The young boy strides forward, the crunch of the gravel under his feet sounding deafening as it pierces the once silent night. Winter chills the air, frost covering every possible surface, not a star to be seen in the dark sky. The moon watches over the Earth, alone in the vast blackness of the seemingly protective and warm cover that is the sky. The moon watches the actions of the young boy, both alone and both abandoned.
As the boy walks through the park, he lets out a shaky breath from the cold. Winter changes the warmth of his breath into a cool mist, visible in the air. As the young boy breathes out again, he stares at the mist and almost chuckles from what he believes is irony. Winter has changed his warm breath into coldness, just like certain events changed him from human into ice.
The park he's walking through seems ominous, not happy and playful like it had been just a few months ago. Could a place really change so much, its atmosphere almost rotting… just because the seasons have changed?
Or is it just the young boy's presence that sours the area? Is it because of what he is about to do?
A harsh wind blows through the secluded area as the boy nears his destination. The rusty chains of the swings whine and protest as the swing moves, the metal having compressed due to the cold air. There are no leaves to rustle left on the tree branches, no grass on the ground, no flowers blooming. Everything has died with the arrival of winter. Everything is left bare.
The boy thinks back to the summer, when he used to come to the park and sit on a bench and watch the children playing. At such a young age, the tender age of 13, the idea of playing so happily – so freely – baffled him. How could those children play like there is nothing wrong with the world? Like everything is good?
Happiness seems to elude the boy; even peace refuses to be his companion.
The gate of the park swings open as the boy approaches it, pushed by the wind – to him it seems like nature is telling him that he is doing the right thing. Or maybe he's just deluding himself. Whatever it may be, the boy knows that should he carry out his plan, there'll be no turning back.
He hesitates at the gate of the park, not walking through it. He's done many bad things, but passing through the gate would be prelude to the worst. He won't be surprised if in the future, he'll end up being hunted; after all, in order to do this, he'll need to embrace the darkness within himself - the darkness that has been there since birth and the darkness that will never go away.
No doubt in his mind is that should he choose to embrace the darkness, the number of his evil deeds would tally up. That's right…the domino effect.
He glances up at the row of houses across the street from the spot he was standing. As he stares at the house in front of him (his destination just to the left, tempting him in his peripheral vision), he debates with himself. It's almost like the angel and devil hovering above him are fighting.
But he knows which one will win. With a slight nod, he passes through the gate.
As he does so, he feels a weight rise off his chest… by stepping through the gate he has fully stepped over to the side he belongs. It was never his destiny to be a good person; he knows that, he always had. And now he finally feels at home.
With newfound confidence, the boy walks to the house he planned to break into. A sneer falls onto his face as the cold no longer bothers him, and he quickens his pace as he reaches the house. He steps up to the front door of the quaint abode, and twists the door handle.
The door swings open with no trouble and the boy snorts. He knew that these people were gullible and believed nothing bad could happen in such a small and nice area, but he didn't think they were that idiotic. But no matter, the sheer stupidity will help him do what he needs to without bringing too much attention to himself.
He steps into the house and stalks up the stairs.
He already has the floor plan memorised and knows what order he'll be visiting the rooms. Standing at the top of the stairs, his eyes dart back and forth as they adjust to the dim light of the corridor lights. His eyes pass over some doors; bathroom, linen cupboard, not that one just yet, ah… that's the one he wants.
He walks over to the door, and slides it open with ease, no sound being emitted from the action. It seems to the boy that luck is on his side.
Padding into the room, the carpet cushioning the sound of his foot falls, he makes his way over to the foot of the bed of a young couple. On the bedside table lies an unlit lamp, a novel by Nicholas Sparks, and a picture frame of the couple standing outside a church. The male looks dashing in a black tuxedo, the female in his arms in a bridal carry, which is fitting enough to match her pure white wedding dress – veil and all. Married only for little over a year, the couple are unaware of what is to happen to them in mere seconds.
The boy knows that it is the husband that is a light sleeper, the wife a heavy one…so that will be the order his task is carried out in. He moves to the husband's side of the bed, the male's limbs spread out and his pillow discarded and fallen onto the floor.
The boy picks the pillow up and holds it above the husband's head, ready to be held onto his face. As the pillow is held hovering with the boy's left hand, his right hand draws a dagger from its crudely made leather sheath. He lifts it up to look at, the silver of the elegant weapon glinting in the moonlight that is streaming through the window.
Just as the boy moves the dagger to the male's throat, said male's eyes flash open. Alarmed at the sight in front of him, he starts to panic. Just as he is about to shout to awaken his wife, the young boy muffles the sound of the male's cry with his pillow, slitting his throat in the same motion. The man arms and legs stops flailing around and disturbing gargling sounds come from his mouth.
The boy looks up from the now dead body to the sound of a gasp. The wife has woken up (probably alerted by the male's movements), and she stares down at her husband's unmoving body in horror. As she screams in fear, the boy throws the dagger at her neck, the weapon piercing through her trachea and out of the back of her neck.
Her body falls from its seated position and onto the floor. The sound of a child's cry fills the silent household, and the boy smiles. Pulling the dagger from the female's neck, he stalks out of the room and into the nursery of the child – the room he had skipped out on earlier.
There he is met with the sight of a bawling baby girl, just a couple months old and squirming in her crib. Her eyes are squeezed shut and her cheeks are already red from the strain of crying. He walks over to her and picks her up, rocking her softly back and forth to soothe her.
Eventually, the child's harsh cries quieten to a soft whimper and she opens her eyes to gaze up at the one who comforts her. The boy smiles as he looks into her stormy grey eyes, and he sets her back down in her cot.
"Now," he says to her softly, "I have something for you". He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny vial that contains a smoky black liquid. Getting out the baby's bottle he had already prepared for the occasion, he twists off the lid and adds the liquid to the sweet milk inside the bottle.
Shaking it to mix it, he picks the baby girl back up and into his arms, he begins to feed her. As she guzzles the mixture of milk and black liquid, she remains unaware how this little bit of 'food' will change the course of her life.
She remains unaware that her mother and father lay dead in the next room, their blood seeping out of their lifeless bodies and staining the carpet with a river of red.
She remains unaware that she will be found a day later, unfed and unchanged when the social worker comes over to visit, the police on their way to investigate the murder of two people.
She remains unaware about what exactly the boy whose finger she is gripping tightly plans to do with her.
As she guzzles the concoction, the boys smiles down at her and coos, "that's it sweetheart, drink up".
