The Quelling
by rainxface

Lethargically, I pushed my way across the floor. The grimy linoleum was nothing compared to where I had been laid for the past year. Driven mad by the only light left, I stumbled around to find the way around all the obstacles and seek the pain upon he who put me in the situation to begin with.

The journey to find him would stretch me over hundreds of miles, most of which I had already traveled, but seemed like nothing to me. The desire in my heart burned intensely with every inch I pulled myself, every inch that brought me back to my past. And as I came to my final destination, the desire that had built up so high inside started forming into adrenaline flowing through the remains of me.

He sat on his ever-growing butt with a nearly empty bottle in his hand. His head was resting on his hand, stabilized by his elbow grounding itself into the table. The television in front of him was low; the game was not as important to him as he told everyone it was.

I watched him, patiently, for his final movement before slumber. As his eye lids began drooping, and his breathing became steady, I crawled to him. I grabbed a chair from the other side of the table and moved it next to him. I sat in the seat and glared.

“Johnny,” I sang to him, “oh, Johnny.” I reached for his hand and put it nicely in mine. “Johnny, I think it’s time for you to go to bed.” I pouted out my lip and waited for his reply.

“Okay,” he mumbled while hopping off the high chair. I followed him to wherever he took me: his bed room.

I laid him nicely down on his bed and cupped his cheek in my hand. “Johnny, Johnny, Johnny,” I whispered. “It’s funny how stupid you are sometimes. How uninformed with the world you are. You did nothing more than execrate me.”

“Natasha?” Johnny slurred. His breath reeked of over enough beers for one night alone.

“That’s right, baby.”

“What are you – !”

I slid the knife out of his stomach.

“Be glad I didn’t stab you fifty times.”