Regret

He awoke in the small forest inside of town and stretched. He sat up and leaned against a tree, listening to the little brook that was a few feet away from him.1

He knew he’s have to go home soon and tried to push away the thoughts of the beating he would receive from his father for not coming home last night.2

More importantly he thought about his five-year-old brother and hoped more then anything that his brother hadn’t been beaten because he hadn’t been home.3

He stood up and started walking towards his home, thinking about his brother. His brother was the only one in his family who actually cared about him, and he did his best to protect his little brother from their father.4

There mother was still alive and well, but she’d taken off years ago, leaving her two sons to be “disciplined” as his father put it.5

He opened the door to his house cautiously, preparing himself for another beating. No one was in the living room, so he walked upstairs to his brother’s room.6

The door was open slightly, and without knocking he pushed the door open. His father stood over his trembling brother, hand raised, ready to strike his younger son hard across the face.7

His father turned as he heard the creaking of the door opening and grinned at his oldest son humorlessly.8

He was grabbed by his arm and was punched hard in the face. His father then punched him in the stomach numerous times and sank to his knees, hugging his stomach.9

He was then forced back up on his feet and his twisted his arm behind his back until he was afraid his father was going to break his arm.10

“You’ve been a bad boy sneaking off like that and leaving your brother here all alone. It’s all your fault, you know. Everything that’s happened in yours and your brothers life is your fault,” His father whispered, voice like venom to his sons ear. He always made his sons guilt rise, knowing that his son would believe all the poisonous lies he told.11

He struggled to escape from his father’s tight grip, but his father twisted his arm back even harder and pain flared in his arm as he heard the loud crack of his arm breaking.12

Tears welled up in his eyes, but he refused to release them. His father shoved him down, disgusted. Smiling coldly at his younger son he walked out of the room.13

Dragging himself over to the wall to lean against, he cradled his arm in his lap and beckoned his little brother over to him.14

Silent tears streamed down his brother’s cheeks, and he clung possessively to his brother and cried in his shirt.15

Whispering comforting words in his brother’s ear, he thought, “I hate having this responsibility of protecting my little brother. What if one day when I’m at school and he’s here alone with my drunken father and something bad happens? I’ll feel like I’ve failed him for not being there when he needed me the most. How the hell can my mother live with herself knowing what she’s done to us?”16

A little later his arm had been put into a sling and he lay in his bed, his CD player blaring loudly. Soon he fell into a deep and troubled sleep.17

Waking up, he found that his arm seemed completely healed. It was still a little soar, but it didn’t feel broken. After taking it out of the sling, he got up and turned down his CD player but didn’t turn it off completely.18

His brother came into his room, pulling someone along with him. “Mommy’s back!” he exclaimed excitedly. His brother noticed that he looked more afraid than happy, and that he had a few scratches on the side of his face, as if his mother and her long, sharp nails had struck him. She was a beautiful woman, only about twenty-six or so. Instead of looking her elder son in the eyes, she stared at the ground, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere but here.19

He felt a deep, burning anger and hatred coming from deep inside of him. She’d just got here and already she was hitting his brother and she didn’t even have the decency to look at him.20

As if in a trance, he pulled the knife he had out of his pocket and slowly walked up to her. She glanced up, and he watched, strangely amused by the fear that crossed her face.21

Raising the knife, he listened deafly to her pleas for mercy. He brought the blade down deep into her chest.22

He stared down face blank and emotionless. He pulled the knife out of her pale, dead body, not caring to wipe off the blood. 23

His father came into the room, yelling threats. Before he even had time to scream, he was dead.24

He stared at his little brother, and tears flooded out of his eyes. Tears that he had kept hidden from everyone for years. Strangely he felt no regret or remorse over his parent’s death. Instead he felt a great sense of relief.25

His brother ran over to him and hugged him fiercely. For the first time in his life he was the one being comforted instead of the one comforting someone.26

Opening his eyes, he realized he was still lying in his bed with his arm burning with a sharp pain, still in the sling.27

Sitting up he realized he held his knife in his hands. There was fresh blood on it.28