The Blog

Francis 2: Takeover

Francis picked up the phone and heard Duncan's panicked voice on the other end.

"If they're able to find out about my stay at the mental hospital, what about us!? Your father will actually kill you if this ever gets out!"

"Calm down, my dear. Screaming isn't going to make it go away. I'm going to do it. Tonight."

"Fran, are you sure?"

"Yes. It's ready. Make some space for me in your room."

"Good luck, dear. It'll all be over soon."

Francis hung up and took a deep breath. This plan had been a long time in the making. If his estimations were correct, then his father should be passed out in the living room by now. Sure enough, he was. Francis watched from the railing as Baptiste snored away with the television blasting.

His mother, Aurelia, was diagnosed with cancer two years ago and died six months later. Her health had plummeted so quickly that it traumatized those closest to her. His father's drunken ramblings always revolved around his late wife, saying that he would give up everything if it meant that she would come back.

Well, Francis is about to grant him his wish.

His mother was on numerous different medications, all in a vain attempt to stop the pain. Francis saw one in particular that piqued his interest.

Morphine.

He researched more about it in the school library. It was then that a horrifying thought crept into his mind, and it disgusted him. He thought he could never do such an evil act.

That was until his hobby was exposed. From then on, things went from bad to worse. The beatings were harsher, the training was harder, and forcing him to quit theater club and gardening because it 'corrupted' him just pushed him over the edge.

He had to kill his father, or else his father would kill him first.

Francis crushed the pills into powder and collected it in a prescription bottle. He carefully walked down the stairs and made his way over to the bottle.

He poured the contents in and shook it around. Afterwards, he went into the kitchen to cook and to make as much noise as possible to wake his father.

"Francis! Qu'est-ce que tu fous encore dans la cuisine!?" Baptiste bellowed.

"Pardon, papa! J'avais faim!"

"Petit cochon! Tu manges tout le temps! I'll lock the fridge if it keeps going on like this!"

Francis watched in anticipation as Baptiste took a swig of his wine. He turned back around and continued cooking.

"Bonne nuit, papa. Pour toujours," Francis whispered as he stirred the pot on the stove.