Monster Minds [completed]

Chapter 17- Connect the Dots 2

"You can be a king or a street sweeper, but everyone dances with the Grim Reaper."

-Robert Alton Harris, convicted of murdering two teenage boys was executed in the gas chamber on April 21st, 1992.

Chapter 17- Connect the dots 2

There was once a young boy who was fascinated by death.

Stuck in an abusive family, he was forced to do all the housework, all the gardening, and all the shopping. When his father remarried, his new wife hated the young boy with a passion and then forced him to do even more chores. But when his father died and he was left in the care of his stepmother, the young boy he was officially 'the man of the house'.

One day, after being sent out to grab some meat from the butcher, the boy was confronted by a cocaine addict with a gun.

The young boy froze as soon as he saw the shaky hand individual, with dried white powder clinging to the hairs atop his nose and dark coloured clothes, which were damp with summer sweat. The gun shook between his slippery fingers, the safety switch already turned off.

As the boy took a step back, about to flee back down the quiet street, the addicts eyes flicked up to meet his, entrapping him in a blue gaze that was hypnotic and alluring. The boy had never seen someone so close to death before in his life. Even his mother and father, who were both taken from him slowly, hadn't looked as utterly disfigured as this man did.

Instead of backing away, the boy took a step closer to the man, daring him to something, daring him to lift the gun. The man, who was both hungry for a fix and severely confused, raised his shaky arm and pointed the gun at the boy's head.

"Give me your money." He mumbled, rubbing his twitching nose with his other hand. He ran his tongue over his teeth and pushed his jaw to one side, a habit he had picked up while using.

The boy, still so entranced by the state of the older man, took another step closer, ignoring his plea for money. A smile grew on his lips as he approached the quivering man, wondering how much it would take to end the life of someone so close to death. The addict froze upon the spot, frightened by the spirit of the young boy, and thrust the gun towards him once again.

"I said give me your money, boy!" Fear made his voice weak, and his handshake even more so. If he wasn't careful, his finger might just slip over the trigger and pull involuntarily. He didn't want to kill the boy, he just wanted money fro his next fix, but the boy wanted to kill him.

He was closer to the man now, the young boy, so close that he could reach out and grab the gun from his hands before the addict even thought of firing. After mulling it over for no more than a second, that was exactly what the young boy did. Reaching out with the speed of a child on crack, he snatched the gun from the addict's hand and laughed when he was successful. The addict, who stood wide eyed with his mouth hanging open, did not move from his spot. Thinking he was on one hell of a cocaine trip, he only gawked at the sight in front of him.

The young boy had now turned the gun on the addict, a deadly kind of confidence sinking into his grip. He held the gun in both hands, not sideways like the gangsters on TV, but like a real man should when serious about taking another's life.

"Give me your money." The boy said, attempting to make his voice deep and rusty, just like his fathers was. He didn't succeed in making his voice manly, but instead crocked the words out in a way only a child could; high pitched, but also deadly serious.

The addict, who was now sure this was just a part of one of his cocaine trips, stuck his hands into his empty pockets and was genuinely surprised when he found no coins.