He stood silently in the kitchen, bright sunlight pouring in through the windows which, slightly dusty as they were, were still able to radiate the brilliant beams of yellow.
He had to do it...
How would he do it? What would it feel like?
His fingers trembling, not from anxiety or fear, but from excitement and adrenaline, he walked into his grandfather’s room...where his grandfather kept his hunting rifle...his prized possession, his lil’ baby boy.
So he grabbed it off of the shelf, feeling the muzzle sleek and cool in his big hands, and checked to see if it was loaded...to see if the presents were in there…to make sure it wouldn’t be a false warning, a blow-away plan...in more ironic ways than one.
E.K. walked out of the room, breathing in air around him and quietly nestled the butt of the rifle against his shoulder. His grandmother was making fresh cookies...the chocolate chip ones that melted in your mouth like warm butter and suddenly a volley of copper splayed upon the window as if a bucket of water had been tossed against it…only this wasn’t water, this was far more potent...far more noteworthy....
Her head had disappeared from the middle of her scalp upward; a meaty chunk of her brain was on the tile floor, while half of it still remained in her head. Her upper body plunked down onto the tray of cookie dough that she had been spending her time on ever so delicately; it made a sickening squishy sound, and E.K. grinned...like a pig flopping down in a hole of mud...he almost let loose a chuckle, but refrained. He had work to do.
His grandfather, apparently hearing the shot, was now running towards the house; his face was rapidly becoming the color of a ripe tomato, for he was well past sixty and in no condition to be sprinting. E.K. watched the old man’s uphill battle through the blood scarred window and almost felt sorrow for the man.
“Almost” is a poor excuse for the act of failure.
E.K. calmly walked outside, surveyed his quickly approaching grandfather, and then the hammer fell for the second time that day.
It caught his grandfather in the left shoulder, the old man reeling to the ground in a sort of half spin that reminded the shooter of a drunken ballerina attempting and failing at his number. E.K. strode up to his grandfather, who was squirming on the ground like a maggot, a useless creature to this world, one that should be vanquished and eradicated from all existence…and that’s exactly why E.K. was there…
....and that’s exactly what he did... It has begun. |
Submission Name: E.K. (1)
