HM Mafia Round #4 LYNCH: Grumpy Grownups
Things had gone from bad, to badder, to badderer for little Summer. At first, adventuring with Cilla had seemed like a great idea. Sure, following her friend had gotten her in trouble with her parents a few times. There was that one time where she scratched her knee pretty badly, but most the time it turned out WAAAAY fun.
This time, however, things were scary. At first it seemed like maybe a game, and it took awhile for things to really sink in - after all these were all just grumpy grown ups.
And then she found Gilbert lying outside on the ground outside. His neck was twisted unnaturally and he wasn't breathing. She ran screaming, not stopping until she reached her room. Since then, the girl had spent her time crying, hiding under the covers.
"Shhhhh! Pricilla, maybe if we hide here they won't find us. Maybe we will wake up, and mommy will be there."
The girl didn't notice the crowd gathering at her door.
"Why are the grown ups being mean to each other. WHY DID THEY KILL HIM!?" she wailed, soggy tears streaming down her face.
"Summer!" called a grown up voice.
She crawled from beneath covers, revealing only her eyes, red from tears and wide from fear.
"Games are no more for you. Now Sleep is time for you," spouted the angry woman's translator.
Screaming, "RUN PRICILLA! DON'T STOP UNTIL YOU GET TO MOMMY. TELL HER I LOVE HER." The 8 year old seemed to gain a moment of clarity, fear consuming her completely. Her sobs were uncontrolled now, but their minds were set.
"RUN PRISCILLA!"
~.~
The screams echoed throughout the house. Outside a fierce wind assaulted the ancient building. Rattling windows did little to silence the memories left in the minds of those present; the memories of taking the pillow, of holding down the child’s helpless form as they smothered the life from her.
A deep, sinister laugh pierced their hearts.
"Look at what you have become! Is it worth it?"
The guests could only scowl angrily at the portrait, or at each other as they reflected on their individual guilt. Becoming more tired by the minute on this sleepless night, emotions were running high, as were disagreements. Who was responsible? Who do we need to eliminate in order to survive? Such thoughts raced through the guests’ minds and they frowned at each other wearily.
So deep in thought were the guests, they did not even hear the chiming throughout the house as the clocks struck 4 am.
Look at what you have become! Is it worth it?
A survivor, that's what she considered herself. When the soldiers went to drag her into that bedroom twenty-two years ago, she wiped her tears away and went willingly. She had seen her mothers body, pushed casually onto the floor, and as the man took his pants down, she slid a letter opener off of her father's writing desk and into his groin, twisting untill her hands dripped with his blood. He screamed, like her mother had screamed. Like the girl had screamed.
By the time the other two men could come to their comrades aid, she'd already fled through the open bedroom window, and into the nearby woods. She used to play in those woods untill her mother had told her it was no longer safe to be outside, and she knew they would never find her there. So she ran. Ran untill she came across a small stream, where she knelt in its stoney bed and watched the soldiers blood sink down into the water, pulled away by the flowing current.
If there was one thing life had taught her, it was that no ones hands were clean. We come into the world screaming, covered in blood, and more like as not, we will leave it that way.
Svetlana opened her satchel, and withdrew a large silver pistol. She checked the magazine: full, with one in the chamber, ready to go. The evil in this house was palpable, she could taste it with every breath, and had seen enough to know that it was spreading like a virus. She was leaving, now, and if anyone got between her and the exit, she would be forced to say goodbye the hard way. Hell, she would probably be doing them a favor. Clicking the saftey off, she headed for the front door.


