Page 13 of Unhinged Cain

He placed his hands on his hips, staring down into my eyes as if daring me to try something. I had to admit I was tempted to follow through on my fantasy. The images were living creatures in my mind begging to be set free.

I smirked at my father and let my mask drop for a moment. I wanted him to see his death in my eyes. It may not be today or tomorrow, but it would happen, and I wanted him never to have a peaceful moment again until then.

“Just remember, it wasn’t God that made me. You did.” Smiling, I hopped off the wagon and walked to the tractor.”

I looked back at my father, who seemed shell-shocked. His mouth was still hanging open, and his eyes were wide. Maybe he hadn’t known for sure what I was, but he did now. The pathetic look in his eyes made my day out here all worth it.

Putting my good old country boy mask back in place, I smiled and gave him a thumbs up. When he returned the gesture, I revved the engine and put the tractor in gear.

We didn’t speak the rest of the time out in the field as we worked, but every time I looked at his face, I was more certain that he needed to die soon. There was no way I was letting him send me to a stupid psychiatrist again, and I definitely wasn’t getting locked up. No one in a white coat was getting near me.

While I drove along the rows of hay, the seconds turned into minutes. As they ticked by, my skin felt like it was on fire as the simmer of anger turned into rage, and it prickled at my skin, urging me to kill. I took a few deep breaths to try and rein in the all-consuming urges that made me want to spill my father’s blood. I needed to be smart about this, and shoving him under a moving tractor tire was an entertaining idea, but it wasn’t smart.

Four hours later, I’d managed to pull myself together and once more seemed perfectly calm as I drove the tractor into the shade of the old barnyard.

“We should get the market pigs separated and ready for the truck tomorrow morning. The driver said he’d be here early,” my father said as I shut the tractor down. All I wanted was a cold shower and a sandwich, and the idea of dealing with the fucking pigs was not on my list.

“Are you serious? We’ve been out here all day.”

‘Besides, I have plans that involve the neighbor’s dog. The animal keeps wandering onto the property and shitting on the lawn. Plus, I figured that would give me some relief and help me let go of the urge to kill you.’ I thought to myself.

“Yes, I’m serious. Go grab us a couple of waters and apples, and I’ll go get the gates set up.”

This man was pushing his luck. I’d already reined myself in once today. Twice may become a problem. I stomped away from him and aimed for the house. My hands were balled into fists as I pictured grabbing a knife and slitting his throat when I returned to the barn.

My anger turned to my brother with each step I took toward the house. How exactly had Abel managed to get out of working with the hay again? Oh yes, that’s right, he was pretending to be stupid and was sitting in summer school. I wished I could be as skilled as he was with emotional manipulation. I didn’t have it in me. It took great effort to hold the proper emotional reaction in place for long periods, but Abel could—the fucker. So now he was able to relax and not be here, doing this farm shit. I would have to find a way to pay him back for that.

Mother was in full baking mode when I stepped into the kitchen and was humming to the radio. I made sure that the door didn’t make a sound as I closed it behind me and stared at the back of the woman that gave birth to me. I was supposed to feel love and respect, or a bond with her at the very least. I felt none of that. To me, she was nothing more than a husk of annoyance.

The dress she was wearing was standard country wife, summer dress attire for the area. The little yellow flowers and her hair pinned up gave the impression of the perfect little housewife, but I knew better. She’d been fucking my father’s best friend for years. They practically flaunted it under his nose at parties if you paid attention. Paying attention to details was what I did best.

Making sure I stayed out of her visual range, I wandered to the fridge and grabbed a couple of water bottles. I purposely let the door slam back into place and smirked as my mother jumped and screamed. She spun around, and I made the best oops face I could. The I’m sorry face was the hardest for me to pull off, but she seemed to believe the act as she gave a nervous little giggle and then smiled.

“Cain, you scared the bejesus out of me.” The woman fanned herself as she sighed. “Where’s your father at? Dinner will be done in an hour.”

Do you really fucking care? That was what I wanted to ask, but instead, I tried another one of my new emotional skits. I leaned against the fridge, trying to act like an annoyed teenager.

“He wants to sort the market pigs tonight. We will be a few hours yet,” I grumbled and rolled my eyes.

My mother wiped her hands on her apron and picked up the very same knife that had landed me in therapy. I watched her wrist movements and how easily the blade slid through the potato. Skin was much easier to slice. My nostrils flared as the image of my mother bleeding out all over that cutting board and then slipping to the floor with her eyes glassy like a rag doll came to mind. My cock stirred, and I had to look away before I became any more aroused.

“Please don’t lean up against anything until you’ve had a shower. You’re completely covered in chaff and dirt.” She pointed the knife at me, and my cock twinged again.

I sucked in a deep breath as I wondered what it would feel like to lunge forward and force her hands to stab herself. Would she look shocked? Would she scream? Would she beg for me not to kill her?

“Fine. I better go before dad comes looking for me.”

I grabbed a pair of apples from the bowl on the table and let the screen door slam on the way out. I smiled wide as my mother yelled at me not to slam the door. Small things were sometimes just as amusing as the killing itself.

At one time, we only had a couple of the stinky pigs, but father wanted to increase that number and make it a larger part of the farm, so we were currently up to a hundred animals, all of them in different stages of growth. Like I didn’t have enough chores to do between the chickens, cows, and cash crops. Now I had to deal with more pigs.

As I walked through the outer part of the barn, I could hear the clanging of the metal gates my father was setting up. He arranged them to make the necessary run to herd the two-hundred-pound animals to lead them into the slaughter truck. Reaching the edge of the first set of pens, I spotted my father in with the forty or so market pigs and leaned against the gate.

“I have your water and apple,” I called out and held them up.

“Thanks.” My father took a step in my direction and paused, his face contorting into a grimace of pain.

His gloved hand grabbed his left arm, and I stood a little straighter. I knew the signs of a heart attack. I’d watched Mr. Baker, a guy who lived down the street, have one. He’d been yelling at me for cutting through his backfield to get to school faster when he made the exact face my father was now. Fascinated, I’d walked over to Mr. Baker to see what was happening. As I’d squatted down near his writhing body, he reached for me and begged me to call for help, but I didn’t. I enjoyed watching him die far too much. I stayed in the same position like I was staring at a work of art until he took his last breath. I watched his eyes glass over as his body finally gave in and shut down. I’d never been so turned on in my life.