Status: er
Thomas
Five People
It was days after the incident. Everyone talked about it—everyone. They mumbled, whispered, muttered with disgust about the “perfect” boy who slaughtered his family. Except, he wasn’t perfect anymore. He was this subject talked about amongst housewives and gossips and bored teenagers, smoking in alleys.
Perhaps there was some hidden reason, triggering Thomas’ craziness.
No ever asked him anything, assuming that everything in his life was perfect. It wasn’t and there was something that made Thomas tick. It wasn’t like he was bored, needing something to fill the time. That just didn’t make sense. Thomas was a good kid. He went to church and he never skipped school. He volunteered and waited for crossing lights. Thomas never had a sip of alcohol or a smoke or anything. He went to bed early and did his homework.
This can’t decide Thomas. He was bad, yes, but he was good too.
Everyone must have forgotten the time he sat with the homeless man for five hours just talking. They munched on sandwiches and laughed and cried and smiled because maybe, this was the day everything was going to be alright.
Thomas did a bad thing but that didn’t ultimately make him a bad person, right? He did some good, too. Remember that time Thomas worked his fucking ass off trying to help everyone with all their problems, that somehow his problems drifted away, becoming forgotten.
He tried to help everyone he could. Thomas was naturally just a nice boy with a nice complexion. He deceived so many people and some may be jealous of his grand deception. There were a few who were furious and horrified at what happened. Not so much the act but that Thomas, the boy whom so many people loved, was capable to do such a terrible thing.
Thomas pretended he was fine. To him, he was fine. There was no way he could say otherwise. No one would believe him because there was never anything wrong with him on the outside. When his brain was crumbling and deteriorating, his exterior was becoming stronger and this force was willing him to kill.
It started with small things. Little critters. Bugs. Rabbits. Anything he could get his hand on. Late nights, when everyone was sleeping, he sneak out and find something, anything that he could take his anger on. It was sad; truly a tragedy.
Thomas was only sixteen. He was young—barely a man. He was barely a person.
To everyone, four people died that night. His parents, his little sister Emily and his brother Bobby. They didn’t count Thomas because he was the reason they were dead. He was a monster.
Thomas was a monster. A hidden, terrible, powerful, hidden monster that had the ability to do anything and achieve anything that he wanted, but a monster at that.
But he was also a person.
Five people died that night. Five people their lives ending in some unfortunate way at the hand of their son, and their brother and their mind.
Perhaps there was some hidden reason, triggering Thomas’ craziness.
No ever asked him anything, assuming that everything in his life was perfect. It wasn’t and there was something that made Thomas tick. It wasn’t like he was bored, needing something to fill the time. That just didn’t make sense. Thomas was a good kid. He went to church and he never skipped school. He volunteered and waited for crossing lights. Thomas never had a sip of alcohol or a smoke or anything. He went to bed early and did his homework.
This can’t decide Thomas. He was bad, yes, but he was good too.
Everyone must have forgotten the time he sat with the homeless man for five hours just talking. They munched on sandwiches and laughed and cried and smiled because maybe, this was the day everything was going to be alright.
Thomas did a bad thing but that didn’t ultimately make him a bad person, right? He did some good, too. Remember that time Thomas worked his fucking ass off trying to help everyone with all their problems, that somehow his problems drifted away, becoming forgotten.
He tried to help everyone he could. Thomas was naturally just a nice boy with a nice complexion. He deceived so many people and some may be jealous of his grand deception. There were a few who were furious and horrified at what happened. Not so much the act but that Thomas, the boy whom so many people loved, was capable to do such a terrible thing.
Thomas pretended he was fine. To him, he was fine. There was no way he could say otherwise. No one would believe him because there was never anything wrong with him on the outside. When his brain was crumbling and deteriorating, his exterior was becoming stronger and this force was willing him to kill.
It started with small things. Little critters. Bugs. Rabbits. Anything he could get his hand on. Late nights, when everyone was sleeping, he sneak out and find something, anything that he could take his anger on. It was sad; truly a tragedy.
Thomas was only sixteen. He was young—barely a man. He was barely a person.
To everyone, four people died that night. His parents, his little sister Emily and his brother Bobby. They didn’t count Thomas because he was the reason they were dead. He was a monster.
Thomas was a monster. A hidden, terrible, powerful, hidden monster that had the ability to do anything and achieve anything that he wanted, but a monster at that.
But he was also a person.
Five people died that night. Five people their lives ending in some unfortunate way at the hand of their son, and their brother and their mind.