The boy looked out his window; his head lay sadly on his head, as he stared out his window at the rain falling from the sky. He’s always hated the rain; it meant he couldn’t go outside and play with his friends. He looked away for a quick second at his television, cartoons played on it and he fixed his attention on it for a bit. When he looked back out the window, something was different; the rain had taken on a pale red tint. He lifted his head off his hand, leaning closer to the window, squinting. As time went on, it changed even more. In the course of a few minutes, it had taken on a bright red shade. It almost looked like that weird stuff that came out of his knee when he fell a few months ago.

The boy stared, wide-eyed and gaping, wondering just what this was. He’s never seen this before, and he was a little scared. After a bit, he got up and went to look for his father. He found him in the living room, sitting on the couch watching television. The boy walked up to his father and tapped on his knee.

“Daddy?” The boy said, looking up at his father.

The father looked down at his son, smiling. “Hey son,” The father said. “What’s up?”

The boy pointed out the window behind the couch with a shaky hand. ”The rain,” He began, looking out the window at the red rain. “it’s, different.”

The father chuckled a bit in his mind and looked out the window. When he saw it, he stopped smiling. He knew what this was, he took a religious studies class in college and wrote a report on this. He was interested in the lore of religion, but was never really religious himself, so he always doubted this could ever happen. Now that he has seen it with his own eyes, he was terrified, for he knew exactly what this means.

“Son, go up to your room” The father said, looking down at his son, trying to hide his worried expression.

The son frowned. “Why, Daddy? Is something wrong? Am I in trouble?”
“No, son, you’re not in trouble, and nothing is wrong.” The man lied. “It’s nothing, just a special thing that happens only on special days.”

“Oh, okay.” The son turned and started to go back to his room.

“Son?” The father called, his son turned around and looked at his father. “I love you.”

The boy smiled. “I love you too, Daddy.” He turned around and started back towards his room.

The father waited for the boy to get back to his room, and then called down his wife.

“What is it?” The wife asked.

The father pointed at the window with a shaky hand, still looking at his wife. The wife followed his hand and looked out the window. When she saw it, she gained a horrified expression.

“It’s raining blood.” The father said.

The wife looked back at her husband, still with a horrified expression.

“It’s actually happened. God has given up on us. You know what we have to do,” The husband explained, getting up and walking over to his wife, holding her hands. “It’s for the best.”

The wife looks at her husband, understanding. She then goes back to their room and opens the closet, digging to the back of it and finding a wooden box. It hasn’t been touched, but the wood was peeling and the metal parts were rusted. She took it out and put it under her arm and walked back down to the living room, handing it to her husband. He opens it and pulls out a single pistol, putting the box off to the side. The father cocks the gun the looks at his wife, who as tearing up. He moved over to her and embraced her.

“You know it’s for the best,” He said. “Wherever we end up will be far better than what this world will turn into.”

She tried to speak, but choked on her words. All she could mutter was a weak. “I love you”

“I love you too.” The father whispered back. He pulled her close, embracing her. He then quickly pressed the gun under her chin and pulled the trigger. He let go of her, and her dead body fell to the floor with a thump.

He couldn’t look away, he tried, but he couldn’t. As he looked at her, tears made their way out of his eyes and ran down his cheeks.

He gushed like a well.

The father tapped on the door to his son’s room. “Hello? Son?”

No reply. The father slowly opened the door with one hand, holding the gun with his other. The television illuminated the room enough to show the boy in his bed, under his blankets, silently napping. He was breathing calmly, the blankets rising up and down slowly. The father silently snuck towards the boy’s bed, holding the gun by his side. Visions of his wife came to his mind; her body falling to the ground, the sound of the gun, her blood splattered on the ceiling. He remembered dragging her dead body through the house, leaving a streak of blood behind them. He remembers dragging her outside, into the rain, and digging her grave while tears soaked his cheeks and rain soaked his clothes. He remembers the sound of her body hitting the ground and the sound of him refilling the grave.

The father stood over the boy’s bed. He reached out for the blankets and clenched his eyes shut as he pulled them back. He positioned his shaky hand over his son’s temple, trying to keep the tears back. He opened one of his eyes to reposition the gun and then clenched them shut again, putting his other hand on the gun to steady it. He kept his eyes clenched, but the tears broke through like a battering ram through castle doors.

The last thing the father heard before he killed his son was a soft; “Daddy?”

The father screamed as he heard the gun go off, and he felt his son’s blood cover him. He kept his eyes clenched, despite the tears already breaking through. He coked the gun again and slowly inched to the wall. His chest grew heavy and the lump in his throat grew bigger. He slid down the wall and took one hand off the gun, then pressed the gun to his chin. He screamed loudly, cursing this damned world he was forced to reside in.

Then he pulled the trigger.

As his blood painted the walls, the house grew silent, save for the soft tapping of the rain on the rooftop.

Written by Mentats Addict
Content is available under CC BY-SA