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|Breath Of His (standard:horror, 2197 words)|
|Author: jcrct7||Added: Sep 15 2002||Views/Reads: 1990/1317||Story 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 Click here to read the rest of this story (181 more lines)
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