Ty

Aged Thirteen

I creep slowly down the dim hallway of our family mansion, stretching long and silent around me. My bare feet make no sound on the marble floors as I move closer to my parents’ bedroom. I feel how heavy the axe is in carrying in both hands. It’s my dad’s. But tonight, it’s something else.

She’s dead. The thought loops in my mind, like it has every night, driving me crazy. They’ve got to die before they kill me—or anyone else.

The double doors to their bedroom are wide open, showing the size of their room. The massive bed is in the centre, and I can hear my father’s snores from the doorway—deep and rumbling. My fingers squeeze around the axe handle, my knuckles whitening as I step inside, the fur rug brushing between my toes.

I edge closer to my father’s side of the bed. His face is slack, peaceful, almost unrecognizable from the man I’ve seen for all my life—angry, nasty, cruel. A tightness builds in my body, and it aches as I stare down at him. His chest rises and falls steadily, completely unaware of what I’m about to do to him.

The axe feels too heavy in my hands as I struggle to lift it, raising it high above my head. My breath shakes as I suck in air, readying myself. I shift my grip, inhaling quickly, zoning in on his throat, the vulnerable line of skin that will silence this monster forever