Post by UlrichAcheronNacht on Dec 19, 2012 10:59:59 GMT -5
This is a story my English teacher asked me to write. Had to be a story that involved the character's psych and an outside story. Anyway, enjoy!~
“THE NEIGHBORS WERE AT IT AGAIN.”
(Interpret this how you will.)
The neighbors were at it again. Frank heard Harold and Grendel next door, making as much noise with their yelling as a frat would at a party. Unsure of what they were possibly up to, he assumed it was Harold in another drunken stupor beating his wife senseless. What was it, the fifth time this week? It wasn't like anything before – it sounded horrible, her screams were much more terror-struck than before, as if she was screaming for her life.
The man crawled out of bed, grabbing his Colt .45 revolver off the dresser as he headed outside. Frank was wearing his wife's pajamas; he thought he heard Xenor call him. But she was gone, he knew that. Xenor was gone for a long, long time. He couldn't forget it.
As he made his way through the house, Frank stepped over various bits of trash he'd left laying around. He carefully stepped over it, thinking of how much he missed his wife. That was why he was wearing her nightie, wasn't it? But, she did the cleaning, and without her the place was a mess...
The widower heard Grendel let out an ear-piercing screech as he approached their door. He opened it with ease, they left it unlocked – it wasn't unusual, considering they lived in relatively-peaceful Canada. The screaming wasn't usual, though... Frank wandered through the first floor until he found the stairs, but then he ascended to the second floor, riddled with the incessant screaming coming from Grendel. The intruder found a door, partially open, behind the crack he was able to discern that Harold was on top of Grendel. His fists were cascading into her face, bringing forth a new echo of cry each time he struck her; anger began pumping through his veins with the adrenaline.
Suddenly, his heartbeat began pounding. Frank's innate hatred of males that abuse women rose to a crescendo, causing him to kick the door open. He leveled the revolver at the scumbag husband and shouted, “Get off of her, Harold!”
He turned around, continuing what he was doing – Frank realized they were engaging in coitus. But Grendel was screaming for Harold to cease his actions. The man was sickened by his neighbor's actions and wrapped his finger around the trigger. Harold sneered, “What, are you going to shoot me? You wouldn't do it! You're too sick in the head, you coward! You haven't done anything since your wife died. You're even weari-”
“Do it!” Xenor's voice screamed in his head.
Harold was cut short by the sound of a gunshot. The bullet whizzed through the air, rotating itself as it got closer to its victim, before plowing through his skull. The rapist's body fell forwards, an enormous hole bored through the side of his head; bits of bone, blood, and gray matter painted the wall behind the bed. The hole was large, considering the handgun's caliber, and blood was draining from where the bullet had entered, it was cascading onto the sheets like a small stream.
Frank's hands had bucked upwards from the gun's recoil, and the stench of gunpowder was thick in the air, along with blood. His eyes went to the now-widow on the bed. Grendel was writhing underneath her husband's lifeless corpse, kicking him off of her. She was panting, her body curled into a ball. She rocked back and forth as tears rolled from her eyes.
He put the gun down and walked towards her, he reached out to place a hand on her back. “It's okay...” She smacked his hand away and began to howl.
“Why did you kill him?!” Her voice was a shrill screech, it felt like daggers being thrust into his ears. Frank stepped back, both hands over his ears and a grimace on his face. “I loved him, you bastard!”
“Do it, Frank. For me...” His wife's voice whispered into his mind again.
Suddenly, he realized something. He'd done something horribly wrong. She loved him. She probably loved the way he hit her, too. Frank's hand reached toward the gun of its own accord. Before he realized it, the man had fired off his gun again after leveling it at the widow. Just like her husband, the bullet went through her skull with ease and blew a nicely-sized hole in her temple.
“Frank murmured to himself, “I brought them back together. Yes, good. Good.” His mind was eroding after killing them both, but it was bringing what alcoholics refer to as “a moment of clarity.” His mind leaped back to the day he'd forgotten; the day a man broke into his home and killed his wife after stealing some precious items. The widower had purchased a revolver afterwards and practiced with it at the shooting range.
Until that moment, he never remembered why he bought it, but now he did – he repressed the memory. He didn't remember how Xenor died, but now he did. He didn't remember his attempt at suicide by leaping out of the second-floor window of his house and surviving, but now he did.
He wondered why he was still alive. He heard police sirens outside and a conclusion went into his mind. He walked down the hall and stairs as several officers stormed into the house. Frank lifted up his revolver and randomly fired two rounds at them, just wishing they'd blow him apart.
He accidentally shot one officer in the throat, another was hit in the arm and he dropped his gun. A third lifted his handgun and blasted a hole through Frank's chest; splattering the wall with the remnants of his broken heart. As he dropped his revolver and his carcass fell down the stairs, he relived his life from the beginning. Everything went by in a flash, until it reached the moment where he was force to watch as the robber killed Xenor again. And again. And again. Then he relived the three murders he committed again and again. Each death was his fault. Ultimately, his own death was also his fault. But now...
He was going to be with Xenor, now...
Frank stood at the entrance to an immense abyss with unfathomable depths. Below him, a swirling vortex of souls screamed in horror as the daemons of Hell tortured them. There was no way for him to avoid it, he was going to Hell. He killed three human beings and was going to Hell. Xenor was in Heaven... And he was not.
The man stepped off the edge and fell below, succumbing to his fate. He didn't have the will to fight anymore. He was tired and he was going to rest in the fiery, sulfuric embrace below.
“THE NEIGHBORS WERE AT IT AGAIN.”
(Interpret this how you will.)
The neighbors were at it again. Frank heard Harold and Grendel next door, making as much noise with their yelling as a frat would at a party. Unsure of what they were possibly up to, he assumed it was Harold in another drunken stupor beating his wife senseless. What was it, the fifth time this week? It wasn't like anything before – it sounded horrible, her screams were much more terror-struck than before, as if she was screaming for her life.
The man crawled out of bed, grabbing his Colt .45 revolver off the dresser as he headed outside. Frank was wearing his wife's pajamas; he thought he heard Xenor call him. But she was gone, he knew that. Xenor was gone for a long, long time. He couldn't forget it.
As he made his way through the house, Frank stepped over various bits of trash he'd left laying around. He carefully stepped over it, thinking of how much he missed his wife. That was why he was wearing her nightie, wasn't it? But, she did the cleaning, and without her the place was a mess...
The widower heard Grendel let out an ear-piercing screech as he approached their door. He opened it with ease, they left it unlocked – it wasn't unusual, considering they lived in relatively-peaceful Canada. The screaming wasn't usual, though... Frank wandered through the first floor until he found the stairs, but then he ascended to the second floor, riddled with the incessant screaming coming from Grendel. The intruder found a door, partially open, behind the crack he was able to discern that Harold was on top of Grendel. His fists were cascading into her face, bringing forth a new echo of cry each time he struck her; anger began pumping through his veins with the adrenaline.
Suddenly, his heartbeat began pounding. Frank's innate hatred of males that abuse women rose to a crescendo, causing him to kick the door open. He leveled the revolver at the scumbag husband and shouted, “Get off of her, Harold!”
He turned around, continuing what he was doing – Frank realized they were engaging in coitus. But Grendel was screaming for Harold to cease his actions. The man was sickened by his neighbor's actions and wrapped his finger around the trigger. Harold sneered, “What, are you going to shoot me? You wouldn't do it! You're too sick in the head, you coward! You haven't done anything since your wife died. You're even weari-”
“Do it!” Xenor's voice screamed in his head.
Harold was cut short by the sound of a gunshot. The bullet whizzed through the air, rotating itself as it got closer to its victim, before plowing through his skull. The rapist's body fell forwards, an enormous hole bored through the side of his head; bits of bone, blood, and gray matter painted the wall behind the bed. The hole was large, considering the handgun's caliber, and blood was draining from where the bullet had entered, it was cascading onto the sheets like a small stream.
Frank's hands had bucked upwards from the gun's recoil, and the stench of gunpowder was thick in the air, along with blood. His eyes went to the now-widow on the bed. Grendel was writhing underneath her husband's lifeless corpse, kicking him off of her. She was panting, her body curled into a ball. She rocked back and forth as tears rolled from her eyes.
He put the gun down and walked towards her, he reached out to place a hand on her back. “It's okay...” She smacked his hand away and began to howl.
“Why did you kill him?!” Her voice was a shrill screech, it felt like daggers being thrust into his ears. Frank stepped back, both hands over his ears and a grimace on his face. “I loved him, you bastard!”
“Do it, Frank. For me...” His wife's voice whispered into his mind again.
Suddenly, he realized something. He'd done something horribly wrong. She loved him. She probably loved the way he hit her, too. Frank's hand reached toward the gun of its own accord. Before he realized it, the man had fired off his gun again after leveling it at the widow. Just like her husband, the bullet went through her skull with ease and blew a nicely-sized hole in her temple.
“Frank murmured to himself, “I brought them back together. Yes, good. Good.” His mind was eroding after killing them both, but it was bringing what alcoholics refer to as “a moment of clarity.” His mind leaped back to the day he'd forgotten; the day a man broke into his home and killed his wife after stealing some precious items. The widower had purchased a revolver afterwards and practiced with it at the shooting range.
Until that moment, he never remembered why he bought it, but now he did – he repressed the memory. He didn't remember how Xenor died, but now he did. He didn't remember his attempt at suicide by leaping out of the second-floor window of his house and surviving, but now he did.
He wondered why he was still alive. He heard police sirens outside and a conclusion went into his mind. He walked down the hall and stairs as several officers stormed into the house. Frank lifted up his revolver and randomly fired two rounds at them, just wishing they'd blow him apart.
He accidentally shot one officer in the throat, another was hit in the arm and he dropped his gun. A third lifted his handgun and blasted a hole through Frank's chest; splattering the wall with the remnants of his broken heart. As he dropped his revolver and his carcass fell down the stairs, he relived his life from the beginning. Everything went by in a flash, until it reached the moment where he was force to watch as the robber killed Xenor again. And again. And again. Then he relived the three murders he committed again and again. Each death was his fault. Ultimately, his own death was also his fault. But now...
He was going to be with Xenor, now...
Frank stood at the entrance to an immense abyss with unfathomable depths. Below him, a swirling vortex of souls screamed in horror as the daemons of Hell tortured them. There was no way for him to avoid it, he was going to Hell. He killed three human beings and was going to Hell. Xenor was in Heaven... And he was not.
The man stepped off the edge and fell below, succumbing to his fate. He didn't have the will to fight anymore. He was tired and he was going to rest in the fiery, sulfuric embrace below.