleep. It didn't take long for the authorities to find you. They took you in and threw you into a dirtier jail cell. Several inmates already in there. They stared at you before returning to their own business. Not even a few seconds later, a man took you out the cell and threw some cuffs onto you. He shoved you into the back of a truck and shut the doors. He then sat on the driver seat and closed the door. He drove on for miles and miles and miles. You watched the scenery pass by. It was first a rundown city with small buildings. Then, it was lush greenery. Then, it was a tunnel that led to some base. The man driving the car then abruptly stopped the car. You smashed into the grate that separated you two. He got out of the car and called over two other men. He opened the door and pulled you out violently. The two men he called over grabbed onto your arms and dragged you. They dragged you for what seemed like hours. They turned into a room and pushed you forcefully onto your knees. You surveyed the room when your eyes found Somchai. A smile almost graced your lips before you realized his eyes were dark and unfocused instead of soft and clear.

"General, come over here." One of them said. Somchai came over, his posture rigid. He stood and stopped in front of you.

"Somchai? What's going to happen." You could barely hear yourself over the silence that had befallen the room. He didn't even look at you.

"Prove your allegiance by killing them." The other person that had dragged you ordered. Somchai barely hesitated before nodding and grabbing the gun. He lowered the gun until the barrel lined up right up with your forehead.

"Somchai. I-I don't want to die. Please." You whispered. Your begging was barely heard by him but his trigger finger hesitated. His expression faltered for a second before snapping back to the cold stare he wore before.

"Does it look like I care?" He hissed. Right before, he pulled the trigger, you smiled at him and somehow croaked out, "I love you, Somchai." The bullet shot out the black gun and filled your head. Your head flung back and knocked against the concrete floor. A smile ghosted your lips as blood leaked out the hole and into the cracks in dark gray floor. Something inside Somchai screamed at him, but he pushed it away and went straight back to what he was doing before. Not until a group of superheroes came and captured Somchai, would he understand what he had done to you. He spent days in his room locked away in his guilt and overwhelming anger. Today, though, would be different. As he held the gun that had killed you in his cold clammy hand, he let out a shaky breath. He slowly brought the gun to his head when someone knocked on his door. He didn't answer, just slowly pulling the finger closer to the trigger. The pounding became more insistent until he heard the panicked voices of his teammates outside. He closed his eyes, tears rolling down his face. He whispered to you, "I love you too." The door shattered into hundreds of pieces as the resounding crack of the gun resonated through the room. His teammates found a small smile on Somchai's face, his face finally looking at peace. And, a bullet impaled on the other side of the room.