Garret’s mother tumbled, her arms pointed straight at her son as if she was reaching out to him. Abrupt and anticlimactic, Garret’s mother joined her husband.
Walks in the park, eating with silverware rather than flimsy, inefficient plastic cutlery were just two of the many things Garret longed for. He felt ravenous for normality. Rehabilitated by the Long Brooke Asylum, Garret started making goals for himself like anyone else. Like anyone else.
Only one more obstacle divided desire from reality. Underneath her long blonde hair, disguised by her extraordinarily blue eyes and tremendously immaculate complexion, was a true heathen controlled by the same forces that declared Garret as subhuman; that he wasn’t like anyone else. Like anyone else.
His sister Morgan was a soul blessed by the very hands of God, but learned through books written by Lucifer. Despite her willingness to help others, she only wanted to destroy Garret. To put him in Hell again. Garret had never met the devil, so it was better off that someone who knew the monster would live in his eternal realm.
Tears burning down her cheeks, Morgan couldn’t control herself. Hovering over her parents as if she was performing a method of reincarnation, Morgan was awe-struck and paralyzed by rotten emotion.
“Morgan,” Garret said, his tone smooth and unvaried, “please don’t make this difficult.”
Morgan didn’t say a word. Slowly, she staggered backward.
Garret mocked her movements, only forward. “You need to help me.”
“Get away,” Morgan warned in a pathetic whisper. “Please, you’re fine.” Morgan started widening her stride. She was walking.
Garret parroted her movements. Stalked her.
“Oh God, please,” Morgan begged. “I’m not like them. I don’t think you should’ve been sent away.”
“Oh yes I should have,” Garret said through clenched teeth. He teased her with the blade.
Garret went through the front door.
Out of the back door. A tree, a bush, a raccoon. Some dew, some birds, some stars. Morgan’s chest burned as she ran, but not because she was out of shape.
A gnome, a different tree, a raccoon sprinting away. Some dew, some birds, some stars. Garret searched for his sister, his knife always ready.
A different tree, raccoon tracks in mud, a gnome. Some dew, some birds . . . no stars.
Garret stood above his sister, leaning over as if taking a better look at her in the darkness of the night. Morgan turned around from facing the ground. She took a deep look in his eyes. Outside of a sudden blankness that lied in the forefront, she could see a soul searching for its way out.
Garret smiled as he helped Morgan to her feet. Falling from her throat, through her body, and out of her feet, the tension that had built inside of Morgan dissipated. Only the lingering notion that she did not understand Garret tarnished her composure.
“I love you,” Garret muttered as he whipped Morgan around so that her back lay against his chest. He pressed the knife against her throat.
“Why?” Morgan fought to ask. Her tears reflected the stars.
“Because I want you be like you.” The knife neared. Garret petted Morgan’s hair as she imagined him etching his initials in her throat.
Garret shoved Morgan straight up, holding her arms crossed behind her back. The knife flirted with her throat. A single stream of blood cascaded down her neck.
“Please, please, please” Morgan pleaded. “You don’t need to be like me.”
He was ready to achieve his goal.
“Fine,” Morgan said while trying to calm down. “But you won’t feel any better. You’re human too. You’ll feel guilt. Pain. Regret.”
Suddenly, Morgan's feet touched the ground and the knife was no longer against her neck.
As he walked away from Morgan, wondering if she’d ever forgive him, Garret whispered, “I love you.”
Owls hooting in the night, stars illuminating the yard, trees rustling in the wind, dew chilling his ankles, and a harvest moon directing his path: Garret noticed these things, which meant he was outside. Alive and free. Like anyone else.
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Fear, focus, and the future. C.M. Humphries talks about writing, horror, and whatever.