She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XLV)


The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog.  While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience.  Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections.  Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.  

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author.  Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts and webseries!


Scott lunged across the room, closing the distance between himself and Megan, and clamped his left hand across her mouth.  She continued to scream until the air was exhausted from her lungs.  He listened with his head turned to the side as he tried to determine if she had alerted those who were upstairs.  Content that nobody was the wiser, he turned his attention back on his sister, who was beginning to struggle for lack of air.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled through his teeth.  “Do you understand me?  Shut.  Up.” He fought to remain in control.  With the other so close to his consciousness, he knew that the outcome of this confrontation could be deadly if he allowed himself to fantasize.

She nodded emphatically, her eyes silently begging him to let off.  Slowly he did and was immediately sorry for being so close to her when he did.  Her breath reeked of vomit and the acrid smell of her stomach acids burnt his nose, causing his own stomach to clench in protest.

“…y-your,” she sputtered weakly.  She was looking upward as she began to speak, but her words were seized upon by a series of sharp coughs.  The corners of her eyes filled with tears of pain, and when he only looked at her in puzzlement did she lift her right hand and point toward the top of his head.

He reached up and quickly ran his hand over his head, through his hair, around his ears and down the back of his neck, but felt nothing there.

“What the hell’s wrong with you,” he barked.  “There’s nothing there.”

She still hadn’t regained control of her breath and could only manage to shake her head back and forth as she continued to cough and gasp.  She only redirected her finger from where she was pointing, to a small mirror that was positioned over the mantle where his sword collection rested.

He turned and took steps which seemed to be heavier than they should have been, watching as the mirror slowly drew closer.  He watched with dread, his mind taunting him as it would in a dream by making the distance seem much further than it actually was.  Some part of him knew what was going to be on the other side of the reflective glass, but he had to see it for himself.

He didn’t recognize the person looking back at him.  He was much older, much more tired looking than he remembered himself looking.  There were lines under his eyes, and his skin had grown haggard.  Most shocking was his hair.  It had turned completely white!

“Sonofabitch,” he whispered in awe.  “Would you look at that?  I mean, just look at it.”

He giggled after the words were spoken.  The apparition before him was truly terrifying, but his words only reminded him of a YouTube meme he had watched in a past lifetime.

“What’s happening to you,” Megan sobbed from behind him.

“I’m dying,” he answered quietly.  It was weird saying it, but he knew it was true.  He should have died a long time ago, and had it not been for his dark passenger he would have.  He knew that he should feel something; loss, regret, anything, but there was only emptiness.

Ironically, the words seemed to strike his sister more sharply.  His sister, who had tormented him for years, who had called him names and belittled him in front of all her friends.  The words crushed her, sending her spiraling into a hole of loss so great that she crumbled to the ground, clutching her small frame as if to hold it together from the sobs which shook it.

It was several minutes before he spoke again.  In the silence that followed his last words, he had begun to arm himself.  There wasn’t much that he needed, his hands touched more than he strapped on, but in the end it was the two weapons he valued the most.

“What are you going to do?”

He slowly turned to regard her.  She sat with her back against the door, which he noticed had been left unlocked after she entered, watching him with an expression that was part fear, part wonder.  As she usually does at home, she was wearing yoga pants and a tank top.  Her hair was in a ponytail, but there were loose strands here and there, and her face was streaked by tears and mascara.

“I’m going out for a while, twerp,” he said with a sarcastic grin.


“No butts but yours kiddo,” he said laughingly.  “This is the end of the road for me.  There’s no place for annoying sisters, where I’m going.”

He turned and began to walk towards the hidden door, but was stopped by her hand on his shoulder.  She had leapt to her feet to stop him, and now wrapped her arms around him from behind, holding onto him tightly.

“I’m scared,” she cried into his back.  “You’re scaring me, bro.”

He reached down and gently removed her arms from his waist, turning around to regard her with a thoughtful expression on his face.  He noted that her tank top stuck to her skin, saturated by his blood, and it occurred to him that there wouldn’t be very much time for him to finish what he was doing if she was discovered like this.

“Over by the TV,” he said as he gestured to where he kept his video games, “there’s a t-shirt of mine.  Do me a favor and put it on after I leave.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” she argued.

“It’s too late for me,” he answered firmly.  “And besides, what are you really losing?  A brother, or someone for you to put down when you’ve had a bad day?”

“You’re all, all, all I’ve g-g-got,” she sobbed.  “Y-y-you and M-m-mooom!”

He sighed, shaking his head at her sudden show of sentiment.  It was unusual to him, now, and it did very little to move him.  A long time ago, before any of this ever began, there was a chance that he might have enjoyed such attention.  But now?  It meant nothing.  Even if he allowed himself to fall for it, even IF he didn’t get caught for what he had done, she would never be this good to him for very long.  It wouldn’t take long before she went back to being the bitch he had come to know and hate.

“I’m already gone, Megan,” he said coldly.

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than when her hand had connected across it with a resounding “Smack!”

His head turned to the side from the force of the blow, and as she stood there watching for a reaction, he slowly turned his head back to face her.  She took a step back as his murderous eyes locked onto hers, and her hands covered her trembling lips.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped quickly, instantly regretting what she had done.

2 thoughts on “She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XLV)

  1. “…He knew the outcome of this confrontation could be deadly if he allowed himself to fantasize..”– I like this particular line. It proves there’s a rationality that still remains inside Scott, despite his internal struggle.


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