Harry Styles
Flashback
My black boots tap against the tiled floor of the fancy looking kitchen. The walls were the perfect shade of white and the counter tops looked the shiniest they could be. All the stainless steel appliances match each other, almost like they came in a set.
I fucking hate these perfect homes.
My two fingers drag across the glass counter top, feeling how smooth it is. When I was a kid, my kitchen countertop was full of broken glass and cigarette butts. But this, this was a perfectly clean counter top.
I notice the fruit bowl sitting on the table, brightening the room up with all the colours. I walk over and pick up an apple, holding the perfectly red fruit in my hand before biting it.
I walk back towards the living room where I came from originally. I hold the bitten apple in my one hand while I hold my gun in the other. I get to the living room to see the same couple still terrified on there knees, tears streaming down their perfect faces while two of my men hold them at gunpoint. The woman is crying like a manic and the man looks like he's gonna shit himself.
"Fucking hell have you not killed them yet?" I look at the guys in leather jackets in disbelief while biting into the apple again.
"P-please, w-what do you want from us? Money? T-take what ever you want." The man on his knees stutters in tears, wearing a white button up shirt and a ugly brown tie with matching dress pants.
I chuckle at his pathetic pleads while spinning the gun on my finger by the trigger ring.
"I don't want your money dipshit." I scuffle while tossing the apple remains on the ground. My hand immediately dives in my leather jacket pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighter.
The sounds of the wife's weeping and the husbands pleads is really pissing me the fuck off. I stick the cigarette in my mouth and light it with the flame while the husband keeps babbling shit I'm not even listening too.
"Please! We will do anything just don't hu-"
"Shut the fuck up!" I shout through the cigarette sitting between my lips, pointing the gun at his head. He flinches at my tone and the wife squeals some more at my action.
He dips his head down in fear, listening to my demand. I stomp over the man and kneel down to his level. He keeps his chin to his chest, to terrified to even look at me.
"We w-will d-do anything.. what do you want-t?" He stutters like an idiot.
I chuckle lightly while inhaling the cigarette smoke down my lungs, letting it sit between my lips. The middle age woman next to him keeps her head down as well, weeping like an imbecile.
"I want your lives." I mutter devilishly before firing the gun into the woman's head without hesitation.
Her crying comes to a halt and she crashes back to the ground with a bullet through her skull. The man in front of me screams in horror, looking at his dead wife laying next to him on the ground. He turns on his knees to face her, hunching over in tears. I stand back to my feet and shoot the man right in the back of the head so crashes to the ground also, right next to the deceased wife.
"This took a lot longer then it fucking needed to be." I roll my eyes and take the cigarette out of my mouth and dropping it to the hardwood floors.
I hear a gun shot come from the other room, making my eyebrows furrow together in confusion. I look to see one of my members aren't in the living room anymore, which explains the gun shot noise- but was there another person living here?
I hold my gun up and walk towards the kitchen, specifically where the noise came from.
Once I walk in with one guy behind me, I instantly see a young boy sitting on the ground in shock with a bullets wound to his stomach. Then I turn my attention to see one of my guys pointing the gun at him with wide eyes.
I didn't realize they had a kid here too.
"Andrews who the fuck is this?" I say in shock.
"I don't know but he scared the shit out of me so I accidentally shot him in the stomach. Should I just shoot him in the head?" He asks me while the kid seems surprisingly silent. Usually people flip shit when they hear that we will shoot them in the head.
I look at the silent shocked boy sitting against the wall with blood pouring out of his stomach. The pain must not be getting to him because of the adrenaline in his system. Or maybe he's just really trying to be strong.
"No you should've shot him in the head to begin with. Just go fuck off to the next place. I'll handle this." I hold my gun out towards the kid, as he looks at me like I'm a ghost.
"Are you sure?" Andrews asks.
"Don't fucking second guess me. Go!" I yell a bit louder, making him quickly nod.
They both rush out of the room as I keep my eyes on the kid, not breaking eye contact. I hear the door eventually shut, signalling the guys are gone. I stand for a moment looking at the brown haired boy with blood soaking his dark green shirt.
"How old are you?" I shout demandingly.
"E-eleven." He stutters a bit.
"And what's your name?" I say just as strictly.
"Charlie- who a-are you?" He asks with fear in his eyes, but his facial features staying calm.
"It's not important. How bad is the pain in your stomach?" I say with my guard up. As if fucking Andrews didn't even shoot him in the head- what shitty aim.
"It hurts, b-but I can't really feel much." He mumbles while looking down at his bloody shirt and hand.
"Yeah, you're in shock." I lower my gun a bit.
"Oh." He mumbles. I'm surprised that this kid isn't panicking. Aren't kids usually scared to die? I never was, but that was because life was shit too me. But this eleven year old kid looks like he lived a great life in this upper class home.
"Where are Tom and Samantha?" He quietly asks.
"Who?" I knit brows together in confusion.
"T-the adults." He stutters in quiet fear.
"Are they not your parents?"
"They adopted me a month ago." He shifts a bit in pain.
He's was a foster kid.
"Did you like them?" My voice tunes down a bit.
"Uhm.. yeah I guess. They were kinda mean." He mumbles, his voice sounding like its going weak while I notice his eyelids look heavy.
Well it's good he didn't like them that much because their blood is staining the carpet in the other room right not.
"They usually are." I say shortly while watching the blood pour from his body and on the kitchen tiles.
"Am I gonna die?" He mumbles calmly while leaning his head again the wall.
Of course he's going to die. He has a massive bullet wound to his stomach, and has blood pouring out all over the ground to the point that he could bathe in it. Even if he somehow to go a hospital- doctors can fix something like that, especially with all the blood he's lost. And I'm not taking this kid to the hospital- not in a million fucking years.
"No, you're not gonna die." I lie to him.
"Are you sure? Because I can't feel anything from the waist down." He mumbles while looking at his still feet.
"You can't? Like you can't move your legs or feet?" I ask.
She shakes his head and looking like he's trying to move his feet but can't.
"N-no." He whispers sorrowfully.
The bullet must've hit his spine too, so now he's paralyzed.
"You'll be fine Charlie." I mumble while sliding my back down against the side of the island, sitting against it a couple meters away from him.
"It's okay if I die." He mumbles, completely catching me off guard. This kid seems a lot older then eleven from just the way he speaks.
"And why is that?" I ask out of curiosity.
"I think heaven will be a lot better then earth." He whispers while a tear stumbles down his quiet face.
"How do you know you won't go to hell?" I knit my brows together in irritation.
"Because I don't think I've done anything really bad that's deserving of me to go there." He mumbles.
"I don't really believe in any of it." I input. "I think heaven and hell are just a made up theory to give people a purpose into being good all their lives." I add while leaving my legs extended out and overlapping one another.
"I believe in it." He interjects while letting his eyelids become more heavy.
I slowly nod, not really knowing how to respond to that. I can't argue with someone about what they do and don't believe. It's a pointless argument because at the end everyone it just going to stick with what they know.
"How long were you a foster kid?" I ask to burn dead air.
"Since birth." He mumbles, making me nod and look at my lap. Why I'm sitting here and talking to this kid? I have no fucking clue. I'm just waiting for him to die so I can get out of here and move on. I guess I can just shoot him in the head.. but what's the fun in that.
"Are you sure I'm not going to die? Because I don't understand how I'm going to get better while I'm sitting here with blood pouring out of me." He says in a shaky voice, losing strength.
"You're not going to die." I restate.
He will die. I'm just waiting for him to bleed out and fall unconscious. I rather lie to him and say he won't though because then he won't be so stressed- even if he's not afraid of death. He seems like a really wise eleven year old- maybe he's been through a lot like I have.
"I really don't want to die on the kitchen floor if anything." He mumbles.
"Well where would you rather?" I ask.
"Maybe in my bed. I kinda always wished I would die from something painless like in my sleep, something that didn't draw much attention to me from tragedy." He mumbles.
I slowly nod and fish my hand in my pocket to pull out the small square of fabric cloth that's tainted with chloroform we use on the more aggressive captives. I hold it in my hand and stand back up to me feet.
"I'm going to put this over your nose and you will pass out. When you wake up, everything is going to be better." I say calmly to him, making him look up at me and nod.
I step over to him and crouch down to his level. He looks at me through his pained bloodshot eyes as I take the black cloth and hold it to his nose and mouth. He breathes in the chemicals and I watch as his eyelids become overwhelmingly heavy until they peacefully shut. He kept eye contact with me for the very last second until they shut, becoming unconscious.
I pull my hand with the cloth away, making his head fall to the side but still staying leaned against the wall. His bloody hand falls from his stomach and to the shiny tiled ground.
Placing the cloth back in my pocket, I look at him for a moment before snaking my arms under his knees and behind his neck. I lift him up and stand to my feet again, leaving behind a pool of blood.
I turn towards the staircase that's right next to where he was sitting, stepping up the ten steps to a hallway with multiple open doors. As I walk down, I scan my eyes to each big room until I see the one that's painted blue and has a small twin bed. The room has a wooden desk with homework on it and shelves with different items like race cars and shit. This has to be his room.
I walk my tall body into the child's room and step over to his unmade bed, placing his bloody unconscious body in it. I place his head at the pillow and his body on the light blue sheets before taking the dark blue checkered comforter and putting it over his body, up to his chest.
In this moment it doesn't look like he just got shot, he just looks like he's sleeping. The thick comforter covers all the blood that's draining from his body. He looks just like a normal kid with not a care in the world.
I look at his peaceful face for a moment before taking out the gun once again from the waist of my jeans, lining up the barrel to his forehead. It takes me a second, but I eventually pull the trigger and fire the gun into his skull.
Now he died in his sleep.
//
Let me know what you think!
And yes this is the eleven yeah old boy Harry told Amelia he doesn't regret shooting in the head. So now you know why because he was slowly dying anyway. :(