I Can't Sleep Until I Devour You
Johnny.
When I woke up, I thought that the day would be a normal day. The sun was shining; I didn’t have to go to work. My mom wasn’t home.
And my little brother was standing over me covered in blood.
I jumped up suddenly. His huge brown eyes pleaded with me to help him. “Johnny! What the hell did you do!”
He started to cry. “Adam.. I don’t know. I woke up and I was like this. I don’t remember anything...” His voice was meek, feeble. I could tell that what he was saying was the absolute truth. But there was no way that anyone would believe him.
Johnny had a history of violence, even at eight. He was constantly in trouble for hurting someone. Killing animals. Destroying property. Burning things. But he had never been this bad. He had never not remembered what happened.
I looked him over again. He was shaking; his small frame was barely dressed. All he was wearing were torn jean shorts. He was covered in what looked like plaster dust, and it was caked in blood. His brown hair was matted and tangled, and it stuck to his face in patches of red. It almost made me sick to look at him. “Okay, well, we need to get you cleaned off, okay buddy? Don’t worry. I'll take care of everything. Just let me wash you...”
He nodded weakly and followed me to the bathroom. As we walked past the mirror, I glanced at myself. My face was paled, and my brown eyes looked panic. My hands were shaking as I ran them once through my black hair.
I stripped Johnny down, started the bath and threw what little clothes he was wearing into a trash bag. With that stored in his closet (what was I supposed to do with them??), I walked back into the bathroom. He was already sitting in the tub, shaking violently. Tears streaked his cheeks. “Help me, Adam..”
His begging almost made me start crying, myself. “I will, buddy, I will.” I rubbed his back, trying to get him to calm down. “Ssh, ssh..” As he stopped shaking, I began to scrub him. It was rough, and he complained, but I subdued him. “I’m sorry, we have to get it all off though buddy.”
After I was done cleaning him, I got him dressed and left him with instructions to stay in his room and not come out no matter what. Then, I went to go survey the damage.
As soon as I left my house and started walking down the street, I was immediately shocked. How had one little boy done all this damage? Store signs were demolished; windows were shattered. And the worst?
Bodies were everywhere.
And what was worse was the blood. It was like Johnny had taken a hacksaw and just went crazy with it. What had he even used? I looked down as I was walking, and followed a trail of blood with my eyes. The body it let to was almost unrecognizable. There were organs spewing from the stomach. The arms and legs were sliced, punctured.
The face was forever frozen in horror.
That body was one of the least damaged. Blood pooled the street. People were vomiting everywhere; police were trying to clear the scene. But no one would listen. They had to figure out who had done this terrible crime.
I started to shake as people came up to me, begging me to help them. Who had done this to our tiny town? With a population of seven hundred people, this was a tragedy. Over thirty people dead. Anyone who would have seen anything did not live to tell. Or that’s what they were saying. With such a small town, how long would it be until they started to point fingers?
How long would it be until they got it right?
I promised that I would help. The blood made me sick. I said I would help clean up. I said I would help find the culprit. But I knew I wasn’t speaking the truth. I just knew it. I wanted to help; I really did... But I just couldn’t. I couldn’t...
How do you rat out your own little brother?
And my little brother was standing over me covered in blood.
I jumped up suddenly. His huge brown eyes pleaded with me to help him. “Johnny! What the hell did you do!”
He started to cry. “Adam.. I don’t know. I woke up and I was like this. I don’t remember anything...” His voice was meek, feeble. I could tell that what he was saying was the absolute truth. But there was no way that anyone would believe him.
Johnny had a history of violence, even at eight. He was constantly in trouble for hurting someone. Killing animals. Destroying property. Burning things. But he had never been this bad. He had never not remembered what happened.
I looked him over again. He was shaking; his small frame was barely dressed. All he was wearing were torn jean shorts. He was covered in what looked like plaster dust, and it was caked in blood. His brown hair was matted and tangled, and it stuck to his face in patches of red. It almost made me sick to look at him. “Okay, well, we need to get you cleaned off, okay buddy? Don’t worry. I'll take care of everything. Just let me wash you...”
He nodded weakly and followed me to the bathroom. As we walked past the mirror, I glanced at myself. My face was paled, and my brown eyes looked panic. My hands were shaking as I ran them once through my black hair.
I stripped Johnny down, started the bath and threw what little clothes he was wearing into a trash bag. With that stored in his closet (what was I supposed to do with them??), I walked back into the bathroom. He was already sitting in the tub, shaking violently. Tears streaked his cheeks. “Help me, Adam..”
His begging almost made me start crying, myself. “I will, buddy, I will.” I rubbed his back, trying to get him to calm down. “Ssh, ssh..” As he stopped shaking, I began to scrub him. It was rough, and he complained, but I subdued him. “I’m sorry, we have to get it all off though buddy.”
After I was done cleaning him, I got him dressed and left him with instructions to stay in his room and not come out no matter what. Then, I went to go survey the damage.
As soon as I left my house and started walking down the street, I was immediately shocked. How had one little boy done all this damage? Store signs were demolished; windows were shattered. And the worst?
Bodies were everywhere.
And what was worse was the blood. It was like Johnny had taken a hacksaw and just went crazy with it. What had he even used? I looked down as I was walking, and followed a trail of blood with my eyes. The body it let to was almost unrecognizable. There were organs spewing from the stomach. The arms and legs were sliced, punctured.
The face was forever frozen in horror.
That body was one of the least damaged. Blood pooled the street. People were vomiting everywhere; police were trying to clear the scene. But no one would listen. They had to figure out who had done this terrible crime.
I started to shake as people came up to me, begging me to help them. Who had done this to our tiny town? With a population of seven hundred people, this was a tragedy. Over thirty people dead. Anyone who would have seen anything did not live to tell. Or that’s what they were saying. With such a small town, how long would it be until they started to point fingers?
How long would it be until they got it right?
I promised that I would help. The blood made me sick. I said I would help clean up. I said I would help find the culprit. But I knew I wasn’t speaking the truth. I just knew it. I wanted to help; I really did... But I just couldn’t. I couldn’t...
How do you rat out your own little brother?