Just Oneshots

He/They

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"... I'm scared," he said. His hushed voice wavered as he gripped the sleeve of my sweater, his face inches from my ear. I didn't smile. I couldn't bring myself to feel any joy from this. But it had to be done; we both knew that.

"It's okay," I said, monotonous as ever. Too monotonous for what I was about to do. “I'll take good care of you. I promise. It won't hurt; you'll barely feel a thing.” I felt him nod; then, a single tear fell onto my shoulder. It soaked into my sweater.

"Okay," he said, voice uncertain and shaky. "I trust you."

"Good,” I said. I tried to smile, but I really couldn’t. “Good boy.” I kissed right behind his ear.

I slowly plunged the knife into his chest, listening as it ripped his button-down, then his skin. I pushed and pushed until it came out the other side of his torso. I shushed him, but the only sounds he made were small gasps that faded into gurgles as his blood filled his lungs. It dripped onto my shoulder, mixing with newly fallen tears as it slowly flowed down my torso. His grip on my shirt tightened as I twisted the knife.

“See?” I said, dropping the knife. “Painless.” He smiled, and I saw the light fade from his eyes as he stopped making noise. Blood poured from his wound, and I didn't dare look down. My smile fell as more tears rolled down my cheeks, falling and mixing with the blood.

I had never felt this way after a murder. It made sense, though; I had never murdered my brother before.

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"Do you remember who I was- who I am, Logan? Do you remember at all?" I yelled, struggling against my restraints. The ropes burned my skin, turning it red and raw. That sadistic fuck gave a light chuckle before walking over and tilting up my chin to look into his hazel eyes, dark with lust and power.

"I remember when you were a threat, someone to be feared," Logan sneered, taking a step back. He chuckled again, making his whole torso shake. "I remember looking up at you in that crown and thinking that you were someone special, a king to the world. I remember wanting to be you, wanting you to see me the way I saw you." He walked as he spoke, turning away. His body obstructed the mirror I had been placed in front of. We locked eyes in the reflection. "I remember wanting to scream like a little school girl every time you payed attention to me. I remember you running into battle, claiming no man could strike you down." Logan broke eye contact before turning his head to look at me. His body stayed rigid and stoic as always. "Now look at you. They say the mighty fall, but you didn't, did you, Mack?" He chuckled again before walking to the desk. "No, no. You didn't fall." He took in a shaky breath, and if I hadn't known Logan since we were kids, I would've thought he was just as scared as I should have been. I knew better, though. "You slid, climbed, clambered, even, to get off that high-ass horse of yours. You wanted this, Mack. Don't deny it."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Yes, I had wanted to step down, but not by his hand. Not like this.

"You're a fuckin' nutcase," I said. Logan chuckled and walked over to a table on the far end of the room. I watched his every move. I think he took notice; he locked eyes with me every chance he got. I watched as careful hands picked up the steel pistol on the desk. He played with it for a few seconds, tossing it between palms and running his fingers over it. Then, I heard the god awful sound of him cocking it before putting it down on the table.

"Then tell me, Mr High-and-Mighty, why you didn't lock me up years ago like you said you would?"

I swallowed. Usually, I was able to match his snarky words with ones of my own, but this time, and I'm not sure if it was the ropes around my chest or his hand on the gun or god-forbid the way that sick bastard was looking at me, I couldn't say a damn thing.