Page 1 of Unhinged Cain

CAIN

I lay in a bed that was too small for me, but my parents refused to get new beds for my brother or me. I had no idea why. Their answers never made sense when I asked them questions. Looking over at my nightstand, I let my eyes follow the globs of red lava and sparkles ever so slowly as they floated around inside the glass container of the nightlight. It was supposed to look like a spaceship, but it reminded me more of the thing that vibrated in my mother’s drawer, just fatter. My eyes drifted from the slowly moving gloop that was meant to relax me into sleep to my small angel statue and my leather-bound bible. Sitting up, I pushed the little angel in the middle of her face, and the miniature statue fell back with a tiny thud.

“Stupid statue.”

I grabbed the bible that was not much bigger than my hand. My eyes traced over the gold cross, and the words ‘Holy Bible’ splashed across the front of the book. Like, I wouldn’t know what this boring book was as soon as I opened the cover? My thumb bent the book and let the pages flutter, the tiny words nothing more than a blur. That was the other stupid thing about this book. Why did they make the words so small that everyone interested in the crap the pages held would need glasses to read it? I couldn’t explain why, but I found that strange little fact funny.

Being born as intelligent as I was was a blessing and a curse. I was far more intelligent than even the smartest adult I knew, although they’d argue that fact. Adults didn’t like being told they were wrong about anything, and their favorite answer was ‘because.’ That word was not an answer to a question. Even a kindergartener could tell you that.

Sighing, I was bored, and the air in the room was hot and sticky. Glancing at my window, I took in the curtains that were hanging perfectly still and decided to fan my face with the book since it was the only thing it was good for—well, maybe except for burning it. I’d lit one or two on fire, and they burned hot and fast, the gold pages sizzling as they turned to ash.

Church was interesting, not because I cared what the priest said, but because it gave me the perfect place to watch those that came and sat among the pews. They were never the wiser that I envisioned how I wanted to kill each and every one of those stupid people. They were lemmings in my game, and just like the little floppy-haired animation, they would follow along one after the other. Sure as shit, if one went over the cliff, they all would. I could picture them yelling, ‘praise Jesus,’ on the way down.

I stopped fanning myself long enough to stare at the words again and wondered why adults tried to say the words inside were from God’s lips to our hands. This statement was filled with major issues that they all liked to ignore. If this book was so perfect, why was it missing major portions that no one wanted to discuss? Or why did they say that boys shouldn’t have sex with one another and that God would be angry when that wasn’t referenced until the King James version in 1946? Did God come down again and whisper in some old man’s ear that he didn’t like it? I highly doubted it.

Last Sunday, I was marched out of church because I stood up and told the priest that the Noah’s Ark story was actually a retelling of Gilgamesh. When we got home, my father smacked my ass until I couldn’t sit without wincing for speaking out in church and making the priest look bad. You’d think that the man would know if he’s teaching the crap. Seemed logical to me. Then my father made me stand in the corner like I should be wearing a dunce cap, but really it should be on his head. Should be on all their heads.

Sitting the book down on the nightstand, I slowly shook my head. I didn’t like the sheep in the barn, they were noisy and stupid, and the human versions that lived in this house were no better. Someone needed to cull them from the herd, and as far as I was concerned, they’d get whatever they had coming to them.

A memory of hunting season drifted through my mind. It was this past season when dad had gotten lucky. He’d shot two deer, and their dead carcasses were hung in the shed, and with the memory came the rich metallic scent of fresh blood. There was something about the scent of blood that stirred desires in my young body, desires I didn’t fully understand, but I knew I wanted more.

My tongue ran along my teeth as I felt every rough ridge and sharp point. What would it be like to have fangs and be able to tear the flesh right off the bones of my prey?

My parents were my prey.

I mean, they named me Cain and my brother Abel. What did they expect to happen? I always thought it was funny that my parents were the smiling and faithful parishioners that prayed to a fake god while I was the devil planning their deaths. I suspected that my brother had the same urges. He seemed to enjoy the little games I’d ask him to play as a test. ‘Pull the wings from the little bug’ was the first game. Abel was so enthusiastic that I turned the game into ‘pin the kitty to the board.’ He excelled at that, but my brother was erratic. That was what my parents called it. I saw it, too. He needed to be guided, but if he had someone to point him in the right direction…

I smiled at the thought.

It was too hot to sleep. Untangling myself from the white sheet, I padded my way down the hall and stairs to the kitchen for a glass of water. The fridge light was bright as I opened the door, and I blinked as I grabbed the clear thing with water that mom liked to keep in the fridge. She said it made the water healthier to drink. I just liked that it was really cold. Pulling over the stool, I climbed on top and opened the cupboard for a glass. I didn’t like using the kiddy plastic ones with farm animals all over them and instead reached for the clear adult glass. If mom saw me, she’d freak out and squawk like a chicken about to have its head cut off.

Sitting on the counter, I let my feet swing and poured the water into the glass before chugging the cool liquid down. As I was pouring myself a second glass, I noticed the block of knives that was pushed to the back of the counter. The deer memory came to mind again, and I wondered what my father would look like hanging upside down with his throat cut. Pulling the largest knife out, I stared at the metal blade that looked like a sword in my small hand. As I turned it from side to side, the metal glinted in the moonlight streaming through the window.

I took a deep breath as I remembered clearly the first night the dark thoughts of blood and pain entered my dreams. I hadn’t been out of diapers, and every time she changed my smelly white diaper, she’d make these weird noises and smile down at me. When you get bigger, I’ll show you how to do this or that. She’d ramble on as if I cared, but all I wanted to do was to rip her pretty blue eyes out of her head. The sound of her screaming was loud in my mind as I imagined my mother’s fear while she cowered in a corner as I cut her over and over again.

Hopping off the counter, I walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs toward the bedrooms. I noticed Abel looking at me from the crack of his doorway. I didn’t look his way or acknowledge that he wasn’t hiding as well as he thought. Even at seven, I knew that if Abel wanted to be like me, he needed to come to me, not the other way around, and if not…

Well, then he’d have to be taken care of at some point, but of all the humans I’d met, the boy that occupied the same woman’s womb with me for nine months was the only person I had any connection with on this planet.

My feet were no louder than a mouse. The kids at school would say dark basements and hallways had monsters hiding. I didn’t know what lies they were being fed, but there were no monsters in this house, except maybe for me.

Stopping at my parent’s door, I stared up at the gold-colored knob of the handle. New energy I’d never experienced before was going through my body and excited me as I reached for the handle. I liked this new feeling. I turned the knob so slowly. It never made its normal squeak sound as I quietly pushed open the door.

I stood in the doorway for a long time. It felt like I was there the whole night watching my parents sleep. I found myself mimicking their sleep, the way their chests rose and fell. My father was snoring loudly, an arm laying over his eyes as his mouth hung open. My mother had a strange mask on her face and her hair up in curlers as she, too, made strange little noises in her sleep.

One light step after the other, I finally reached my father’s side of the bed and watched his chest move with each loud and annoying breath. My hand tightened on the wooden handle of the knife as I imagined slitting their throats and shutting him up for good. Would their snoring turn into strangled screams? Would they scream at all or just look at me? Would they be scared or die in seconds like the animals did when we slaughtered them? My eyes took in the white sheet lying on their bodies, and my lip curled up with the thought of it turning red.

As if sensing my presence, my father startled awake and opened his eyes. He turned his head, looked at me, and then down to my hand. He sat up quickly, and I noticed the change in his breathing. He was breathing fast, his eyes wide. He was scared as he stared at my hand holding the knife. I liked that.

“What are you doing, son,” my father stupidly asked.

I wasn’t much for lying, so I simply answered, “I’m thinking of killing you.”

CAIN

I stood over Heather’s body and stared at her mere inches away from her uninteresting face as the light slowly faded from her eyes. It was always the same. Even when they were silent and didn’t scream, there was this moment of complete fear as their body clung to life. Then as they finally died, you could see the shift. I wanted to understand this moment of acceptance and peace. The muscles in her face relaxed as the fight in her body disappeared and the eyes that seconds ago had stared at me in horror and fear now stared up to the ceiling at nothing.

Moving closer to her head, I got low to her body, so our cheeks almost touched. Turning my head to stare at the metal ceiling, I could only see the rafters, chains, and the plastic I used to protect from splatter. There was no bright light or hell-bound demon—everything was exactly as it had been before.