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Impulses of the Adolescent (Collin Rose)

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Posted (edited)

Impulses of the Adolescent
A story carved in the flesh of the ones closest to him, to rot the core of his humanity away, forever an echo.

"I'm so sorry Mother... the blood on my hands can't end."



The wind kicked up, the daises and unkempt grass tumbled across the plains of this foreign place. It roared as the bellows pushed air quicker and quicker into the cataclysmic plains before me. A calm voice called to me from inside the doorway of a small wooden house only to approach, crushing dirt solid and grass underfoot to rise again. My eyes darted across the field, the livestock from the neighboring farm were grazing then, taking in all their life before it was taken away. Then the earth below me moved and beside me sat my mother in a white dress, her eyes looking at me. Did she see something wrong or did she only want to see that I was not crying? I never got to ask, but deep down her eyes would always look into me, resting as pools of water of a paradise lagoon in a soon desolate wasteland. She rubbed her hand on my head and motioned me inside, the aroma of steak, the recipe I try and replicate with varying results now, was filling my senses. I smiled and jumped forward into the house following her in. Now it lays derelict, abandoned. Family photos covered in dust and decay, heirlooms laid shattered, and the once familiar scents of basil and parsley were replaced with the stench of nothingness. I raised a picture and took it out of the frame; the fold was obvious but served to hide the harsh reality my mother and I had gone through. Unfolding it revealed a stocky figure standing beside my mother, his brown hair was balding and his suit was almost too perfect. His face revealed memories I had repressed back then, images of a hospital bed, the sounds of my mother's cries in the night. I sat beside her bed and placed her hand in mine as I put my face to the sheets. Her other hand rested atop my head, damp with tears of a lover long gone. I placed the picture back into the frame, folding once more and removing the dust off the glass. I placed my bag on the bed and closed my eyes, but when I opened them I was in my form of hell.

-Chapter 1-



Kicks and punches landed on my ribs and a knife's cold steel and blood-soaked blade laid on my neck with the masked wielder on my back. In front of me, my mother had bruises on her face from when they threw her on the ground and blood trickled down her mouth. Panting like a dog. One of the masked assailants took her hands and bound them together as they circled us, we thrashed about until we couldn't anymore. Each one wore a mask, a special mask, one that burnt the edges of my soul intwine with my blood. I knew that I was going to die, the blood on their hands had shown me this. Once they stopped kicking I knew that it was over, they'd put a gun to my head and bang...
A man approached, not wearing a mask but instead a large hood and cloak he spoke wildly, "You have laid hands on one of my sons, you remember, yes?" He looked down at me and my mom.
I did remember.
It wasn't long ago, about a week. We were moving across the northern railroad, looking for supplies. Our medical practices had become costly, so we had to scavenge however we must. I clung to the rifle we found near our old home, its softwood and metal barrel inticed me. My mother looked at me with dark eyes, devoid of emotion but love still rang true with everything else. The past year had been tiresome. I had worked along with my mother in treating wounded people from the conflicts that ensued after the first days of the infection. She taught me everything she could and now I'm thankful for it. There was a kick in the breeze and soon the trees whispered despair, I looked around and I saw one. Masked. He approached us from behind and brandished a large kitchen knife, smeared blood on it. I pointed the rifle shakily at the man. He asked for our gear and continuing to approach us. I told him to back away again.
He laughed and then charged at my mother with the knife raised. I took aim and bam... he dropped. His head had a clean hole right through it. My mother grabbed me and then we ran.
I did remember.
"You did the deed. Your little mother could barely hold a rifle. I know you did, why not confess to Father?" He lamented on and on spouting his manifesto to his family. Speaking of true evils and how a family is important, but their own is worth severing another. Soon however he spoke of blood and sacrifice, my mother looked into my eyes and said,
"It's okay sweetie... You go on, you're strong. Do you remember what I taught you? I know you'll do well." She then turned her attention to Father and said she will serve as the sacrifice.
I couldn't speak, my lungs choking my breathing becoming heavy. I wanted to say no. I didn't want to lose my momma...

Father looked at my mother and then at me. He chuckled and played with my hair, "The family bond is the strongest, son."

My binds were released as they all gathered an assortment of bladed weapons, my mother's screams... blood everywhere...
I couldn't look back, and only when a bullet entered my leg did I look back to see her lifeless body in the field.


Edited by Deagle

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Did a fantastic job with this can't wait for more, shocking what they did to you and your mother

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I plan on doing more once I get the time.
Chapter 2 starts the killing part of the story so it's gonna be long and extremely vivid.

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@Deagle We are doing what?!?! Also, good read

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