Stories I Never Finished

Anatomy

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PREVIEW

"I swear to Satan below if you keep pulling this shit I'm going to fucking kill you-!"

Luke sighed, slumping his head back against the couch as he sat with his PlayStation remote in his lap and agitation carved into the pale flesh of his face.

Though the house was open, windows letting warm air in from the outside daylight shimmering summer across the town, Luke had decided to keep himself cooped up inside and focus solely on his games like any sane nineteen-year-old would do on a Saturday morning.
Not as though he had much choice, considering his brother—currently seething at an ex on the phone in the kitchen—was an overbearing asshole most times.

"I am so fucking sick of the excuses, Kensie!" Ashton spat, slamming the fridge door shut after he had grabbed a glass bottle of cola from inside. "It's your fault our kid's dead, and you're goddamn lucky I don't tell the cops you snuffed her in her sleep like a coward!"

Luke refocused on his game, clasping an old Bluetooth headset over his ears and ignoring Ashton's call. He never wanted to delve into his big brother's life, there was too much unrefined and deadly chaos for him to even think about taking a peek into the darkness of the twenty-five-year-old's world.
He much preferred to keep to himself, especially if the blood in the bath tub after Ashton's late night returns home was anything to go by.

Halfway through an online round, Luke's eyes shifted to the lounge room window; catching the shadow of a figure walking up the short steps of the front veranda. With a grumble of annoyance, he left his match and set both controller and headset down on the couch before getting up and moving to answer the door; fully expecting another Jehova's Witness to be knocking again.
The churches in town had long since flagged the brother's house since the disappearance of their parents, hoping they could swoon the eldest one in.

Ashton, however, would much rather punch their faces in like bricks to a mud slide than ever step foot in their worship. Luke on the other hand didn't really have much of an opinion, he'd never gone to church nor had he ever bothered to learn about religion—he blames himself for all the skipping school he did—and so instead he followed his brother's lead.

Opening the door, Luke's annoyance shifted into unease; big blue eyes being met with the cold callous gaze of brown lined by black.
With short brown hair and piercing eyes filled by anguish, the man stood on the front porch with one hand tucked into his jacket pocket and the other lifting a cigarette from his chapped lips.

In black clothing, leather jacket studded with red tainted silver, ripped jeans laced through with grotesque iron patches and black boots muddied with dirt and—what Luke hoped was—red paint, Luke didn't recognise the man in the slightest.

"C-...Can I help you?" Luke's voice came out in a frightened stutter, scared of the stranger now on his porch.

Brown eyes flickered over him in a brief curious glance, studying Luke's slim figure in a pale blue shirt and plain black jeans—so casual and sweet, almost like a fragile glass ornament left in pools of reflective blood.

"Cute." He shoved past Luke, nonchalant as he flicked his cigarette to the floor; eyes scanning the room. "Where's your brother?"

"I don't know-" Luke automatically lied, hovering by the open front door. "Why?"

"He's got my bag." The man walked off into the house, following the sound of shuffling movement in the kitchen much to Luke's frightened dismay.

He shut the door, quickly scurrying after the stranger in the hopes he could get to his brother first. A hope that was squashed the second the man stepped into the dismal kitchen area, hazel eyes snapping toward his figure with a harsh glare.