Do you play games? What if they’re dangerous ones? Perhaps the very notion of life can be considered a game. After all, we can’t always be the person we are inside. What if we could? What if we could do and say anything that came to our minds? I shudder at the thought but then again, it’s truly delicious. I’m continuing to highlight the various authors in The Animal collection – releasing soon from The Edge Imprint at Booktrope.
The stories are meant to draw you into to the darkness lurking just beneath the surface. We all have that line that if we cross, there’s no turning back. Up today is a lovely lady I’ve recently come to know – S.L. Stacker. Enjoy her two short pieces but don’t read with the lights off or alone…
THE GAME OF LIFE
I stood motionless and watched wide-eyed as my father’s long, slender fingers wrapped around the beautiful woman’s throat. I wanted nothing more than to move—to run—yet, I knew if I so much as coughed, I would meet the same fate. So, I did the only thing I could. I stood perfectly still and watched the scene before me play out.
The pressure upon her throat was obvious—my dad’s white knuckles an indicator of the pressure being exerted. Her own hands snaked to her throat, clawing and pulling at my dad’s, yet his strength never wavered. She was unable to move from his grasp, and her eyes widened the moment she realized her fate was sealed. It was funny because I knew his grip would be the cause of her death before the realization hit her.
As I watched the life leave her body, I felt a warm stream flow down my legs. My eyes blurred, and tears spilled down my cheeks as the woman slipped from my father’s grasp. Her lifeless body landed upon the cool tile floor.
“Look at you. You’ve pissed yourself. Go wash up, and I’ll deal with this,” my dad ordered, glancing at my pants before returning his attention to the lifeless body sprawled on the floor.
I turned and started toward the door, thankful he had not seen my face. I had almost found my freedom, but stopped when I heard my dad call out.
“Happy birthday, Frederick. We’ll go out and celebrate once you’ve changed.”
I nodded and exited the room, unable to look back to acknowledge him because I didn’t want to show more weakness. My tears would have confirmed my father’s accusations of me not acting as a man should.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I celebrated my seventh birthday. I wet myself and watched my father kill my mother.
TIME REPEATS ITSELF
“David!” I called from my study, my patience wearing thin.
“Coming,” I heard him call.
Today is his sixteenth birthday, but before he is allowed to celebrate, he has to give his answer to a life-changing question. Does he join F.A.R. as the next leader, or does he pass and become disowned by the family when he turns eighteen?
“You called for me?” David asked from the doorway.
“Come inside and close the door,” I instructed, watching his posture straighten when he realized this would be a business meeting.
“Have you made a decision? Will you be joining the family business?” I asked him. I could see the dread upon his face, and I wasn’t looking forward to his answer.
“Yes, Sir, I have. I’ll be leading F.A.R. within the next several years.”
“Congratulations, my boy. I’m happy you’ve acknowledged you won’t be taking charge for several years, but there is one thing you need to witness in order to make this official. Come with me.”
I stood and made my way out of the office and through the house to my bedroom. This was something I had added to the requirements of becoming leader. No one, with the exception of myself, had experienced this. Is it bad I was excited for this moment?
I opened the door and walked in, startling my wife. She stood up and met me halfway between the bed and door, smiling until she looked behind me and saw David.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, her smile having disappeared.
I wrapped my long, slender fingers around her throat and saw surprise take over her features before it was replaced with fear. When she looked into my eyes, I could see she knew her time was limited. This time, instead of piss-soaking my pants, my dick hardened. It was such a turn on knowing I controlled the life of someone. I dictated if this wretch before me lived or died.
I heard David gasp, but I didn’t look at him. I wanted to watch the life drain from my wife. Besides, I knew he wouldn’t interfere or leave. He was me.
Surprisingly, she didn’t struggle. In fact, her hands went slack at her sides, and she stared into my eyes. As the life drained from her face, memories of my seventh birthday flooded my mind. My wife did not struggle as my mother had. It was almost as if she had anticipated she would die by my hand.
Thanks to my fucked up father, I watched my mother die. Thanks to David’s fucked up father, he would watch his mother die. I hope I can say like father, like son, but only time will tell. Hell, I may never know if he’s like me because I never told my father I enjoyed watching him kill my mother. That was too personal, and I don’t do personal. If David is like me, then his reaction will be something he takes to the grave with him.
As her body slammed to the floor, I turned to David. His eyes were focused on his mother. I cleared my throat, expecting him to turn his attention to me, however, I became disappointed when I did not received the reaction I wanted.
“Yes, Dad?” he answered. His eyes reluctantly moved from his mother to me.
“You will not speak of this—to anyone. When it’s time for your replacement, the same thing will happen. You will kill your wife, and if your child cannot accept your action, he or she will not be welcome to replace you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir,” he answered, his face void of emotion.
“Welcome to our fucked up but glorious lives. You will never want for anything,” I assured him. “Now, you may leave. Remember, speak of this to no one.”
After David hurried from the room, I followed behind, closing and locking the door. Returning my attention to the woman slumped on the floor, I decided I may as well do something to relieve my erection. Unzipping my pants, I knelt upon the floor. Since watching my own father kill my mother, I found I could only find sexual relief when I killed something or someone. I was determined to enjoy this.
I felt like a God.
Just a taste of the terrifying…
Kisses and a touch of blood…