Author's Note: I decided to publish a very short one-shot I had written in a notebook for quite some time (I have quite a few I haven't gotten around to typing.) This is very dark, slightly very graphic... be warned.

-Angie.

PS: This story was written after listening to "Eyeless" by Slipknot (look at the lyrics at least, if you haven't heard the song and if you're into metal, listen to it)

Dull blue eyes glared maniacally at the sleeping man before him. His body shook with bottled rage and fury that was kept inside for years and years.

His left hand quivered and twinged with every pulse that electrocuted through his entire arm to his fingers. His right hand, however, was outstretched and steady, his elbow was locked as his index finger cocked the lever.

The seventeen year old's eyebrows were narrowed, his jaw clenched as he held the frozen position.

The past nine years could be avenged with this one bullet, right through the bastard's head. As he watched with a sadistic smirk on his face, he realized how easy this would be. The man was asleep; he wouldn't notice or feel a thing. He was completely vulnerable.

Steven Hyde's hand quivered as he held the pistol close to the man's head as he glowered at his sleeping father. All of those years of absence, abuse, neglect and pain could now be forgotten. Not with forgiveness. He could end it all with the trigger his index finger was poised against.

Hyde could feel all of the hate, hear all of the things he wish he could say, scream at his negligent, alcoholic father. And in his mind, this would make up for all of the shit that his dear old dad did. How could he think it was all forgiven? How could he feel that Hyde was okay with this situation?

Hyde didn't know why he moved back with Bud, maybe he thought things would be different. That maybe his dad actually did give a damn about him. But of course that was Hyde's inner child telling him that, and not his guarded self. If he had let logic win, then he'd still be with the Forman's, he'd actually have a home.

All he knew was he couldn't take it anymore; it was like all those years ago. Him as a child, curled up in a corner of his room, shaking and crying as he heard his parents screaming, glasses breaking, slaps and cries of pain. Except now it was him, and he was always on the defense, always sleeping with one eye open.

"Steven?" He wasn't expecting that. He wasn't expecting Bud to wake up from his drunken slumber. "Steven, what the hell are you doing?" Bud cried, quickly jumping out of bed in horror at his son. Hyde kept the gun poised, ready to pull the trigger. "Put down the gun, put down the-"

"NO!" Hyde screamed, his chest heaving with uncontrollable rage. Over the past few months, he had deteriorated, his zen facade had fallen slowly. He had distanced himself from everyone he loved because of this; he couldn't stand to see them hurting. This was his choice to make, it was his life and no one could change this. "I can't take it anymore, you fucking bastard-"
"Steven, please, can't we talk? We can figure something out, we can..."

Hyde's mind drifted away from his father's empty pleas. He had made his decision a long time ago, planned this for months and months until it drove him passed the point of insanity. And now he had to put all of the madness to an end.

"STEVEN, NO!" Bud shouted, making his way towards his son, who had tears falling from his eyes, yet a crazed smile etched on his face.

"I hope you're happy!" Hyde screamed, closing his eyes as the revolver in the gun clicked.

"Put down the God damn-" Bud Hyde jumped at the loud bang that filled the small apartment. His eyes bugged out of his sockets and a gasp escaped his lips as he watched his seventeen-year old son fall to the floor with a thud, his blood splattered across his wall and began to spill across the floor, the crimson staining the pale carpet.

Tears stung the forty-year old's eyes as he stood, petrified at the sight of his son, lying dead on his bedroom floor. Bud felt his stomach flip with nausea and he felt light headed- his son, his only son committed suicide.

He couldn't stand in here, he had to report this to the police... he had to tell the Formans, they deserved to know. Bud ran into the kitchen to use the phone and as he picked up the receiver, his eyes caught sight of something he hadn't noticed... wouldn't have noticed. Bud Hyde paled in horror as he read the four words written in black spray paint on the living room wall.

THIS IS YOUR FAULT