"Monstrous"

A Short Story

(Preface: This story is somewhat of a sequel to "Diseased," and, not unlike "Diseased," where I dreamed a dream and decided it was ridiculously cool and wrote it down.)

They were screaming at each other with such intensity that I was surprised to notice that no one was staring at them. I was staring at them. I screamed at them to stop, but they wouldn't. Didn't. My parents sure know how to make a scene, even though, oddly, no one was paying them any attention. Sick of standing there while being ignored and hearing them fight, I walked off. I walked to the front of the store. I would just wait in the truck; though, with my luck I’d see them carried away in the back of a cruiser for domestic disturbance. Or domestic violence, depending on how the fight goes.

          As I walked by the door greeter, I saw a woman holding something peculiar as she walked by with who I assumed was her husband. By the time I was able to look back for a double take, the woman was concealing whatever she had. I also noticed that my mother was trotting angrily toward me. I ignored both observations and walked through the automatic doors toward the parking lot. I wondered where my dad was, because he wasn’t with my mom, but I honestly couldn’t have cared less.

          Moments after I left the store I heard running. I turn to see my mother berserking toward me. Something was strange about her and I couldn’t explain it. Can’t. It was crazy; it was like she wasn’t my mother anymore. She was a monster. I ran from her. I didn’t run like a child about to be beaten in public by his mother. I ran like a man about to be murdered by and enraged psychopath.

          I couldn’t remember where we parked, so I just ran. I ran until I hit the highway. I walked beside the road and headed north toward my house. Strangely, I wasn’t the only one running from something. There were others. One truck flew past me but quickly slowed down a few yards ahead of me. I walked beside the truck and the man inside opened the passenger door, motioning for me to get in. I got in and told him where I lived. He didn’t speak the whole ride. Neither did I. I was confused; everything felt surreal.

          The samaritan sped along hurriedly, reaching my house in only 20 minutes (a usual 45 minute drive). He left just as speedily as he came and did so without saying a word. I ran inside and quickly up my spiral staircase to my room, not thinking to lock any doors. I don’t know what good it would have done since my mom had keys and all. I hadn’t really thought of my dad, but I assumed he was crazy too; I just had this feeling. As I was upstairs, I opened one of my windows as an escape route in case my parents came home. I then began to change. While I was naked and about to put on a new pair of boxers (for reasons you might assume), I heard the side door, the door I came in through, open. I hurriedly put on my boxer and then a pair of jeans not worrying about a shirt. I went to grab my keys and sneak out of my window to flee and take one of their vehicles that I had a key to, but stupidly I allowed my keys to rattle. As the keys made noise and I got scared and let go of them while picking them up. They flew through my adjacent door and onto the tiled floor of the kitchen below. I was screwed.

          I needed the keys and there was no way I could get them. No way had presented in my mind, at least. I opened the door and screamed, “Back up!” My parents were beneath me and walking toward the keys that were just in my sight. “I have a gun,” I yelled. They seemed to understand, not saying anything. Wait, I thought. “Kick the keys away.” My mother started kicking the keys closer to the side door and away from herself and my father.

          She seemed to distract me though, because before I knew it, I heard my father ascending the stairs. Then she turned to me. She jumped from the island that centered the kitchen. She jumped toward me with great strength. To avoid her, I threw myself over the ledge that lies two feet beyond my door. My father then jumped over the rail of the spiral staircase onto my mother and me. The two of them crashed to the tile floor; I fell onto the island. I managed to grab two knives from a set on the island. I dropped to the floor where my mother was attempting to right herself. I slashed at her neck. My father then grabbed a knife from the set as well. In perhaps his craze, he held the knife by its blade and attacked me with its hilt. I then slashed at him, buying myself time. I picked the keys up from the floor and opened the door. I locked the door then slammed it shut. I ran to my mom’s truck with which I made my escape.

by MFW III