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Breath Of His (standard:horror, 2197 words)
Author: jcrct7Added: Sep 15 2002Views/Reads: 1862/1221Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
The breath that she hears is not of her own...
 



Breath Of His Written By Chris Wade (jcrct7) 

The hot evening of September 23, 2002, was filled with humidity, almost
as if it could suffocate.  An off-white house stood abruptly in the 
midst of the quiet neighborhood street.  From the distance, maybe four 
or five houses down, a dog could be faintly heard, howling and barking 
to the quaint sounds of the night.  "Woof!  Woof!" then a pause, as if 
the dog had to take a breath or loudly exhale.  The low, deep and heavy 
voice of the distant dog was heard again.  "Woof!  Woof!" 

A sudden, swift breeze, then after, shook the branches and leaves of the
tall, old oak and pine that occupied many of the front yards.  It blew 
dark clouds over the street, as if having purpose for rolling in the 
night quietly, but strong.  A tremble of light thunder growled, letting 
everyone know of it's presence.  Out of all the silent noise of the 
night, mumbled voices were heard, shouting, from within the house.  
There was a light shining through the crack of the pale, blue curtains 
fromt he most right window, like a sliver of sunshine escaping into the 
dark outside.  A boy, or about thirteen years of age, strolled 
peacefully down the street.  Hearing the voices, he stops, puts his 
feet onto the newly paved asphalt for balance, and turns his head to 
the window from which the yelling were coming from. 

He saw what looked like two figures, shouting and waving thier hands in
the window, as they were fuzzy, black figures.  One of the figures was 
doing most of the yelling, while the other looked as if it were 
shifting weight from side to side and occasionally erupting into 
something at the other.  They were both in the ktichen.  He knew.  All 
the houses in this district were pretty much the same: all the kitchens 
on the front, right side of the house, the living and dining areas the 
rest of the front of the house.  He continued to eavesdrop for a couple 
more minutes and realized the two figures were of a man and a woman, 
the woman talking the most.  "That figures," he thought sarcastically.  
"They are probably married and the husband did something wrong, like an 
affair or broke an expensive thing in the house during a "fix-it" 
mood."  He rolled his eyes and lifted his feet to mount the bike again. 
 "But, then again, maybe not.  Who knows?" he chuckles to himself and 
rides off into the night. 

"Why?" she said and sighed with exhaustion.  "How could you?" 

"Please.  Just give me a chance to..." 

"No!" she shouted, glaring into his eyes.  "You got your chance!  Now, I
don't want to hear your stupid excuse!  It's enough!" 

"Please, Jen!" he pleaded.  "Please!" 

"No," she lowered her voice as well as her head.  "You've had your
chance.  Now, it's time to pay for your mistake." 

"What?" he exclaimed, raising his hands to shoulder height.  "Wha...what
are you talking about?  what are you doing?" growing faster, higher in 
his talk. 

"You have to pay for your mistake," now looking at him.  "You have to." 

"Jen!  What are you doing?  What's wrong?" he shouted. 

"You have to..." lowering her voice once more and turning to the blue,
marble counter beside her.  "You have to pay." 

"Pay for what?" he screams, now nearly estatic.  "Pay for what, Jen! 
...Jen!" 

"No," she murmurs and looks at him again.  "You must pay for your
wrong," slowly handling a gun on the counter.  "And pay yoou will!" 
shouting and quickly pointing the gun at his face. 

"Jen!  What are you doing?" 

And with that last breath of his life, she pulled the trigger and
stepped back one step.  The cold, sliver bullet moved through the round 
barrel with a trail of dark grey smoke behind it.  It made collision 
just above his left eyebrow, blasting away all around it, as if the 


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