Stranger Than Fiction

March 3, 2011
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Dwight rolled his mysterious dark brown eyes as he walked into the kitchen. His mom had just fussed at him for receiving a low grade on his report card. Apparently a “B” is for “Bum”. He was a respectful kid and would be considered the “poster child” to any average parents, but the Kingsle’s always found fault in their son.

He went and laid down on his dark grey twin bed and gazed at his ceiling. The lights were off and during his younger years he had stuck glow-in-the-dark stars to resemble the night’s sky. The bright yellow color had faded to a dingy orange but they still made him reminisce of better times when he was younger.

After his eyes mindlessly drifted close and thoughts of college and freedom consumed his mind he suddenly heard a frantic cry from the direction of his parents room. He was a light sleeper and even the chirp of a cricket could wake him up at the oddest of times. He figured that the ruckus was coming from the family room where his father frequently watched old westerns and horror movies throughout the day. After convincing himself he nodded back off to sleep and curled up under the thick grey duvet that provided warmth and a needed sense of protectiveness.

“Dwight,” he heard being screamed once again. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes as his ears perked up and waited for his mother’s wail again. The thought that what he figured could be reality haunted the back of his mind and he stood up to check on her. His parents had always told him that it was better to be safe then sorry.

“Ma, are you okay?” He asked as he walked out of his room and into the living room. The only light left on was a table lamp and the TV had gone idle; a bright blue DirectTV symbol bouncing off of corners of the contrasting black screen.
Dwight continued on his venture to his parent’s bedroom. It was conveniently located on the opposite side of the house. The cold wood from the kitchen caused from him to shudder and the sound of the house settling made him violently jump back. His eyes and ears were alert as he walked from the kitchen to the dining room.

The sound of his mom yelling his name repeated throughout his head as he continued to stiffly walk to his parent’s room. He heard the sound of a door closing outside and figured his dad had gone to the grocery store for the ice cream his mom had begged him earlier to retrieve.
“Dwight,” he heard his mom whisper. He was steps away from their menacing white door and took the needed steps to be able to open it. He stood outside the room for what seems like forever, contemplating whether or not he should go in. Maybe coincidentally the main character in her favorite soap opera was named “Dwight” or there was some LifeTime special where a man named “Dwight” was facing a mid-life crisis. He shook the thoughts out of his head and turned the brass knob to open the door.
As soon as he opened the door the stench of blood wafted into his nose and made his nostrils flare. His eyes skimmed over the room until he saw a figure with bright red hair and short pale legs in a fetal position in the corner of the room.

He unconsciously walked towards his mom and kneeled down beside her. Her cell phone was in her left hand and her right hand was clutching her shirt. There was blood flowing out of her head and the only thing Dwight could think of was the possibility of brain damage or that his mom was dead.

His eyes began to water as he picked up her right hand and held it tightly in his left.

“Who- who did this to you?” Dwight bellowed as he picked up the phone and attempted to dial 9-1-1. “Mom, mom! Do you hear me? Who did it? Tell me who in the crap did it,” he wailed. His voice became louder and the sobs became longer the more he talked. His mom’s mouth began moving but not a sound could be heard. He leaned his ear down towards her mouth yet the words were still inaudible.

“I did,” his father said as he walked into the room. A cleaver was in his left hand and blood stained his soiled black t-shirt. His face seemed darker then usual and Dwight cursed the fact that he had received those dark brown mysterious eyes from his father. He was a spitting image of his dad and looking into those orbs was going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

“W-wh-why?” He managed to say as his dad swaggered towards him. He closed his eyes and for a while the only thing he saw was black.

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