He’d Stop Him!!
Hey remember how I said he and his father got into a fight but he was already beginning his decent into madness and doesn’t know he actually killed his father during their meeting in the basement? Wow look here’s that
He stared straight up, looking at the thatch roof above him. Sleep had always come easy to him, always been his mental escape from the day. Think it; a reset button. After sleep, the issues of the day prior didn’t exist.
But as his tired eyes stared at the roof, pulsating with his heartbeat filling his head; there was no rest tonight.
How could he rest? How could he even think to sleep when his father had run from home? How could he rest when his brother’s blood still stained his talons in his mind? His father had vanished only a few weeks after the incident, flying from the house four nights ago, cursing Michael at every wing flap.
He had murdered his brother.
His brother was far from the only dragonet death in the area, but it was indeed the first. In the past two nights, dragonets had disappeared from their beds, families broken overnight.
Could it?
No.
His father was a good man. He was a kind man. Better than Michael could ever be.
He stared at his talons in the dark. Though he had cleaned every scale until his purple sparkled, he could see the blood. It wasn’t there physically anymore. It stained like mental photographs, unwavering as he blinked and washed religiously. His skin was raw where he washed.
He turned his eyes back to the door, listening to the sounds. He couldn’t ever bring himself to get up in the night. He heard the screams of dragonets playing over and over in his mind, making it hard to distinguish reality from.. psychosis…
Let’s just.. check.
If he was actually crazy, he was finally ready to know for certain.
He slid down from his mattress, landing softly on the stone floor of his room, gently opening the door to the hallway. The sound wasn’t louder or quieter… what if it really was auditory hallucinations?
His tail dragged behind him before he was smart enough to pick it up, moving as quietly as he could down the hall and towards the basement door. He had done his best to ignore the new scratch marks covering the door. Evan used to play down there… it was his mind playing tricks on him, trying to imagine the worst of the worst.
He didn’t die there. He died on the beach.
Maybe that’s why he heard the sound of the ocean as he turned the handle of the door, making his way lower into the screams. Or was that the blood rushing to his head as his heart thumped out of his chest.
No.
No it couldn’t be true.
His father?
There he was, in the middle of the room. Was that?
In an instant, Michael flung himself forward, claws outstretched. How…. How dare!!!!
He’d stop him!