This is the 3rd and final chapter…enjoy
Not Quite Right with a Broken Mind
By PHfan21
I stood at the bottom of the stairs a little longer than necessary. When the gunshot sounded, the banging, scratching, and wailing from down stairs became more frantic. I stood in wonder, listening to the creatures that my father and brother had become. The sounds they were making were so…inhuman. This whole day has been very interesting.
I climbed up the stairs that, not too earlier led me down to my mom and dad, but now they lead me only to my mom. I took each step slowly, fully knowing that it's bringing me closer to something horrible.
I took a breath every time I took a step. It sort of became a mantra in my head, breath-step, breath-step, breath-step. Until I finally reached the top. I noticed yet again the soft carpet under my feet. Then I giggled for no reason at all. Soon it turned into raucous laughter that seemed to jump from my open mouth and bounces off the walls, reverberating until there were many voices laughing.
I welcomed the new voices; they made me not feel so alone. I knew I was the only one in the house that could still make some sense.
The door to my mom's room was closed. So I opened it a few inches. A smell wafted to my nose. It smelled like copper; blood, with gunpowder.
The door creaked as I opened it all the way. I had known since I heard the gunshot, what I would find in her room. And I was right. So I wasn't shocked when I saw her limp body lying on her bed. She was partially sitting up, her body resting against the headboard. She had shot herself in the head.
A small revolver was held by her hand. A hole, with only a trickle of blood flowing from it, sat on her temple. I walked up to her, and stood beside the bed. I was contemplating what I should do next, when a shrill sucking sound came from her mouth. It sounded like she was screaming from far away.
She was breathing.
And that's when I attempted to take the gun from her. But her hand was clamped on it like a vice. I pulled her fingers, one by one, away from the handle. Finally I got it, and I looked up and noticed the trickle of blood had increased. Her eyes were rolled up in her head, her face pointed toward the ceiling. Her mouth was slack, hanging open, gaping at me. I pointed the gun at her, and shot her in the head. The sound resonated in my ears, hurting them. And this time, she stayed dead.
The bullet entered in the front of her forehead, and at that angle, the exit was large. I could tell that the back of her head was pretty much gone. Blood, bone, and gray brain matter painted the wall and headboard.
I set the gun down on the small table next to the bed. I kicked off my shoes, and got under the covers with my mother. A warm jelly like substance leaked onto my head. I sat in a puddle of warm blood that was already starting to congeal and cool. It stuck all over to me, but I just snuggled closer to her dead body until I got into a more comfortable position.
I decided I was going to take a nap, since I was so rudely awaken this morning. Then, when I woke up, I was going to put that gun in my mouth, pull the trigger, and eat a bullet.
Thoughts of a dying atheist
By Muse
scares the hell out of me
and the end is all I can see
and it scares the hell out of me
and the end is all I can see
and I know the moment's near
and there's nothing you can do
look through a faithless eye
are you afraid to die?
For those of you that didn't know, it is possible to survive a bullet to the head, as long as it hits an area that is "empty" of important stuff.