He sat there, his back against the door, hugging his knees tightly. Hot, silent tears flowed down his cheeks, each on landing on the floor. All his insecurities that he had fought hard to destroy, were coming back to haunt him and take their revenge.
He lay there, a now whimpering mess, pleading and begging someone to relieve him from his hurt and pain.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Piecing himself back together, he answered, but got no reply. He let himself drift off once more into the dark labyrinth he called his mind.
He sat there ... thinking for a while ...
When suddenly he smiled ... not the happy kind of ones ... but this was more menacing and psychotic.
He was finally numb ...
Picking himself up, he wondered downstairs, venturing past the static t.v and his passed out father.
He picked up a stray knife that had been lying around in the kitchen and made his way back into the living room. He cautiously approached his poor excuse of a father, and without a second thought drove it into his heart, bringing it back out to lick the blood.
He smiled, no sympathy was shown in his eyes, next his mother.
His mother, the one that he had loved from day one, the one he thought he could trust. Her betrayal still hurt, his father had been the one to freeze his heart over, but his mother was the one that had broken it beyond recognition.
He climbed back up the stairs, into to his mother and father's bedroom, slowly pushing open the door. She turned and let out a blood-curdling scream at the sight of her son, but it was too late to do anything about it. She was already dead.
Now his best friend, the one that had broken his heart over and over again to the point he was immune to it.
He had lured him to his house and had him tied up, watching him struggling against his restraints in his naked glory. He placed a soft kiss upon his head before wiping his tears away and whispering sweet, calming words into his ears.
He took his knife and traced the outline of his lean body before slitting his throat in one swift movement, now watching the decapitated head roll gently on his carpet.
He smiled, licking the blood oozing from his once best friend's throat. Now himself,
He bought the knife to his wrists, slashing them both, watching in awe as how the blood dripped from them. He kept a firm grip on his let arm, feeling the pulse as it slowly disappears.
All he left behind was a permanent smile plastered on his face, and the noise of his clock in the background going ... tick, tick, tick.
