Post by Logo (The Horrorshow Freak) on Mar 3, 2014 2:32:19 GMT
I check the kitchen one last time. It's already past my bedtime, as the clock shines a bright blue "9:26", but I'm hungry. It's been 5 days since I've eaten. I'm starving. I'm to little to make my own food, at least that's what daddy always told me.
I walk into the living room from the kitchen to check on my father, slowly peeking around the corner to not get caught out of bed past bedtime, but he's sleeping with his eyes open again. I'm starting to get worried about him. He hasn't woke up in a few days, or moved really.
I walk in and see him, eyes fixed ahead and his hands pointing upward. I smile, thinking he's just sleeping and will be up tomorrow to clean up the mess he made, as well as make some food.
I go back to the kitchen and see the last meal he had, a type of meat with a LOT of ketchup on it. I put my finger on the ketchup and suck it off, tasting the warmth of it.
I walk back into my room and lay back down. Slowly drifting in and out of consciousness. Then I feel a cold hand on my shoulder that forces me up.
I smile as I recognize my imaginary friend, Timothy. Dad always said he wasn't real but I always thought he was real. He always knew how to make me feel better. He knew my life and knew what I had gone through.
We then talk for a while, just about school and what it's like for him watching over me, then I ask him about my daddy.
Timothy: Oh buddy, I'm sorry. That's why I haven't been here. I have had a lot of explaining to do.
Me: What do you mean?
Timothy: I had to tell the others the reason your daddy fell asleep, and had to tell them why he put so much ketchup everywhere.
Me: Oh. Well what happened to daddy?
Timothy: He's gonna stay gone buddy. He won't harm you anymore.
Though the thought of daddy not hurting me when I say something or when I don't keep enough hot water for him made me smile, I realized I couldn't make food, and Timothy hasn't made me anything before, so maybe he could.
Me: Timothy, can you fix me something?
Timothy: Sure buddy.
Timothy goes into the living room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. A few seconds go by and I hear a sickening snap, and the sound of something being ripped apart. Almost like paper but wetter.
Timothy then comes back, handing me what looks like some type of meat. I eagerly eat up the meat, savoring the taste, as I hadn't eaten in days, this was amazing. I love the taste of this new ketchup Timothy gave me. It taste different from before, and it's awesome! As I finish, I realize it looks sorta recognizable. Then Timothy looks up at me and my ketchup stained face.
Timothy: Would you like more?
Me: Yes! I find it funny it looks like a hand. Also, could daddy have some too?
Timothy: Sure buddy, but I want you to understand, your daddy cannot taste or feel anymore. He is alive and dead, always inside you, forever. What you just ate was his flesh. I can't cook anymore, so I took his hand, and you enjoyed it. You trust me don't you?
I look up with my eyes wide and my heart beat pacing. I nod yes slowly as Timothy puts his hand on my shoulder.
Timothy: Good. Christian, I won't steer you wrong buddy. I'll take care of you, better then your dad had. Just think about it like this, you ate the same hand that tortured you, now it's you that gets to torture him.
With the realization of this, my mind turns cold and dark. I smile a mean smile before saying-
Me: Then where's his brain? That's where all of him hurting me came from anyway.
I walk into the living room from the kitchen to check on my father, slowly peeking around the corner to not get caught out of bed past bedtime, but he's sleeping with his eyes open again. I'm starting to get worried about him. He hasn't woke up in a few days, or moved really.
I walk in and see him, eyes fixed ahead and his hands pointing upward. I smile, thinking he's just sleeping and will be up tomorrow to clean up the mess he made, as well as make some food.
I go back to the kitchen and see the last meal he had, a type of meat with a LOT of ketchup on it. I put my finger on the ketchup and suck it off, tasting the warmth of it.
I walk back into my room and lay back down. Slowly drifting in and out of consciousness. Then I feel a cold hand on my shoulder that forces me up.
I smile as I recognize my imaginary friend, Timothy. Dad always said he wasn't real but I always thought he was real. He always knew how to make me feel better. He knew my life and knew what I had gone through.
We then talk for a while, just about school and what it's like for him watching over me, then I ask him about my daddy.
Timothy: Oh buddy, I'm sorry. That's why I haven't been here. I have had a lot of explaining to do.
Me: What do you mean?
Timothy: I had to tell the others the reason your daddy fell asleep, and had to tell them why he put so much ketchup everywhere.
Me: Oh. Well what happened to daddy?
Timothy: He's gonna stay gone buddy. He won't harm you anymore.
Though the thought of daddy not hurting me when I say something or when I don't keep enough hot water for him made me smile, I realized I couldn't make food, and Timothy hasn't made me anything before, so maybe he could.
Me: Timothy, can you fix me something?
Timothy: Sure buddy.
Timothy goes into the living room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. A few seconds go by and I hear a sickening snap, and the sound of something being ripped apart. Almost like paper but wetter.
Timothy then comes back, handing me what looks like some type of meat. I eagerly eat up the meat, savoring the taste, as I hadn't eaten in days, this was amazing. I love the taste of this new ketchup Timothy gave me. It taste different from before, and it's awesome! As I finish, I realize it looks sorta recognizable. Then Timothy looks up at me and my ketchup stained face.
Timothy: Would you like more?
Me: Yes! I find it funny it looks like a hand. Also, could daddy have some too?
Timothy: Sure buddy, but I want you to understand, your daddy cannot taste or feel anymore. He is alive and dead, always inside you, forever. What you just ate was his flesh. I can't cook anymore, so I took his hand, and you enjoyed it. You trust me don't you?
I look up with my eyes wide and my heart beat pacing. I nod yes slowly as Timothy puts his hand on my shoulder.
Timothy: Good. Christian, I won't steer you wrong buddy. I'll take care of you, better then your dad had. Just think about it like this, you ate the same hand that tortured you, now it's you that gets to torture him.
With the realization of this, my mind turns cold and dark. I smile a mean smile before saying-
Me: Then where's his brain? That's where all of him hurting me came from anyway.
