I wrote this story for my short story collection I am working on. The collection will consist of ten stories, each representing the theme of family, and the idea of what we may do for those we consider our family. I hope you enjoy this story, feel free to leave a comment, or share the story with friends or family. I appreciate all the support.
If you're reading this, it means I have gotten away with murder. I know you don't have any reason to believe me, but I assure you I wasn’t always thirsting for a kill. I love my mother very much, and she loves me all the same, maybe more. It was always her and I living in a studio apartment. Not the most space, but I was never much for running around. No, I spent my time observing people through the window. It was a cozy place inside our apartment, but outside was the opposite. Never have I witnessed so much violence and despair than I have when staring out the window.
Enough about the outside world. This isn't about that. I want you to ride along with me as I tell of my first kill. It was mid-September, the time when the orange trees danced. My mom worked at a school, but I'm not sure where it's located because I never left the apartment before. I was sitting by the window when she called out to me. Into the kitchen, I went to find my breakfast ready on the table. The smell of the fish, eggs, and potato swirled through my nostrils. My mom always made me a delicious breakfast and left for work until she arrived home at three in the afternoon.
That day was different. She hadn't left yet. Dressed, ready for work, but paced by the front door. I scarfed down my breakfast and watched her check the time. She wiped the drips of sweat from her forehead. My mom wasn't usually that worried before.
I lay down on the couch when I finished eating my breakfast. The doorbell went off and rang through my ears. My mom rushed in front of the mirror and checked her hair, tucking different strays that flowed in the air. Once she felt sure she looked good enough, she opened our front door. A young man almost half my mother's age walked through the door without a word. She let the door slam shut as she wrapped her arms around the young man and planted her lips on his.
A sludge of disgust slithered through my being as I watched. She held his hand and walked him to the couch. We all looked at each other.
“Hey sweetie, this is mommy’s new boyfriend. His name is Kurt, and he is going to wait here with you while I’m at work.”
I hate it when she called me sweetie, and she knew it. She leaned into Kurt’s ear and whispered.
“He doesn’t like to be babysat.”
Kurt laughed and gave her another kiss. She kissed me on my forehead and left for work. He watched her walk down the stairs in front of our apartment’s door, and that was my last moment of peace. When he returned, he targeted me without hesitation.
Kurt knocked me over from the corner of our L-shaped couch and plopped down right in my seat. Mom always knew the corner was my seat and now this stranger batted me around and took my fucking seat. The left side of my ribs ached, but I sat down next to him and watched. Like a fire, rage flared through my chest and into my throat. I wanted to scream, but I held myself together and thought to myself.
It started with a thought of a small course of revenge. Nothing too bad. I could break a leg or two. That plan subsided in my mind. Kurt pulled out something he had rolled in a cigarette paper from his shirt pocket. Next, he pulled his lighter out and held the flame to the twisted end of the rolled paper.
I knew my mom would not stand for that type of behavior in our apartment. Neither would I. Seeing that I was the only sensible being, I knew what I had to do. The thoughts piled onto one another like bricks in my mind. Kurt was scum, and a plague, bringing nothing but despair into our relationship. He had no means to show any form of respect to my mother and me, so he had to leave forever. It felt almost like a service to everyone in the world. I was heroic in taking him out.
He puffed on his roll, ash falling onto the couch and floor. With no concern, Kurt bellowed disgusting, phlegm-filled laughs. On the tv was some degrading comedy show. The smoke in the air burned my nostrils. Kurt paid me no mind when I got off the couch and climbed onto my mom’s bookshelf. It was against the wall right behind the couch. My legs ached the more I climbed.
Kurt made it so easy to make my decision. I knew this was going to be it. No remorse. There, on the fifth shelf from the bottom, was my mom’s small collection of horror books. Her romance novellas filled the rest of the shelves. Kurt’s terrible laughter continued to fill my eardrums. The higher I reached on the bookcase, the more the thought of his screams would fill my mind. I almost smiled.
The thin wood shelves creaked. Sounds of laughter and foul-mouthed humor drowned out any sound I made. The sweet taste in my mouth increased. Only two more shelves until I reached the top. The bookcase creaked and rocked. To be fair, I wasn’t sure if dropping it on Kurt’s head would kill him. He would at least get knocked out cold and I could slice open his throat a lot easier without him moving.
There I was, hanging from the second to the top shelf. I felt the bookshelf rock from my added weight. My muscles burned from the strain I put them through to climb the bookcase. Mom never liked me climbing on things. I always wanted to be mommy’s special boy, so anything she said was law. Sometimes it is best to break laws to achieve a goal we know to be of the utmost importance. Kurt’s demise seemed to me, at that moment, more important than anything else.
Heavy breaths erupted from me as I hung on the shelf, resisting my body's urge to shut down. Eerie creaks crept from the bookcase's base. The entire apartment was filled with a thick aroma of tropical fruits mixed with a skunk. I took another look over at Kurt, who still sat in my fucking seat. His head was in the perfect spot for the bookshelf to slam down and strike him with a blow of justice. It had to be me that saved my mother from this foul, despicable being.
Not once did Kurt notice the sounds of the bookcase, but that was his undoing. The top shelf was the highest I reached. I wanted to make it to the very top, but to my excitement, the top shelf was all it took. Weightlessness filled my chest. Everything in the room shifted. Books slid off the shelves. I leaped away from the bookshelf to safety, but a thick horror book collided with my back. Pain pierced my spine right up to my neck. I flailed around until I hit the floor.
No scream from Kurt, to my dismay. Only a heavy thud from the bookcase hitting the couch, and small thuds of books. I staggered up from the floor and limped over to the couch. No time to rest until I knew I did the deed. Kurt's head bent forward more than I'd ever seen before. Blood dribbled from his mouth and stained his shirt. Bones protruded and made mountainous formations along his neck. His bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets.
I was in complete shock. Not from the fact that I stared at the first corpse I'd ever seen before, but because I made my first kill. I sat down on the couch next to him like it was normal. Euphoria swept across my body, getting stronger every moment I looked at him. What I wouldn't have given to feel that rush again. It almost took precedence over the extreme amounts of warmth I felt from my mother's love.
To say that I am remorseful today would be far from the truth. It's one of my fondest memories of my youth. My mother took it a lot harder than I did. Police couldn't explain it other than it was a freak accident. The bookcase was most likely top-heavy, is what they told her. I knew otherwise. She never dated another man after that day, but I'm all she would ever need. Purring in her lap for comfort.
I told you this before but it was just as good the second time I read it. Friggen brilliant. Cringy then 🤯 bust a gut at the end.