Empty Eyes

Undoubtedly, I’ve always been fearful of my parents, my own flesh and blood. 

Perhaps it was the innocence that they had chosen to wield as their outerly persona, the charming personality of a person that was once there, that was once cognizant of their own actions.

Perhaps it was the silence that they had decided to make; the cold demeanour that they now utilized as a way of escape from who knows what.

I was fearful of the secrets and dark mystery that roamed the halls of our dark, vast manor. 

The dry air in which I breathed in daily, the chilled aroma of this now inhumane house sent a chill down my back. The tingling that my body produced seemed to put me on edge even more. My skin was crawling for the most curious of reasons, and I had no idea why.

During this time, my parents had changed and become these puppets; never letting anything out, anything show. They had become the very thing they wished to stop; the very thing that they had tried their best not to become. They were always very lively. They always talked to each other, cracking jokes every minute.

Now they were so ever silent, never speaking to one another. They acted strangely around me, never speaking to me. It made me curious about the thing that had caused this to become. The exact thing that had caused this to happen.

It also made me angry with the way they were treating me; it made me feel a rage that I had never felt before. 

Why must they shut me out? Why must they treat me like such dirt? They treated me like I wasn’t there, like I wasn’t right in front of them.

I didn’t understand where this was coming from; I didn’t understand what was going on. I watched them at the table, my parents seated there before my form; an empty look that swirled within their dark gaze. They made no effort to look back at me. They made no effort to talk to me.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know who to talk to. How could I get my old parents back? I wanted them back; I wanted them to replace these cold-hearted ones. I wanted the life I had before; I wanted to talk to them again.

A sudden shrill interrupted my meal, causing me to jolt in surprise. I could hear the strident, ear-piercing siren of a police car. The sound got closer and closer to my line of hearing, my body on the edge of my seat. 

Perhaps they had finally come to ask me about the sudden change of my parents, or maybe even take them down to the station for questioning. Maybe a person finally filed a complaint, worrying about my parent’s absence in the social scene they’d always seemed to be caught up in.

The sudden banging of my front door caused me to scramble to my feet, shuffling towards the sudden sound. My face sported a confused look, but my body was confident in my actions. I was confident in how this was going to play out. They’d come in here, ask for my parents, explain the worrisome note they had received from my parent’s many friends. Then all would go back to normal and we’d continue on with our meal.

As I opened the door, I was met with the front of a charred-colored firearm, the end of the weapon pointed at my skull. The eyes of my perpetrator was set in an enraged look, their eyes squinting enough to make me feel alarmed. I just stood there, my eyes gaped like a full moon in the night sky. 

Why were they mad at me? Why were they looking at me in such an accusing manner?

They needn’t say anything because their actions said enough. They forcefully sprang into action. They pushed my front door open, the side that’s facing me now slammed against the dark colored wall. They put their hands on me, leaving a bruise behind in their firm grip’s place. They were hurting me, and I had no idea why.

They had attached handcuffs to my limbs, keeping my arms in place behind my back. All the while my parents sat there watching the officers manhandle me. Why must they be so cruel?

Getting led out to the police car was one of the strangest things. My frantic eyes scanned the neighborhood in which I inhabited. The people that I’ve known my entire life were out on their lawns. Their eyes pointed directly at me and their arms held their family members in tight grasps. Why did they look so scared? I should be the one that’s scared.

We arrived at the station a couple minutes after sitting in complete silence. I still didn’t know why I was here; why I was cuffed like some animal. Like some criminal.

The officers inside shot disgusted looks my way; not hiding their unknown distaste for me very well, and I wondered why I was receiving them in the first place. They were very obvious.

They shoved me inside this cold room. The walls were blank, the empty space around me becoming more intimidating. There was a single table inside; two chairs pulled up to the empty table faced each other on opposite sides.

The officer that had come in began asking me these very specific questions about my life, my family, any issues in my past, any needed anger management, any mental illnesses that ran in the family. The questions soon when south; now focusing around violence and homicide.

It took a thirty minute questioning to find out as to why I was arrested. Why I was detained in the most pugnacious way.

“We are aware that you’ve murdered the two people that were sat at the dinner table,” The officer started off. They looked at me with the utmost hatred that they could possibly let out.

It took me so long to remember the exact time when I had slaughtered my own parents. I had set them up like a real family; I had directed my anger towards the freshly rotting corpses. 

I had been treating them like they were strange, but they were nothing like me, a murderer.