A shadow creeped up on the sleeping boy, with exaggerated hands and a bent and stretched spine. The boy opened his eyes, opened his mouth to scream…
The scream never came as the shadow ripped the boy's tongue out and stabbed him.
"She died… You'll join her…" He hissed as the life left the child's eyes. He gave a small chuckle. "Goodbye, Onion…"
Onion's eyes were dead. Onion was dead. Jamie could have killed the others, but decided against it.
Sour Cream had been a good friend, and his parents were the kindest. Onion had gotten on his nerves more than once.
He gave a frown to the room, the snake's hisses echoing and the wind bashing against the door.
"Hush, wind; his blood is mine, his body is to be encased in a wood prison and his soul is Death's. You only get to be the silent witness." He gave a small chuckle, knowing he was talking to no being or object. Yes, he too questioned his sanity, but he cared not.
He treaded past Vidalia and Yellowtail's room, but paused at the room belonging to the DJ wannabe.
He entered. Quiet as a mouse, he crept toward the sleeping, younger teenager.
"Come little children,
"I'll take thee away,
"Into a land of enchantment.
"Come little children,
"The time's come to play,
"Here in my garden of shadows…"
His voice was soft – just like she had sung the song but male – and the maniacal grin seemed so natural on his face, with his eyes wide and hair scruffy.
You could say Jamie was the picture of perfect insanity, and do you know what he would do?
Don't fear the answer – he would laugh and agree – but his actions – and then would turn, brandish his weapon and cut out an organ, preferably the heart.
Jamie was to be feared, and he was a nightmare to children, a story told by parents to scare them into obedience; they were oblivious to the actions of the nightmare's father.
"Follow, sweet children,
"I'll show thee the way,
"Through all the pain and the sorrows…
"Weep not poor children,
"For life is this way,
"Murdering beauty and passions…"
Who had he killed in the past few months? Onion, Peedee, Barb, Mr Smiley, Jenny's grandmother and father, strangers who had come into the 'death trap' house – his house – who hadn't heeded the warnings and… who was the last one?
It was not someone from Beach City – in fact, it was not even a being!
Oh yes!
His sanity.
"Hush now, dear children,
"It must be this way,
"To weary of life and deceptions.
"Rest now, my children,
"For soon we'll away,
"Into the calm and the quiet."
Sanity, such an overrated thing, is not needed in the journey of life and he found it easy to tie down and brutally stab until it existed no more.
It had hurt, killing it, as he'd never done such a thing, and he could feel its pain and its life ebbing away…
But oh! Oh, the pain was worth it! Now he was free! Free of guilt, free of fear, free of any emotion other than rage, sorrow and emptiness.
He did not acknowledge the happiness, the joy, any positive emotion, and never had. Emotions were overrated too; most things were if he were honest.
"Come little children,
"I'll take thee away,
"Into a land of enchantment.
"Come little children,
"The time's come to play,
"Here in my garden of shadows…"
And in a mere few minutes, his thoughts were broken by a sweet, deep groan and icy blue eyes a-fluttering open.
In sheer panic, Jamie unsheathed his knife and drove it into the heart of the teenager, no more than a breath leaving Sour Cream.
He only looked up at Jamie, weakly pointed, and fell, eyes wide, mouth caught in a gasp and hands rested on the bed, his right hand pointing at the end.
Clearly, Sour Cream had been murdered. Yet it looked like an accident so, so much.
So Jamie crept away, regretting his panic and his actions, eyes teary and tired of the deaths they'd witnessed, but he felt no tire or tears.
Numb – yes, Lexica had called him numb numerous, countless times – was Jamie, and he preferred it no other way.
He fled to his home, the death trap, without alerting or waking a living soul.
He shut the door, and ghosts of the past began their reign upon him, beating fear into him.
Jamie's rest was forbidden.
Days passed before the police located him, and by then he was weak, too weak to walk and had to be carried into the car.
The ghosts of the past! They'd forbidden him food! He'd cried out and protested so many times, but they always replied with sarcasm and chuckles.
Why could they not see the truth?! Why?! Why?!
Trials dragged out and he was found guilty of murder and manslaughter – it was clear, to them, that it was of sheer panic that Sour Cream had been stabbed, though how that qualified as manslaughter Jamie was uncertain (this stuff always confused him) – and was sentenced with an appropriate amount.
However, he refused; oh he refused so much, to stay any longer!
Somehow, he fled!
Found by Steven.
Scared, oh so damn scared.
"Jamie?"
"DON'T SEND ME BACK!"
He grabbed his knife, how did he get that, and gripped it tight.
"O-Okay!" The twelve year old held his arms in the air.
Blood spurted out… There was a gasp… Dying breaths… Last words… Death…
Jamie…
It's finally over.
Lexica waits.
And so do I.
Thank you for all (two) the reviews you left me.
Please tell me what you thought, and I think this was shitty, and it was short but what ya gonna do, eh?
