The Painter

viola (2)

(minor gore, nothing scary)

september 25th, 1978.
3:15 PM.
home, after school

william walked into his sad, cold house and groaned. he hated school. he didn't have any friends. the only people that talked to him only did so to make fun of him. or hurt him. the only thing he hated more than school was being at home. his grandmother, viola, made him feel worse than anyone he had ever encountered at that horrid highschool.

he took off his old, worn corduroy jacket and slid off his dusty black lace-up shoes. he sighed as he heaved off his heavy backpack, letting the pressing weight of the many books in the bag slide off his shoulders and fall on the ground with a thud.

he trudged up the steep stairs and into his small room, not even bothering to say anything to his grandmother, who was in the living room, watching some dumb drama on the small television. the floral cushions of the couch sinking around her small body. her mouth was twisted into a permanent frown and her eyebrows always looked angry.

as he walked into the room, he breathed in the familiar, calming scent of paint. he had spent his whole allowance and all of his birthday money on colorful paint and canvases of all sizes. he had gotten his easel and brushes from his father, who had died suddenly and tragically of health complications when he was just 7 years old.

william had always been much closer to his father than he was to his mother. of course, he loved both parents very much, but william's mother, diana, had been an alcoholic. she was a very loving mother, but she always caused problems, william remembered, staring at the dent in his wall where diana had once thrown his father's painting in a fit of drunken anger.

that moment had horrified young william. he was 6 at the time. he remembered crawling into his loving father's open arms that night and sleeping there on the flower-strewn couch while they waited for diana to calm down, vowing to sort things out with her in the morning when she was sober. he never found out why diana was so angry that day.

william was snapped back to reality when he heard his grandmother's angry voice screaming his name.

scream and yell, scream and yell. why don't i just kill her? there's knives in the kitchen and she-

"william?! what are you doing upstairs? get down here right now!" william's thoughts were once again cut off by his grandmother, viola's, shrill, angry voice.

he wants to ignore her. he wants to go back to staring at his art-covered wall and let his distant nostalgic thoughts and memories take over him, but he knows he can't, or it will only get worse. his grandmother will only get angrier.

he stumbles down his narrow, dim-lit carpeted stairway to where viola is sitting at the dining room table, overhead lamp swinging very slightly over her head. i wonder what would happen if that lamp fell. he thought, before he could stop himself. viola was holding a paper in her hand.

she doesn't look happy, he notes.

shit, he thinks, i forgot report cards came in today. this isn't good. this isn't good at all. what if i ran away? i could steal a car or rob a-

"william i did not raise you to be this stupid.
his thoughts were once again cut off by his cruel grandmother's painful words. "you study all day and you still can't do anything right. how did you manage to score as low as a C plus?!"

william just stood there with a blank expression, only half-listening to his grandmother's words. he just wanted to go upstairs and start a new painting.

what if i killed her? i could slit her throat with a knife from the kitchen. i could hide her body in the cemetery a few blocks away. it couldn't be that hard, right?  i mean, she is quite frail...

he shook his head, trying to rid himself of the very thoughts he tries so hard to suppress.

"...no wonder your mother left you! i don't know how she dealt with an idiot like you for 13 years. i cant believe i got stuck with you."

that's it, he thought. i'm fucking done. i need her to stop. i need her to shut up. i need her to be quiet.  forever.

"SHUT UP!!" william screamed. he was sick of his grandmother's cruel words. he just needed to end it, not caring how. not caring about the consequences.

he sprinted into the kitchen and grabbed a large knife. this will show her he thought.

he walked up to viola, who was now cowering in fear.

"y-you can't do this!" she screamed. "i'm the only family you have left!" this was the first time william had seen his grandmother express anything other than anger and cruelty.

william's face softened. he let the knife fall to the ground and clatter beside him. he got up from above his grandmother and stumbled backwards, stunned from what he had let himself do. she may have been cruel, but she was so frail and small under his towering figure. it wasn't fair for him to hurt her.

what the fuck was that? am i insane? is she gonna send me away? maybe i should have gone through with killing her- he thought wait no no that's the opposite of what i want to do. why do i think like this?

while lost in his thoughts, william didn't notice his grandmother getting up and grabbing the knife. she slowly walked up to him and then pressed the knife up to his neck, leaving him completely defenseless.

she kept pressing until the knife left a small cut in his skin. she left the knife there while saying: "i knew you wouldn't be able to hurt me, boy. you're just like your freak mother. you can't go through with anything."

william pushed viola as hard as he could. she stumbled and fell backwards, hitting her head in the edge of their dining room table and going completely still. she hit the ground with a loud thud.

shit. i'm screwed.

william knew he was in trouble. that was obvious. but he knew he could get out of it. the only reason he thought he was screwed was because he was satisfied. the way his grandmother went limp and hit the ground made him feel alive.

and that scared the shit out of him.

I'm not really sure if i like this chapter, so tell me what you thought :)