I know. They think that I don't, but I do. I know about both of them.

"Matt! Honey, I'm going to head out. I don't know when I'll be back, so don't wait up"

I don't reply. I don't want to talk to that woman. She's just going to her fuckbuddy's house for another good time.

I sit down on the couch and wait as the TV and PlayStation hum to life when I click the power buttons.

Any second now, I'll hear the familiar sound of my father sneaking into my mother's wallet to get enough money for another fix. It doesn't matter, though. She deserves it. She deserves to be stolen from and he deserves to be cheated on and they both deserve to die. And I? I deserve to get out of this hellhole of a family.

A blessing comes to me via email from a friend a few weeks later. I'll have to check into it. Everything is exactly as it has been. My mother's a whore and my father's a thief and drug addict. I head downtown with a few easily made fake certificates and buy what I need.

It was purely divine that both of them were actually home tonight, I'm sitting in front of the television playing Final Fantasy when my mother comes up behind me,

"Sweetie, I'm going to go to bed now. Sleep well."

She kisses me on the cheek and heads into their bedroom. Once she's gone, I wipe my cheek off. Only she and God know where those lips have been. My father has long since been in bed, passed out from the heroin. I play a little more until I'm fairly sure they've fallen asleep, and head to my room to get my supplies.

Shadows are playing on the wall as I walk down the hallway, only lit by the moon. I can faintly hear the background of my video game from the living room. I creak open the door to their room and pull the revolver from my bag. It's heavier than I expected. Maybe it's to make up for the weight I should feel in my heart, maybe it's coincidence.

I aim it at my mother.
BANG.

I aim it at my father.
BANG.

I walk back out into the living room and throw the weapon into the fire, remembering to grab my suitcase and boarding pass.

I don't feel bad. No, they deserved it.
I sit back into my chair and wonder faintly how much different England will be.


Well, first of all, this fic is loosely based off of a song called Black Helicopters by Matthew Good. Also, I will be updating this fic whenever I can, which hopefully will be pretty often.

Sorry for the angst btw. .