Lycan Rising Chapter 2

Chapter two - An Attempt at Repenting

I wipe the tears from my face. Pulling the knife out of my leg I try to clear my head. The pain is negligent against my broken heart. I let myself bleed. I watch the blood trickle down my leg. It drips down onto the floor. Let this pain be my first penance for my sins.

What is happening? What have I done?

This doesn’t make sense. How could I, be responsible for this nightmare? I am just a regular guy. I’m not crazy. I’m not some wild animal. Sure sometimes I lose my cool. Sometimes I get into fights. And I really enjoy the feeling and exhilaration of winning that fight. But... I have never killed anyone. Put someone in the hospital once but generally I’ve always seen myself as a decent guy willing to do the right thing.

I don’t want to admit it but there is no denying there are bodies lying here, slaughtered like cattle. No not bodies, they are not just cadavers; they are ...(I take a deep breath)...my parents. They… were my parents.

How can I make sense of what has happened? I killed my father out of blind rage and confusion, temporary insanity, but my mother some kind of... beast ravaged her. Bite marks and paw prints were on her. Some sort of large dog or wolf must have attacked her. This doesn’t make any sense. But somehow I feel responsible for both deaths. Guilt eats away at me like a ravenous beast putting my chest in knots and making it difficult to breathe.

I can’t take this anymore. I don’t deserve to live. Tears begin to streak my face once more. I’m a monster. I hope by doing this it is enough to repent for what I have done. I have no other option. No other way to make amends.

I stand up and look at the mess around me. I force myself to take it all in. The more I see the more I feel, no, I know I am somehow responsible.

The whole room shows signs of a struggle. I see things that must have been thrown. Broken vases lay on the floor. The coffee table is bloody and in several pieces. A mirror with a million cracks with blood running down them. I can still see myself in it. The image of a blood soaked naked body is looking back at me. It is frightful and foreign. It’s distorted but somehow I recognize myself in it.

I feel empty. I’m just a vessel with nothing inside.

My father and I may have never seen eye to eye but he didn’t deserve to die. I reach down and close my father’s eyes. Tears flow down over my cheeks and drip down onto his face. “I’m sorry,” I whisper to him.

I turn for a second towards my mother but I can’t face her. She was the only one that was there for me when I was growing up. But now I feel responsible for her death.

I start walking towards the garage where I know everything I need is. I feel cold and calm. As I step into the hall I am relieved to see all the carnage was restrained to the living room. I take a deep breath this walk will be difficult. I enter a different kind of hell.

The hallway is lined with photos, memories that I no longer feel like I deserve. Each picture is a shot to my heart. As I go down the hall I knock the pictures to the floor and step onto the broken glass. The glass cuts deeply into my bare feet and into my soul. It’s just another payment. I walk tall but hang my head low leaving a trail of blood and tears. I cannot look them in the eye. I have disappointed them once again. In the end I have lived down to my father’s expectations.

I have reached the door of the garage. I do not hesitate. I open the door and walk in. I get the rope down from the shelf and tie it into a slipknot. Standing on a chair I tie the other end to the rafters above me. I place it around my neck.

I’m ready. With out faltering I kick the chair out from underneath me. I dangle there and wonder how this happened. Blood had dried below where my terrified father had stabbed me. The wound is closed. The cuts in my feet create a red pool below me. My bare feet graze the floor making ripples in it. Time is passing slower. Each second is like an eternity. My life should pass before my eyes but my vision is clouded with images of guilt and regret. Finally, air abandons me. I can no longer breathe. My last thought is of how my parents would never approve of me taking my own life. Even in death I am a disappointment.