Post by cachemonet on Jun 22, 2015 0:13:16 GMT -4
Did he really have to die?
Andy stared down at Casey, a trickle of blood from his head dripped against the ground. All was silent. Casey wore a red, faded polo shirt that was too small for him. He had stiff jeans on his small legs, with velcro shoes. Casey was a freshman. Andy held the bloodied hammer that caused Casey’s glasses to shatter, and the blood from his skull to drip.
Drip...
Drip...
Why’d you do it, Andy?
Did he really have to die, Andy?
Andy?
“Andy? Snap out of it, Andy, we gotta hide his body!” Jon whispered as loudly as he could. Jon and Andy were best friends, inseparable. Jon wasn’t happy with the body, neither was Andy, but they had planned everything for weeks. There was a sense of dreadful accomplishment in the air, everything went as planned. However, nothing could have prepared Andy for what was truly going to happen.
They talked about doing it for weeks, but Andy never thought Jon was being serious. It all began with Casey following them home every day. Casey was three years younger than Jon and Andy. That didn’t stop Casey from trying to follow them, and it surely didn’t stop him from chewing off Andy and Jon’s ears.
Worst of all, Casey always complained. He whined about walking through the wooded road to get home. He moaned about how his feet would hurt. It was always either too hot or cold out. He complained about how everybody treated him at school. Ironically, he even complained about how annoying other people could be, sometimes.
So Andy and Jon sat down and talked about how they would kill him if they got the chance. Andy had believed that was just talk. He would never kill anybody, he couldn’t. They were pointless fantasies designed to fill long afternoons. There was no way they were ever going to pull anything off...
Yet, here they were, with a dead body, walking through the woods, dragging Casey’s cold, bloody corpse. Further and further they trudged into the trees. They came into the opening where they had already dug out Casey's grave.
Casey's grave was located somewhere where, in their minds, nobody would ever look. They let Casey drop to the ground. He landed on the moist earth with a sickening thud. Jon sat down on a fallen tree, sighing, tired from the journey and the cargo. Jon pulled out the small shovel from his backpack and set it on the ground. Andy looked at the body.
Casey’s eyes were staring up, into the light. He looked calm, despite the caked blood on his head. His eyes looked confused, searching for an answer.
Why did you do it, Andy?
Why did you kill him?
Andy closed his eyes, he couldn’t look at what he had done. He didn’t comprehend why he had killed Casey. Jon had pressured him, Andy thought, he hadn’t had a choice.
Andy did have a choice, however, and he didn’t choose to walk away.
Andy looked down into the deep hole that Jon had dug on the previous night. Andy looked over at Jon, sighing. The boys lifted Casey by his limbs, and, on a count of three, threw the lifeless body into the damp pit. Andy took the shovel and started to refill the hole. He bent over, shoving the metal into the mound of earth and pouring it over Casey.
Andy gagged as the dirt funneled into Casey's nose, mouth and ears. Andy was disgusted by what he had done. What Jon had forced him to do.
“Keep going,” said Jon, with a cough. “I dug it, you fill it.”
Andy grew angry, Jon was always saying what to do all the time. He was the one that told him to kill Casey, Jon made Andy do what he did. Andy clenched his teeth as Jon barked at him to work faster.
Andy felt his mind squirming. A sudden angry impulse flooded his brain.
Jon was kicked from his seat on the fallen tree and onto the ground, on his back, unsure of what had happened.
Andy stood over Jon, lifting the shovel high above his head and smashing it down onto Jon's face.
With a splat, Jon's nose was bleeding.
“No, Andy!” yelled Jon as Andy lifted the shovel from his face. “Stop!”
Andy continued to smash Jon’s skull. With the second hit, Jon's nose became crooked and broken.
Jon turned his head from the third blow, and by the fifth, his head had broken open. Blood seeped from Jon's skull.
Andy stood up, looking down at the second corpse. Andy heaved it into the hole. His body would be stuck with Casey’s, forever. Andy almost found the thought almost humorous, smirking as he walked back to the dirt mound. Jon was the one who wanted Casey dead and now he was to be with Casey until their bodies turned into dust. Jon deserved it, anyways; he had pushed Andy to murder. Andy would never murder anybody had it not been for Jon.
Andy took the shovel again, throwing dirt over the bodies. He heard a slow, agonizing groan. Andy looked down into the shallow scoop to see Casey rolling over and looking up.
"Why?" asked Casey, reaching up to feel the blood coming from his forehead.
Andy took the shovel in his hand, stumbling into the grave. He lifted the spade well above his head and drove it deep into Casey's neck. Casey squirmed around, gurgling and gripping at the air. Andy held the spade in Casey's throat until he was sure that he was dead.
Andy looked down at himself. Blood covered his clothes. He clambered out of the grave and sat down on the ground, looking down at the corpses. Jon and Casey were a tangled mass of arms, legs, blood and dirt. Andy lifted his arm and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. He rested his face in his hands. A police siren wailed in the distance, and the sun had begun to set.
(sory for bed engaland i am not good riter sory)
Andy stared down at Casey, a trickle of blood from his head dripped against the ground. All was silent. Casey wore a red, faded polo shirt that was too small for him. He had stiff jeans on his small legs, with velcro shoes. Casey was a freshman. Andy held the bloodied hammer that caused Casey’s glasses to shatter, and the blood from his skull to drip.
Drip...
Drip...
Why’d you do it, Andy?
Did he really have to die, Andy?
Andy?
“Andy? Snap out of it, Andy, we gotta hide his body!” Jon whispered as loudly as he could. Jon and Andy were best friends, inseparable. Jon wasn’t happy with the body, neither was Andy, but they had planned everything for weeks. There was a sense of dreadful accomplishment in the air, everything went as planned. However, nothing could have prepared Andy for what was truly going to happen.
They talked about doing it for weeks, but Andy never thought Jon was being serious. It all began with Casey following them home every day. Casey was three years younger than Jon and Andy. That didn’t stop Casey from trying to follow them, and it surely didn’t stop him from chewing off Andy and Jon’s ears.
Worst of all, Casey always complained. He whined about walking through the wooded road to get home. He moaned about how his feet would hurt. It was always either too hot or cold out. He complained about how everybody treated him at school. Ironically, he even complained about how annoying other people could be, sometimes.
So Andy and Jon sat down and talked about how they would kill him if they got the chance. Andy had believed that was just talk. He would never kill anybody, he couldn’t. They were pointless fantasies designed to fill long afternoons. There was no way they were ever going to pull anything off...
Yet, here they were, with a dead body, walking through the woods, dragging Casey’s cold, bloody corpse. Further and further they trudged into the trees. They came into the opening where they had already dug out Casey's grave.
Casey's grave was located somewhere where, in their minds, nobody would ever look. They let Casey drop to the ground. He landed on the moist earth with a sickening thud. Jon sat down on a fallen tree, sighing, tired from the journey and the cargo. Jon pulled out the small shovel from his backpack and set it on the ground. Andy looked at the body.
Casey’s eyes were staring up, into the light. He looked calm, despite the caked blood on his head. His eyes looked confused, searching for an answer.
Why did you do it, Andy?
Why did you kill him?
Andy closed his eyes, he couldn’t look at what he had done. He didn’t comprehend why he had killed Casey. Jon had pressured him, Andy thought, he hadn’t had a choice.
Andy did have a choice, however, and he didn’t choose to walk away.
Andy looked down into the deep hole that Jon had dug on the previous night. Andy looked over at Jon, sighing. The boys lifted Casey by his limbs, and, on a count of three, threw the lifeless body into the damp pit. Andy took the shovel and started to refill the hole. He bent over, shoving the metal into the mound of earth and pouring it over Casey.
Andy gagged as the dirt funneled into Casey's nose, mouth and ears. Andy was disgusted by what he had done. What Jon had forced him to do.
“Keep going,” said Jon, with a cough. “I dug it, you fill it.”
Andy grew angry, Jon was always saying what to do all the time. He was the one that told him to kill Casey, Jon made Andy do what he did. Andy clenched his teeth as Jon barked at him to work faster.
Andy felt his mind squirming. A sudden angry impulse flooded his brain.
Jon was kicked from his seat on the fallen tree and onto the ground, on his back, unsure of what had happened.
Andy stood over Jon, lifting the shovel high above his head and smashing it down onto Jon's face.
With a splat, Jon's nose was bleeding.
“No, Andy!” yelled Jon as Andy lifted the shovel from his face. “Stop!”
Andy continued to smash Jon’s skull. With the second hit, Jon's nose became crooked and broken.
Jon turned his head from the third blow, and by the fifth, his head had broken open. Blood seeped from Jon's skull.
Andy stood up, looking down at the second corpse. Andy heaved it into the hole. His body would be stuck with Casey’s, forever. Andy almost found the thought almost humorous, smirking as he walked back to the dirt mound. Jon was the one who wanted Casey dead and now he was to be with Casey until their bodies turned into dust. Jon deserved it, anyways; he had pushed Andy to murder. Andy would never murder anybody had it not been for Jon.
Andy took the shovel again, throwing dirt over the bodies. He heard a slow, agonizing groan. Andy looked down into the shallow scoop to see Casey rolling over and looking up.
"Why?" asked Casey, reaching up to feel the blood coming from his forehead.
Andy took the shovel in his hand, stumbling into the grave. He lifted the spade well above his head and drove it deep into Casey's neck. Casey squirmed around, gurgling and gripping at the air. Andy held the spade in Casey's throat until he was sure that he was dead.
Andy looked down at himself. Blood covered his clothes. He clambered out of the grave and sat down on the ground, looking down at the corpses. Jon and Casey were a tangled mass of arms, legs, blood and dirt. Andy lifted his arm and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. He rested his face in his hands. A police siren wailed in the distance, and the sun had begun to set.
(sory for bed engaland i am not good riter sory)