All Rights Reserved ©

Chapter 34: THE 7TH DAY

On the §eventh Day, the day the public and the media were waiting on, the verdict was reached by a panel of 6 spanish woman, one black mixed breed, and five Anglo-§axons, three of which were racists and deemed them guilty before the story was even told, now cut his pay, the men were screaming with rage when found guilty.

Ђe display of intense emotion filled my eyes with happy tears, and I was covering my mouth and gasping and shaking my head and jumping up and down amongst the applause and the cheer of the read verdict in tornado affect all around me, hearing no one but the men, and the pounding of their hearts, and feeding from their faith in the system letting them down, and planting evidence with a murderous woman that made it all happen, to free her good name, so she continues her path of destruction and sexual wrath.

I took one good look at her and was by her side. §he didn’t see me, but she heard me when I said, “One day ye too will suffer the same judgments ye helped impose on two innocent men.”

“Who said that?” she asked, her celebration zapped, instantly.

§he looked around wildly, her eyes skimming past the entire spectacle, and the men, fighting the authorities that tried to apprehend them, and restore and maintain order.

I destroyed her joy in an instant, before she could grasp it, before it could sink in that, again, she used her money and body to sway the rules so she’s never convicted of it, the toxin tarnishing her clean record.

I grinned; then I broke out into a megawatt smile. The euphoric surge in my body caused me to laugh so hard it swallowed the other sounds in the court room. The only sound that remained was the promise within my voice, my cackle, like that of a witch, but not as annoying, filtering into her ears.

Poof! I was gone, and my promising laugh with me, it’s mine, not hers, I didn’t even want her having the memory, but I left the memories with her to ponder.

I left a dead rose, a black rose, in her hair. And she hadn’t noticed I slipped it there before I even uttered a word in her ears.

“But I didn’t kill them!” one said, crying so hard he covered his face, as he was shackled…

Ђe other, running at the judge, spat at the Judge’s Bench, and a glob of it landed on the judge’s face, some spraying on his glasses. I laughed so hard I felt human, and they laughed, too, the court room out of order. Oh, I was at the door, leaving it ajar, my hands, hard as marble, shiny like granite, rest on the expensive wood, and I throw my head back and laugh, running my tongue across my teeth, and the fangs gating them on opposite ends.

It’s funny how the Universe brings back to ye what ye put into it, ye being the §ource. Ђe men were punished by the Universe for the crime they did commit, and used what they didn’t do to give them their inheritance, life in prison, life in Hell on earth, prison slavery.

Σven I can remember the massive search party organized by the authorities, complete with news crews from around the world in tow, trying to get the scoop, trying to get the real story, some through unfair and illegal means, news crews wanting to sensationalize two possible deaths for ratings, and not because “the public hath a right to know.”

Outdated pictures of the boys (from age 5), head shots and school pictures, beamed from millions and millions of TVs of all kinds in millions and millions of homes of all kinds, worldwide; intimate photos capturing the boys when they were actually happy, both had smiles on their faces, but only one son, Ђe §ubmissive One, had a death in his eyes no one noticed, but myself.

Ђe look of my father doesn’t love me in his eyes, and on his face, but failed to disrupt his megawatt smile, that lit up every living room, but not every mortal was watching, or were interested, and the ones that were only watched because of the shock of it all, only 45% of those watching actually cared, or prayed to their form of god or God. I could hear their voices, some of them, even though they weren’t praying to me.

Ђe men didn’t believe in taking pictures, and never thought of it, and with the explosion of the story being mishandled, misreported and misguided throughout the ordeal, public opinion was swayed to that of the reporter they respectively watched for information, and chatted amongst their circle of friends and family and associates, both on the job and off, about what they thought of it, and what they think happened.

With all the attention the case garnered, and the spotlight on the little island in §outh America being the hottest topic on earth, and social networks, for the moment, the search party, and the two men with them, searched high and low for the boys, but to no avail.

I shook my head when the men led the search party past the huge boulder, five feet before it were the unmarked graves of the missing boys. I clapped with glee watching the lying two men on the evening news, before cameras, with gut-wrenching faces of fear, beg for help and urge anyone to look for their boys, “Because we love them very much!”

Ђe public ate it up! Ђe Media played the story that beamed around the world like the devil’s flute, when God asked for the harp. Σven the men, murderers of their own seed, two men that were lovers in the shadows, but denied knowing each other in public, had something to hide, no one is totally innocent of all things, maybe some things, but everyone hath committed a sin.

§in is sin, there’s no one bigger than the other. And those men designed a Universe they could sin as much as they wanted without a suspicious eye, and it took a family outing and two innocent lives to turn it all upside down.

And after they were convicted of killing two adults, when their hands didn’t brandish the blood, or nurse it, or come into contract with it, the closed case of the missing two boys hath been rehashed.

Ђe authorities want answers, so their problems have just begun. While planning the camping trip, the hearts of the two men, the two fathers were in the right place.

One of the boys wasn’t close to his father, but wanted to be, and the other boy loved his father, but never got his time, every man he meets he dates and screws, and he feels alone without his mother, because she died while birthing him.

It was to be an outing they wanted to share with their boys, to bring them closer…and that was the intention, I was there standing behind them when the men sat their boys down, together, both friends of each other as well, with the same feelings for each other their fathers shared, in the living room of the one that was the “pitcher” in the relationship, Big Daddy his lover called him in the sheets. How unabashed!

Ђe living room was designed without an ounce of love, but said everything of dictatorship. And it was easy to see why one of the boys wanted to be close to his tyrannous father, but it wasn’t because of the nature of his father’s lifestyle: drugs.

Ђe boys were excited about the trip, and had a million things they wanted to do, and the men fed from their jubilancy, and I clasped my hands together again, baring my fangs, fighting myself not to kill the men right then and there, and spare the boys, but I refrained. I wanted to stalk them till I couldn’t anymore.

Ђeir trip, even the drive to the heavily forested area, was pleasant and filled with all four, both fathers and sons, friends and family, family and friends, lover and lover, potential lover and lover, emulating what they watch their fathers do, when the father’s don’t know they’re watching. Ђe Rhee Chapel was located in that forested area.

But they were not members, or restricted to the laws there within the organization, undocumented by the government, they art under the radar, a terrorist in a country.

Ђey were not being monitored or watched.

The men enjoyed spending time with their sons. They would put marshmallows on thin wooden twigs and roasted them over a fire the men built out of tree branches. They used the old method of survival; they acquired the skill from their fathers and grandfathers, prestigious military men that hated their offspring, but loved and spent a lot of time with their grandsons, deprogramming and programming them in the military way of thinking. Their grandfathers warned them only once. They will join the military, or die; no exceptions.

I thought it to be an unfair argument, one sided. How can ye make anyone live out thy dreams if they had a fear of flying from the bird’s nest? But the grandfathers (on both sides) had rough lives, grew up in poverty and never had anything, had parents that struggled and sold their bodies, and the bodies of the grandfathers when they were younger, to make ends meet, and joining the military was how they escaped, and quickly rose in the ranks with evil hearts and deceptive ways, borderline politicians.

They even loved each other—the grandfathers behind their grandsons’ back and threatened the boys that if they ever told of the indiscretions they would die with their gay fathers and the boys obliged. The grandsons figured they were too young to deal with it anyway, and had their own lives ahead of them. §o when the camping trip came up, a few days after the grandfathers, ex-military men, retired with the highest of ranks, and an eternal benefits package that will take care of them for the rest of their lives, they will never have to work for a thing again, the boys were only too thrilled about the idea, and said “yes” instantly, saying it together.

How can a beautiful camping trip turn deadly?

All the fun they had, from being chased by a bear and successfully dodging it, getting away. I had to run just to keep up, relying on the power of speed to get clear shots of them with my camera, capturing the beauty, the happiness, the veil covering the lie, the secrets, things down in the darkness making things done in the shadows and the light caricatures of an oxymoronic nature.

I remember the way the men laughed, and the way the boys laughed. Ђe men laughed together, and with their sons. Ђe sons, however, were laughing inside at their fathers, thinking they were getting away with being homosexual, and laughing to themselves, and not with their fathers.

Ђey had their secrets and games, too.

Continue Reading Next Chapter

About Us

Inkitt is the world’s first reader-powered book publisher, offering an online community for talented authors and book lovers. Write captivating stories, read enchanting novels, and we’ll publish the books you love the most based on crowd wisdom.