Uploading my one shots hence I'm deleting the blog in which I had them saved. Hope you like it (:
Mrs. Merwin knew her son was not well. How could she have known though? No mother would guess their only child would have psychopathic tendencies.
When Mr. Merwin was out of their household, Mrs. Merwin did her duties: kitchen, laundry, cleaning. Regular and daily duties she often did. One day, though, a ten year old Drake stayed at home. Stomach ache, he had whined. His mom would look after him. But he was nowhere to be found.
Her worry grew as she found him that awful afternoon crouching over... something... in their backyard. Mrs. Merwin walked out of the kitchen, silent footsteps on the grass as she approached her Drake.
Please, not again. Please.
Once she was at a good distance Mrs. Merwin's hands shot up to her mouth, quieting a gasp that had almost escaped past her lips. Her son poked the neighbor's cockatoo's open stomach. Intestines and other organs she wouldn't dare to stare at to be more specific.
She felt sick to her stomach. "Drake, what are you doing?"
Drake's back was in her direction, so his mother missed the glimmer in his eyes, the shark-like grin pasted on his lips.
"What does it look like I'm doing, mom?"
They shared the same sandy blond hair, the same nose and lips. How could they look alike so much yet Drake was ill in his mind?
"D-did you do this?" She nervously asked, praying to God he wouldn't say yes.
Drake turned around, his handsome face devoid of any emotion, and got to his feet. "Of course not, mom. Why would I do that?"
Mrs. Merwin didn't know what to do. There was no manual to "How to treat your child after he's killed 3 pets in a row." Her husband wouldn't believe her, anyway.
"I didn't do it, mom." He said. "Stop looking at me like I'm a three headed dog and clean that up."
His mother's gaze shifted to the inanimate corpse. Mrs. Merwin was so lost in thought she failed to notice the pocket-knife held in Drake's hand and the smirk on his face before going inside.
After what had happened, it was no surprise to Mrs. Merwin that Drake shot their neighbor on purpose a year later.
She felt like a horrible mother, a terrible mother for wanting him away. But she had been the only one to witness what Drake could do. What their boy could do. She was no Harvard student but she knew damn well about psychopaths and their stories. The only important fact she had learnt from TV, besides food recipes.
"Send him to Coates Academy," Mrs. Merwin firmly said to her husband ater dinner was served, dishes cleaned and Drake had gone to bed, "he needs help. What he did to that poor boy, lord. There's something wrong with him. Do it or I'm leaving." And the discussion had gone for quite a while, long enough for Drake to listen.
Drake had sneaked up on them and heard the argument. He was beyond furious at his stupid mother but the prospect of living in a boarding school, tormenting younger kids, being the one in control, having no consequences, seemed quite good at the moment.
Drake Merwin was certainly glad he had shot up Billy's scrawny leg.