Luca

Luca and his sister are home alone when an argument breaks out.

By Cronan ParryPublished 5 years ago • 4 min read

TRIGGER WARNING: Suicidal Thoughts

I’m not entirely sure how to write a trigger warning or what things I should warn for so if anyone reads this and has feedback feel free to get in touch. I’ll leave a link for where to find me at the end.

Luca.

“Would you get out!” Luca shouted.

“Chill out, I’m only teasing!” Lin retorted.

“Well it’s not funny so fuck off!” Luca screamed, flinging his book at her.

Lin’s hands flew into the air for cover.

“Alright, fine, Jesus,” She said backing out of the room, slamming the door on her way.

Quiet took over the room. A bedside lamp lit the air with orange light from the ground up. White walls made the room feel huge and cold, clinical even. Across from Luca was the only piece of furniture besides his bed and lamp. A chest of drawers. Also white.

Luca moved over to his book and crouched beside it. Balancing on the balls of his feet.

Heavy breaths.

Fists clenched, his arms swung hard into the book. Papers folded and crunched beneath each landing.

“I hate her,” he thought, “I hate this, I hate being here, I hate everything!”

His arms slowed as they tired. Broken and crumpled, the book spread out a little more as if in a sigh of relief that the beating had stopped. With a thud, Luca fell back onto his buttocks.

Tears formed in the corner of his eyes.

“No,” he thought, “No. No. No.”

Soft hands that were moments ago in an all-out attack on a book wiped away the tears from his eyes.

“How can they be so gentle and so violent?” He wondered, “I don’t understand.”

Further he fell and felt his back hit the floor hard.

“This is all her fault. That bitch. I wouldn’t wish I was dead if she was dead.”

Hard floor pressed against the back of his body. The pressure increasing the longer he lay. Thoughts rattled around his mind like a suitcase full of ceramic dropped down a flight of stairs. Shattering with every step.

Faint sounds of flowing water sloshing against ceramic leaked through Luca’s doorway.

Luca stood and stepped over his book. Gripping the door, he pushed down on the handle and pulled the door open. Not a sound came from the door. Every room's door in the bungalow led out into a large hall area. Some days it felt so large, Luca was eaten up by it. A tiny krill in the mouth of a blue whale.

The watery sounds were louder here, coming from a door to his right.

One of the doors to his room left led to the kitchen. Step after step, he grew warmer. His moment was coming. As with most kitchens, an array of knives was available at no effort whatsoever.

First, he checked the cutlery drawer. Fingers ran across the options close to a dance.

Butter knife. Table knife. Steak knife.

On the side, contained in a wooden block, were even larger knives. From carving to bread. He picked out the largest and shiniest knife and headed back out of the room.

In the hall, he worked his way over to the bathroom. Running water still emanated from behind the door. Wisps of steam broke out through the gaps between door and frame.

His face blank, he reached the door. Grasped the handle. Entered the room.

A wetness greeted his bare foot. Water flowed over the bath's side and across the room. Taps turned to full. With another step, he saw her.

Lin was beneath the water. Without motion.

“No!” Luca screamed, lunging towards his sister. “This was mine, you bitch!”

The knife swung hard into the water. As the knife pierced through the water, it moved aside. Pressure increased against the knife as it moved through soft flesh. Pulling back, the knife flicked water and blood across the room.

“No! No! No! No! No!” Luca continued.

His knife matching the beat of his voice. Destroying the skin of the body in the water. Puncture after puncture. The bath grew redder. Overflowing water and blood turned the ground into a watercolour painting of misery. Only the running taps fought against the deepening red.

With a final swing back, Luca released the knife and it flew across the room, bouncing off a wall and landing in the floor painting it helped create. He stumbled back. Slipping on the floor below, he fell. The watery blood mixture flicked around him as he gasped. He dragged himself out of the door and pulled it closed behind him. Blood stained the handle. A small pool surrounded him. Dripping from his body.

“No.” He cried. Tears adding to liquids around him.

There he stayed, a tearful lump of a boy for quite some time.