A the young girl out the bed and

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. 

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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. Bastian cried so much that they
had to put him in a separate room, devoid of the other infants. A nurse checked
in on him every few hours. Nobody blamed her. She had more pressing matters to
attend to.

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.

The
orphanage boasted posters of smiling blonde-haired boys and girls with deep
blue eyes. Bastian could’ve been a poster boy if he ever smiled. But no matter
how many stuffed animals they threw his way, how many hugs and smiles they
offered him, they could never get those lip-locked edges to curve up.

By
the time he had hit thirteen, he had already smoked his first cigarette and
drank his first beer. Nobody wanted to tell him, but everybody knew. Nobody
adopted teenagers. He would be a lifer, an unwanted child turned into an
unwanted adult.

And
on his seventeenth birthday, he bought .

None
of us watching were worried at all for other people. Despite everything that
happened, Bastian was a gentle boy and that was his problem. Nobody could reach
him through his overpowering politeness. It took a mother’s love to chip away
at the boy and all he had was an old photo of two smiling people

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 cheap pen and stuffed it
inside with twelve-hundred dollars cash.

The
spot he chose was out of the way. Nobody was nearby to be disturbed. No runners
would come this way to be scared. The only selfishness he allowed himself was
that it was by a river, a black canvas of glittering moonlight.

“I
was never meant to live,” he told himself and us. “This is fate.”

x

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