Does fate have it out for Gerard, ripping away everyone that he loves? Or is it all in his head?
June 27th, 1930
The house stands quiet. 5 year old Mikey and 8 year old Gerard are supposed to be asleep. Instead, they're engrossed in listening to a fierce argument between their parents carried out in low tones. There's something strange about it. Their parents nearly never argue. The hostile undertones don't miss the attention of the boys crouched in the shadows, halfway up the stairs. They strain their ears towards the sound, yet aren't able to make out most of the individual words, just mostly tones.
Then, a noise that is unmistakable. A loud crack, like that of someone being struck right across the face. There was a feminine cry of pain. Mikey slipped his hand into his elder brother's. He was frightened, unsure o what was going on. Gerard gave a comforting squeeze, his eyes not straying from the den's closed door.
He didn't have to wait long. "What the hell is wrong with you?!?" His mother shrieked. She was answered with a shotgun blast. There was a thud as her body hit the floor. Gerard shot up, half-carrying, half dragging his younger brother up the stairs. Just as they made it to the second floor, they heard the door to the den creak open. Mikey was shoved into his bed and safely cocooned into the blankets by his brother. "What about Mommy" He asked. Gerard looked at him, not knowing what to say, only "I dunno, just stay here."
Gerard shut the door. He could hear his father's heavy tread onthe stairs, taking the steps leisurely one by one. He practically flew to his own room, hiding below the blankets. And not a moment too soon, for just as he closed his eyes and began to steady his breathing, he heard the familiar footsteps coming down the hall. His door slowly opened.
He barely dared to breath, until the door closed. But sleep was a long time in coming.
Mr. Way remarried in the years following his wife's death, after playing the part of a bereaved man. But Gerard knew better, and constantly reminded Mikey that their father had murdered their mother in cold blood after a drunken argument. Secretly, they hoped the new wife would come to the same end. Everything about her was fake, her hair, her smile, but worst, her personality.
June 27th, 1935
Gerard and Mikey sat in the backyard, nearly pitching a fit. Their stepmother had made a poor excuse for pancakes that morning. They choked it down, in an attempt to avoid further problems. But inside, they were seething. "How dare she made that for us! Only mom used to make those for us!" Gerard yelled.
"You're right." Mikey agreed, before adding, "You know, nobody these days can make pancakes, or tell stories like mom used to."
"You're right, Mikes. Nobody these days can." Gerard said. YOu could certainly catch the sadness in his voice, barely veiled. Nobody seemed to be able to measure up to the dead woman in their eyes. But it was pure sacrilege to try to pretend that anyone could ever replace her. Even so, Gerard couldn't help but hate Mikey for being the splitting image of his dead mother.
It scared him, because he shouldn't be feeling this way. Mikey was the last thing he had in this world. It would kill Gerard to lose his little brother, yet in his mind, he fantasized killing his brother. One day, he would.
June 27th, 1943
Me and Mikey decided to join the army. The war's been on a while, so they need soldiers, accepting kids as young as Mikey, barely 18. It also means that supplies are short. Even so, somehow, between the 2 of us, we managed to get several gallons of gasoline and a book of matches.
We had already taken everything that mattered to us out of the house, and left it with Alicia, Mikey's long-term girlfriend. It was the anniversary of our mother's death. It was growing near the almost exact hour, as far as I could tell, that she had died. I shared a look with my brother and nodded. There was no way out of it.
We had lived 13 years with the knowledge that our own father killed our mother. THe murderer and his fake new wife lay asleep inside. Mikey brought me out of my reverie. "Let's do it." He said. I nodded, my mouth dry. I grabbed one gas can, while he took the other. We splashed the gas onto the ground around the house and the sides of the damned building itself, making my eyes and nose sting.
We met around the back of the house, tossing the cans to the ground. I took the book of matches out of my pocket, pulling a single match out. My hands were shaking. Whether it was fright or excitement, I couldn't tell, and I didn't care.
Finally, I got the match to light up. The wind nearly blew the tiny flame out. Me and Mikey held out breath, but it didn't go out. When it had recovered sufficiently, I threw it at the house. The tiny flame hit the line of gas. WIthin minutes, the house was surrounded by flames. As we stood watching, the wind blew the fire onto the house. In a heartbeat, it was entirely engulfed. We stood watching the flames lick at the white paint, hearing the screams inside, smelling burning wood. After a while, Mikey said, "You know, the sun's coming up."
I looked up, and sure enough, there was a streak of light on the horizon. "Let's get out of here." I said. We turned and started walking away from the house. "Mama, we're burning up the night you died." Mikey said, sounding on the verge of tears. I found myself in a similar condition, barely able to choke out drunkenly, "Here's to you and your bright baby blues." A near maniac grin followed on the heels of that statement.
"Gee... I don't think her eyes were blue." Mikey said quietly. Now that he mentioned it, I couldn't quite remember, what color were they really? I can't seem to remember anymore. Even so, I didn't look back.
There's 3 more chapters, all written out, so no waiting for long updates. If you want to see more, just let me know.