Blasphemy

Chapter Three

Three hours had passed since dinner and Calvin was trying desperately to block out the arguing downstairs. Laying in bed, Calvin stared up at his bedroom light in a daze from his bed. The ceiling was once painted gray, but the paint was peeling away to show specks of white here and there. Staring up at it now, the colors seemed to blend together into a mess that looked as though someone had spilled a bucket of the same gray paint that covered the walls carelessly onto the ceiling above. He thought about that for a fairly long amount of time. 

Something suddenly dripped down onto his face, causing him to blink in surprise.

Reaching up, he wiped his cheek and looked at his fingers.

They were covered in something smeared and red. They smelled like blood.

Dropping his hand to the side, he stared at the body stabbed into the plaster.

The body belonged to a familiar blond boy.

He recognized him as the kid from before at the church.

The boy was stabbed into his ceiling in a way that resembled Jesus' crucifixion. Blood pouring out of a gash wound across his chest and mixing into the liquefying paint. 

"Calvin."

"...no", Calvin whimpered, more blood dripping onto his face. The boy's white eyes watched him, digging into Calvin's soul and threatening to rip it out.

"Calvin", the voice spoke.

He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to escape what he saw. He couldn't move. He could feel something stabbing into his skin, crucifying him like Jesus. 

"NO", he screamed desperately. 

He heard his bedroom door open and quickly opened his eyes, gasping at the sight of an ordinary ceiling. He looked toward the entryway, noticing how nervous his mother looked.

"Calvin, I've been calling you. Are you alright?"

"F-Fine..."

"Can we talk", she asked him, stepping closer. He watched as she wrung her hands. He couldn't tell whether she was afraid of him or for him. He was afraid for himself.

"Yeah", he whispered, having no strength left to muster up anything louder. Calvin sat up sluggishly and scoot back against the wall. Apprehensively, his mother took a seat at the foot of his bed.

He knew she was definitely worried by the way she constantly spread out his checkered blankets and avoided his eye contact.

"You really are getting worse..."

"I didn't ask for this."

"I know, I know...but your father...look, Calvin. He doesn't know what he's talking about. Don't worry about him", she managed to say.

"Worry about him? You say this while you're afraid of me", Calvin replied, frowning slightly. He didn't know what he thought anymore. He just wanted to go to bed. He was beginning to feel really unstable. He needed to sleep. He needed to wake up.

"...I'm not..."

"Can we talk about this later", he cut her off. She watched him for a moment before forcing a smile.

"Yes...we can do that."

"Thanks."

Come back. Why did you leave me alone?