Serpentine Killer

Damien is an odd boy. He doesn't know himself as well as he should and he doesn't realize he has killer tendencies, or is that really him? Guilty or innocent, murder weighs heavy on one's mind. Child or adult, man or woman, manipulation is a powerful tool. Blackmail, bribery, or perhaps by magic, Damien's father died at the hands of his son.

Damien's mother will deny what he did all her life. Despite having lapses in memory, it always comes back to haunt him. He killed his father and he doesn't know why he did it. But it's done and he is a murderer, always will be. However he is a special kind and his story will put it all into perspective.

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On Damien's sixth birthday, a monster awoke inside of him. A creature dark, evil, and beastly, but it made him curious. It made him a killer. He allows this dark thing to become him and gain a new perception. All of a sudden he knew everyone's secrets. What they hoped would never, ever be brought to light. He learned a harsh truth about his daddy. His hero. Yet he doesn't understand what he is seeing. His dad shaking with a terrible rage, his mother on the floor holding an ice pack to a bruising cheek. "Please... More. I promise he will forgive."

Damien doesn't understand. His six year old mind can't make any logical sense of it at all. Why now when his mother is going to cut the cake? Why must it spoil his birthday? Seems like a ridiculous thing to focus on, but he is only six. Perhaps his mind is just trying to protect him, but it didn't work. All he feels is rage. Everything is anger.

He snatches the cake knife off the table as his mother is reaching for it. He can feel it form and glow with ethereal light. The handle elongates, the blade curving to form a scythe. His mother stares at him in horrified fascination, and maybe a little pride. Damien's not so sure about that last bit, but he lunges over the table. He feels like he's flying as time slows down yet all around him laughter and chatter continues and his blade slices through the top of his father's head, trailing along his spine, and only ceases it's violent journey when it embeds in the floor between his father's feet. Time speeds up when his father's body dissapates in a red mist.

It came to an end all to soon. The scythe shrunk back into an ordinary cake knife, his mother seemingly the only witness to his crime. He feels like he's still hovering though. He twists around and realizes his mother is clutching him by the back of his shirt, the cake knife clutched in her other hand. "What did I do?" He asks his mother wondering if he only spaced out, but that doesn't make sense either.

"You tripped. I told you, no running in the house." His mother scolds. That doesn't feel right either. Something just feels so wrong and the tighter his mother's grip on him becomes the more pieces of the puzzle he loses. He looks up into his mother's eyes and believes she must be telling the truth.

When he looks at where his father's body fell he's still there chatting pleasantely with his drunk friends. So he concludes his imagination is just extra crazy today. His mother's grip loosens on him and he walks from the room, not really in the mood for any cake.