Day 221 – What I Give – Short Story
He looks across at them, as they sit, huddled in the corner, fear, dirt, blood, piss, and shit, covering them, their eyes, stare at him, wide, urgent, nervous, he lifts the bottle of bourbon to his lips and washes down another few mouthfuls, wiping his lips with his sleeve once hes done, “STOP LOOKING AT ME!” He screams, throwing the bottle into the floor, it shatters, sending shards of glass and liquid in all directions, the huddle closer, cowering from him.
“Kyle, do you have to be such a jerk,” he says from across the room, Kyle spins around, raising the shot gun towards him, where he lies, across the bench, smiling.
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?”
“I’m your fairy godmother,” he says, as he leaps delicately from the bench, Kyle pulls the trigger, blowing a hole through his chest, the man looks down, at the hole, then up to Kyle. “You fucking dick,” he says, as he drops to the floor in a heap.
“FUCK YOU FAIRY, FUCKING GOD MOTHER!” Kyle yells with glee.
“That’s not very nice,” he says, sitting a few feet away from his, smiling once again, Kyle’s heart races, he looks down at the body, lying in the ever growing pool of blood, and then, back up at the man sitting in the chair, he raises the shot gun to him, as sweat runs down his brow, stinging his eyes.
“W-W-WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” He yells once more.
He smiles again, “I told you, I’m your fairy godmother, I’m here, to help you, get out of this mess you’re in.”
“H-How can you help me? T-T-The w-w-w…”
“Take your time Kyle, think about your words before you use them,” he says, Kyle tilts his head in confusion, in recognition.
“Do I know you?”
“Of course you do Kyle, we have been friends for a long time, although, I haven’t been around for a while, because, you didn’t need me, you made something of yourself, became a man, and I, well, I don’t deal with adults, well, not until today that is.”
“W-W-What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you, you’ve gone off the deep end Kyle, threatened these poor people, killed Mister Sawyer, injured Miss Wyatt, she’ll die if you don’t do something about it,” He says, as he bites into a shiny red apple.
“W-What can I do, help me!” He screams, thrusting the barrel of the shotgun in his face.
“Calm down Kyle, I told you, that’s why I’m here, to help, now, first, you need to surrender the gun, and let everyone go.”
“NO! THEY CAN’T, THEY NEED TO SUFFER, THEY NEED TO PAY!”
“WHAT?” Kyle says.
“Why? Why do these people need to suffer, what have they done?”
“EVERYTHING!” He growls, turning towards them, in their huddle, panicked, scared, disgusting, he turns back to the man, who no stands before him, the barrel of the shot gun, millimetres from his chest.
“Put the gun down, let these people go, and come with me, where I can help you be free,” he says softly, Kyle, slowly lowers the gun.
“P-P-Please, help me,” he says, as he collapses into his arms.
“It’s okay Kyle, I’m here for you, let it all out,” he says, looking over to them, waving them out of the room, but they sit there, huddled, and he rolls his eyes in his head, realising, that they can’t see him, because, after all, he’s make-believe.