Prologue

I sit up in my bed and glance at the clock situated high on the opposite wall. It reads twelve minutes past three. I turn my head to look out the window. It's foggy outside, so much so I can't see the huge steel gates at the end of the driveway. By this time, all my grandfather's servants should have left. It's just him and I left in this vast mansion. Perfect.

I skulk out of my room and down the grand staircase. My feet rub against the smooth scarlet carpet leading to the kitchen. I step inside and waste no time in searching for a knife. I explore several drawers until I find the butchers knife. Yes. I have seen this knife in action before. I remember watching the chef use it to cut me a fresh piece of steak for dinner once. It only took him one hack to get a good piece. It was so quick, and easy.

I leave the kitchen and head back upstairs. I approach the master bedroom, my right hand holding onto the knife like it was the most precious thing in the world. I twist the doorknob with my left hand and push the door in. It creaks slightly as I step in. There he is. I can see him. My grandfather. I watch as his chest expands and collapses in accordance to his breathing.

I take a step towards him. And then another. And another, until I am within touching distance of my grandfather's torso. I can hear his steady breathing. Oh how I would love for it to stop. I would love for him to be dead. I would finally be free. The curse he has put upon me would be gone. For he is the curse. He is a disgusting monster who deserves nothing less than pain and suffering. That is all he's ever given me.

When I look at Tyson and his grandfather, it makes me sick. Why couldn't we be like that? Why couldn't we have fun together? Why did you have to be so damn cruel? Why, why, why? The questions float around in my mind. It makes me angry. I want to repay him for all the times he shouted at me, for all the times he spat in my face, for all the times he beat me with his whip. I want him to beg for mercy at my feet, just as he made me beg at his.

I just wanted to be a normal child. I only wanted to feel loved. Even if I couldn't have my parents with me, I just wanted someone to be there for me, someone who cared for me. I just wanted someone to protect me, to nurture me and to make me happy. I wanted my grandfather to be that person. But all he wanted was a robot. Someone who would follow his every order to the letter without question.

Why couldn't he understand I was just a boy? I tried my best to please him, but my best was never good enough. I always had to try harder. I had to endure his lectures and his punishments day after day. The bruises and the cuts go away, but the pain does not. The memories do not. I remember every time he hit me, every time he called my mother a whore and my father a pig.

I remember the anger I felt. I remember the flames of fury that burned through my veins. I remember the intensity. I can feel it now. It's coming back. I feel those flames. I feel their intensity. I feel alive, and yet I feel terrified. I raise my right hand, bringing the knife with it. I place my left hand around my right, and prepare myself mentally for what I am about to do. I can taste freedom. The shackles my grandfather has placed over me will shatter and I will be unleashed.

I want to be free. But will I be able to handle the guilt? Will I be able to live my life with his death on my conscience? Will I be able to look myself in the mirror ever again? My hands tremble. I feel hot tears welling up in my eyes, distorting my vision. I can't do this. I'm not a murderer. I let my hands drop to my sides. I leave, shutting the door behind me.

I return to the kitchen and put the knife back in its drawer. I go back upstairs and head for my room. I shut the door quietly and lean on it. Tears fall from my eyes and roll down my cheeks. This is what that bastard has driven me to. He has pushed me to the limits and this is what it's come down to. This is how far he has pushed me. I'm losing sight of who I am.

I slide down the door until I hit the floor. I glance at the clock once more. It reads twenty seven minutes past three. It's amazing what can happen in nine hundred seconds. In nine hundred seconds I nearly murdered my only living relative in his sleep. Am I weak for not completing the task I set myself? Am I weak for wasting the opportunity? I wrap my arms around my knees and sob quietly into my thighs as I contemplate the answers to those questions.

Author's Note: That was my first one shot fic. I got this idea in my head and it wouldn't disappear until I had written it, so here it is. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please take a few moments to let me know what you thought of it via review. Just a few words will do. If I get lots of reviews I might consider turning this into a multi-chapter story, as there is plenty of room for expansion.