And it should’ve been the same with his wife. It had felt good not to care, not to feel and the fear that had paralyzed him, made him weak and powerless dissipated along with everything else.įueled by hatred, by a twisted form of vengeance, Dominic had lived solely for himself, cruelly exploiting and manipulating the people around him to fit to his needs, only to callously discard them when they had stopped being useful to him. Her remembered numbness and the sinister chill that had crept in his veins and swept with agonizing slowness through every crevice of his being, blanketing everything in a dead, cold frost, encasing what remained of his heart in ice. He was lost in his memories, lost in his fear, lost in his rage, lost in the hatred that poisoned his heart, that kept him from seeing or feeling or caring for anything else. It had been in that instant, with the click of the empty chamber, that Dominic remembered shutting everything down. He thought of nothing but the toy truck he’d left on the couch, the one she’d given him, as he heard the click and her laughter soon after.

There was nothing in her dark brown eyes, not even an ounce of warmth a mother should’ve felt for her child.ĭominic, physically too young and yet mentally mature enough to grasp the implication of that moment, closed his eyes to everything: to her, the gun and the burning sensation in his chest that felt like hunger, but hurt so much more. Before she squeezed the trigger, his gaze found hers, and in that eternal moment, he saw…nothing. When she aimed the gun at him, Dominic stared into the perfectly rounded chasm of his death and visibly shuddered. The sound of her laughter was off, frightening him like something of nightmares. “Let’s see who God takes first.” She raised the gun to her temple and unflinchingly squeezed the trigger.

“We’re both going to die, baby,” she whispered while her dark, dilated eyes held his. “Mommy…” He wondered if he could outrun her, his verdant gaze frantically eyeing the little bit of hallway behind her. His heart was hammering so fast he could feel it in his throat. “It’s called Russian roulette.”ĭominic was shaking. “Let’s play a game,” she whispered with a small smile that chilled him.

She was swaying, the hand holding the gun not quite so steady. “I want to show you something.” She forced him to sit and joined him seconds later on the stained threadbare carpet that had seen better days.

“Come here,” she ordered, wrapping her boney fingers around his emaciated arm to tug him forward.

Monster by Francette Phal