The Human Xenocide

Chapter One - Sobs

Copyright 2012 © Cameron Cook

Watty Away 2012 Finalist - Only five were picked for the genre/level and this was one of them!

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Once you finish, to find book two search for "The Human Retaliation" by Freelove

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Xenocide - [noun] 1. The intentional killing of an entire foreign (plant or animal) species.

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Tears dropped from her sodden pale face; her mourning had been going on for what seemed like hours. She clicked open the cylinder of the .38 caliber revolver and spun it around a few times. Once satisfied with the smooth tapping of the moving metal parts, she snapped it shut and sniffled once more.

The heavy smell of cigarettes floated up from the first floor of the two story house and leaked into her once perfect room.  The smell was always there, sneaking into her room through even the slightest cracks, lurking.  All her belongings reeked of her dad’s nasty habit. 

Her fairly small room was mostly engulfed by her over-sized bed propped up in the far corner, as far away from the door as possible.  The light blue covers and teal sheets on her bed now had several small drops of blood on them.  Her nervous nail biting grinded into her fingers so much it made them bleed.  Across from her door and opposite of the bed was a broken TV and bookshelves filled with her favorites. 

The TV had stopped working years ago and she never bothered to get a new one.  The books started with the oldest on the top shelf and drizzled down, the bottom ones being her most recent reads.  As time progressed and her life changed, the colors of the books shifted from excited yellows, whites, and blues to darker blacks and grays. The stories went from those engulfed in love and gossip to those of misfortune and destruction.

 A TV could be heard downstairs. The volume had increased and echoed dimly up the staircase; it was some reality show. The announcer’s voice picked up a suspenseful tone. “Lisa and Danny, you are out of the game. You can leave now or sacrifice your winnings, the car and forty five thousand, to remain in the game starting off at zero and in last place!”

She could hear her father roar at the TV. “Ha! What a nasty twist. They deserved it! Get the hell off the game, no one likes you anyway!” he stopped yelling at the TV, most likely to suck in another draft and growled into a different direction, her mother, “hey, honey, they should take it so they can lose next week and get nothing—those bastards deserve nothing.” The response from the other person downstairs was so weak it failed to creep back up to her room.

Tears broke out again as she sank into another weeping fit. The sound of his voice was sickening. Her makeup ran down her face in uneven streaks.  Two light black lines trailed down her face where the tears etched the same path over and over.   She shook her head as she bent over the age-old revolver. Her straight black hair with off-red streaks from the center down swung over her face with her abrupt movements. “He should die,” she seethed, going over hundreds of evil things her father has done over the past years. She was sick of dealing with him.

Her mind went to her most recent encounter, still vivid in her thoughts.  About an hour or two ago she tried to slip into the house unnoticed, knowing full well from an earlier phone call that her father wasn’t happy about her recent phone bill.  She knew the outrageous bill was a mistake, a button that was pushed which activated data streaming that ran all night and in turn spiked the cost to around two hundred dollars.  She didn’t even know it was happening, but her father didn’t care—she knew he wouldn’t.  To him there was no “other side” he just saw her as an ungrateful child spending his money without a second thought and without caution.