Jack, with his gun poised at his friend. His hands were shaking with feelings of anxiousness and fear. Contemplating destroying a soul. Sweat poured down his face. Carleton, the friend, stood scared and motionless as a wet patch appeared on his white pants. A kill, murder, death whatever you call it was about to commence. Jack with his gun stood with eyes ajar. His fingers were turning white from red. His knuckles were changing colour as well. Tension was visible in his hand. Jack squeezed and the bullet escaped from the barrel of the gun. The bullet seemed to move in slow motion, it be as though the bullet was visible in flight. As the bullet passed through the air it made a terrible whistling noise. When it made contact on Carleton’s skin it ripped a path through it. Like a team of rugby players pushing through a banner. The bullet moved relentlessly and carved a path of destruction into the young boys’ chest. Accompanying the bullet was a spray of blood. Spurts of red mist came out of his body and began to ooze down his shirt.
Carleton was dying. It was obvious by the way his eyes drooped and his body slowly became too weak to support his frame. He slowly slumbered to the floor and collapsed in a heap of blood and mess. Carleton was dead.
Jack pulled up a chair next to the passed body. He removed a small pill from his pocket that was contained in a little snap bag. He gulped the pill in one heaving swallow. Jack sat at his chair for a wile.
Jack looked around the room with a glazed gaze. He saw a television set perched atop a small wooden cabinet. There was a black leather lounge about…about forty meters away from the television, or so Jack thought. He looked behind him and saw the entrance to the kitchen. What he could see of the kitchen was a grotesque site. The walls were disgustingly dirty. As he thought about it, the whole house seemed dirty. He looked up and focused in the roof. There were spider webs and bugs all over the light. The place was a mess.
Jack looked back to Carleton and he awoke. Carleton sat up from his slumped position and splashed off the excess blood that had pooled on his clothes. Carleton stared at Jack and Jack rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
“You thought you killed me didn’t you” said Carleton in a grim voice.
“Yes. You’re dead. Carleton, I killed you” replied Jack.
“Did I deserve to be shot, Jack? It wasn’t very nice,” said Carleton.
“No. No, you’re dead,” said Jack as he began to cry.
“I'm pissed off Jack, I want revenge.”
Jack said to himself in thought that this wasn’t happening. He rubbed his eyes and looked over to where Carleton was standing. He was there, this was happening. Carleton moved toward Jack and was offering a pale and distressed face, not unlike Jack. Jack ran into the kitchen, which was soon found to be a bad idea. The kitchen only had one exit and it was the one he came in through. Carleton followed and soon cornered Jack next to the buffet. Carleton lunged for Jack, but Jack moved away and slid over the breakfast table. Jack had an open run for the door. He made for the back door to exit the house for good. He jiggled the door but in his haste he forgot to unlock the dead bolt above the handle. Jack mistook the door for being locked and quickly ventured towards the laundry. Jack made it into the laundry just after Carleton caught up. Carleton was in no rush. Jack attempted to open the door that was in the laundry but he was unsuccessful but this time the door was locked. In a panicked rage Jack looked around and noticed an opening in the roof. A man hole. He scampered up onto the washing machine and pushed the cover off and climbed in. Jack reached the top and rushed over to a window, one the size of a porthole, just a little bit bigger, large enough to fit through. Jack looked back to monitor Carleton and he was a few feet away.
“How the hell did you get there…?” puffed Jack.
Jack stopped at his words and opened the window and scurried out and found himself on the roof. His eyes were blurry but he walked towards the edge of the roof. He contemplated jumping and turned around to check on Carleton and make a decision. He was there. Right there. Behind him, right there. That was it then, Jack was ready to jump. He leaped and slow motion took over his perception. With eyes blurred his vision slowly zoned into a fence, a picket fence. White paint and sharp spiked pincer like cone tops. The pickets like the bullet slowly dug into the flesh and created a wound for it to reside in. Several pickets were piercing into Jacks young body. Blood poured onto the white paint and settled at the base. The fence was now a stained shade of red. Jack was dying…Jack was dead.
Morning broke and light brought an end to the silence as children began to roam about. An entire scene of police barricades cut off the bloody abode from the rest of the world.
Police announced to the media after several weeks of analysis that two teenagers were killed. It was labeled as a “Murder Suicide”. The statement detailed that the boy named Jack shot his friend Carleton in a delusional state due to the use of the drug known on the street as “Destiny”. Afterwards he roamed the house in a psychotic, out of mind rage; messing up the house and soon after he climbed to the roof and jumped off to end the suffering of guilt. It was said that he landed on the picket fence that was removed…so they say anyway.
The headlines read, “Destiny’s Fate”
Luke Buttigieg 5/5/2ooo…