A
heavily pregnant Anna ambled down a decoratively paved path having left work
early with stomach pains, as she reached the door she prepared to delicately
shove its heavy frame open she noticed it was a little ajar. She noticed the
thin sliver of light that caught her eye, she gently pushed the door open and
slid into a hallway. Upon entering she almost let out an audible gasp as she
her distinctive pair of black stilettos carelessly thrown over the floor and
leggings strewn over the chaise. As she walked into the beautiful kitchen she
had designed herself she felt a pang of regret that this succubus had not only
stolen his husband’s body but also his soul. His deep blue eyes could never
again wistfully gaze into her eyes and profess his undying love for her, her
eyes grew puffy and red and she lunged for the largest knife she could see, the
jade encrusted hilt and black obsidian blade gifted long ago by a former flame
whose face she could no longer remember .Her character and movement changed
from what was a tired maternal body to a coiled spring of anger, she now
prowled the room as if waiting for the hunt and narrowed her face as if she
were emotionless. She moved silently further fuelled by the animalistic sounds
coming from her marital bed. She came to the bedroom door and slowly eased it
open as she saw their legs tangled she let out an ear-splitting screech; as
they were interrupted from their reverie she descended into a berserk fury,
plunging the hilt of the large knife into her husband’s chest while he was
bound by the sheets. She swung the blade down into the left side of his chest
once again hoping to find some heart, 
her manic gaze turned to the young alabaster face of the girl who had
stole her husbands heart and was paralysed in fear. The dull blade slick with
her husband’s blood sliced effortlessly across the woman’s smooth belly. She
locked eyes with the young doe and reaching into the opening and wrenching out
what was in her hand. In a final effort she pushed the young girl out the bed
and lay back with her husband in a pool of blood and sweat. Suddenly she felt a
intense pain as if she was losing part of herself, she reached for the phone
handset by her bed and dialled for an ambulance.

Little
under three months later she was determined mentally unfit to stand trial and
sent to the ‘John Hopkins’ hospital for the terminally insane. 

When
the baby was born, he was born with deep blue eyes and pink skin, the nurses
had him named Bastian. He started his life alone and without love. Bastian
cried so much that they had to put him in an isolation room, devoid of the
other newborns. A nurse looked in on him every few hours. She had more important
things to attend to. Nobody blamed her.

In
this world, children were supposed to be loved by their parents. If not the
mother, who else would? For Bastian, it was nobody, not even himself.

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The
orphanage flaunted posters of girls with deep blue eyes and smiling
blonde-haired boys. Bastian could’ve been a poster boy if he ever smiled. Despite
how many hugs and smiles they offered him, how many cuddly toys they threw his
way, they couldn’t get him to smile

By
the time he had become thirteen, he had already consumed his first beer and smoked
his first cigarette. Nobody wanted to tell him, but everybody knew. Nobody
adopted teenagers. He was alone for life, an unwanted child turned into an
unwanted adult.

On
his seventeenth birthday, he bought a gun and he had a
plan.

Bastian
was quiet and that was his problem. Nobody could reach him through his tough
exterior. A real family upbringing may have just saved the  boy but all he had was an ancient photo of two
smiling people to remind him of any family.

He snuck out when the moon had hit its apex, left all
the money he had in a small package with a letter. It read: Thanks
for taking care of me. And that was it. He didn’t sign it,
didn’t address it to anyone, he wrote it all in a red ink and left it with what
money he had gathered up from over the years.

He
swallowed in the cold night air which

 

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