He was staring at the screen, not blinking, just staring. He wouldn’t move. Even the foul wind blowing through the window didn’t trigger any movement in him. It made me shiver. He’d had it tough all his life, I knew that. I wanted to be there for him because he needed me now more than ever. He didn’t talk much. Maybe he didn’t want to talk.
I looked out of the window. No school kids running home, no cars zooming past and even the sun had turned its back on us. No one came here anymore after what had happened. The people of this household were each killed one by one. It gave me a creepy feeling that I was looking at the last remaining member of this family.
Yes, his family had been murdered. His mother, his father, and his little brother were all gone. Of course he was an adopted child, and he wasn’t too attached to his family either, but each death cut a deeper wound in him. How they died was a different story. Each of them were found dead differently but next to the body would be a message. I don’t remember it; I don’t want to remember it. The imag
The image of it written in blood on the wall came to my mind. I shook it off and thought of something else. Another thing that alarmed me was that he never cried, not a tear drop. Would he cry if I died?
What was going through that mind of his? Did he fear that it would be him next? Did he even fear it at all? I wish I could tell. I wish I could help. He was an unhappy child, didn’t talk much, and would always get picked on. The kids would make up all these silly names for him like stupid Chris or Chris the scum. Everyone would get strange vibes from him but I fell for the same vibes.
looked around the old and creaky building. I don’t know why he was still here. If it were me I would run a hundred miles away and never look back. Somehow I think he feels comfortable here. I looked up at the numerous cobwebs on all the corners of the ceiling and a nasty gale blew in from outside. It made my nose jerk. This whole house smelt bloody and that scared the crap out of me.
Things were worse now. This had all really gotten to his head. Well, people said he was always like this but I saw him differently. Yes, me, ever the optimist. I saw as he twitched again and I could see the horror in his eyes. He was also sweating, nearly as if he was paranoid, which he probably was.
And then my gaze turned to what he was watching. It was a news report about his family. I took his hand and gave it a light squeeze, trying to give him support. He didn’t move. There was no reaction whatsoever. I frowned slightly and when the report was over I turned the TV off. He looked at me as if angered by what I had done but then he looked away again. I frowned more at that but then he spoke
“Do you want to go somewhere?”
“Go somewhere?” I asked slightly confused.
“Outside . I want to go outside. Fresh air. I miss fresh air.” He spoke in short sentences. Sometimes what he said didn’t even make sense. But he wanted to go outside for fresh air. That was a good sign. Right?
“Of course!” I said. He smiled, then stood up and I followed carefully behind him.
We went for a short drive out to a nearby rocky reserve. Not the kind of place I really liked. I squeaked as I saw a bird drop dead on the floor and jumped closer to Chris. As usual he had no response. We didn’t go very far, just an old oak tree near a pile of large rocks. We just stood there and a rush of wind hit me on the face, as if trying to catch my attention.
Then there was that foul breeze again, which left a stale taste in my mouth.
I leant against the tree and let out a small sigh, “Its better out here isn’t it?”
He replied with a slight nod. Despite the freezing weather, he was sweating like crazy.
“Do you feel any better?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
He wasn’t really helping me out but I tried again, “Want to go for a walk?”
“No,” a one word answer. I gave up on starting new topics and we stood silent for a long time. After a while he sighed and turned to face me. “Are you happy?” He asked. His eyes were distant and a chill ran through my spine.
“Am I-I happy?”
“Yes, are you happy?” He said with a light smirk.
“No, not really,” I replied turning away from his strong gaze.
His face now had a fake smile. Was he trying to show me he was alright? What was he proving? But then there was something gloomy about that smile, something almost insincere.
“Life’s short. Be happy,” He said and slowly his grin started to vanish.
And then several visions came to my mind. They were images of writing, in blood. I saw a dead body, his mum’s dead body. On the wall I could see red writing, ‘Life’s short, be happy’ I gasped and turned to look at his face but my breath was cut short by a searing pain in my stomach.
. I looked at him. He wasn’t smiling anymore. I clutched the sharp blade piercing my stomach. My head felt light but that intense sting in my stomach burned. I fell and looked at his face as I slowly lost consciousness. I saw a tear slide down his face.
He cried.
