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The Legend Of The Commodore: And Hell Followed With Him Nathan Weaver
"And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth." (Revelation 6:8)
Cold, brisk winter. A blizzard wrecked havoc outside. Inside, the young boy tried to keep warm. His mom cooked in the kitchen. She had given up on waiting for her husband, assuming he had either given up and stopped somewhere for the night or would be home very late. The boy sat and watched "Gunsmoke" on the TV.
"If you're gonna use that gun, you better start on me," spoke Matt Dillon, the boy lipped the line.
The knock at the door startled the boy. His mom came through, removing her apron she opened the door. A young man stood in the snow.
"Ma'am, my car got stuck in the snow, I wonder if I could come in and use the phone," he explained.
"Sure thing, come on in."
The young man entered and the boy's mom showed him to the kitchen. They had always kept the phone in the kitchen. The boy got up and walked into the kitchen, his blanket wrapped around him. He sat at the edge of the table. He was arm length from the man. The man dialed a number, but just as he did the power went out.
"The phone's dead, too," the man exclaimed.
"Must of busted a line, I guess," the mom replied as she hunted for candles and matches.
The boy knew this was his chance. He slowly removed his hand from the blanket and reached out into the darkness towards the man. A candle lit and turned his way, "Don’t you do it, boy!" His mom yelled at him. "You take this candle, " she lit a new one, "and go to your room."
"Mom--" he started, but the man cut him off by stating, "You better mind your mama, boy."
Irritated, the boy wrapped himself as he stood and took the candle from his mother. He walked off down the dark hall, when he got to his door he stopped. He looked to his parents' bedroom door, it was cracked open. It beckoned him. Touch me, boy. He looked back up the hall and saw a glow coming from the kitchen. He could hear the man and his mom speaking, though he could not make out the words. Take my handle, boy. It beckoned again and then he entered the door. He walked quietly to his father's side of the bed. He opened the night stand and in it was an old Magnum. He gripped it in his small hand. The weight of the gun was almost too much for him to take. He held onto it, looking at it, admiring it. All that could be heard now was the wind picking up and beating against the house. He placed the gun at his hip. In his mind he spoke very deep and rough, If you're gonna use that gun, you better start on me. He drew his weapon, as fast as he could and aimed at a jacket hanging on the closet door. His fantasy was interrupted when he noticed a sound in the wind. He walked to the hallway, hiding the gun behind his back. He looked up the hall. The glow in the kitchen remained. The sound was louder now. It was the sound of his mother groaning in pain. The boy slowly walked up the hall. He looked into the kitchen and saw that the man had his mom on the kitchen table and was raping her. His mom was biting her lower lip, drying to deafen the sound. He slowly moved the gun to his side and cocked it. He stepped into the kitchen, slowly he drew the gun up and aimed at the man. He fired.
The bullet penetrated the man's right temple and exited through the left one, then entering the wall. Blood splashed from the left side of his head onto the wall. The man's body flung in a spinning motion and ended up on the ground facing the boy. The eyes rolled back into his head. His mother leapt off the table, screaming and dropping her dress down. She turned to the boy and walked over and slapped him with all her might. With the contact of her hand to his face, the boy saw the truth.
His mom placed her hand on the man's chest and spoke softly, "My husband won't be home tonight and you don't gotta worry 'bout the boy. He does as I say." Then, she kissed him.
"You dumb twit!" with that, she slapped him again, harder this time. The boy fell to the floor, cutting his hand with the gun. "Why you gotta ruin everything, boy? God's gonna have your soul and I ain't gonna speak for ya. You hearing me, boy?!"
The boy shed one tear. He stood up, turned and faced her.
"You first, mama." With that the boy cocked the gun and shot her in the heart. She flopped back against the counter and slid to the floor.
When his dad got home, the power was back on and the boy was wrapped up in his blanket watching "Gunsmoke" again.
"Hey, boy, where's your mama?" his dad greeted him.
"In the kitchen."
His dad walked into the kitchen. The boy drowned out his father's hopeless babblings and moans, absorbed in his fantasy again.
"You can't account for everything that happens to people who touch you. You know, I learned a long time ago, there are some things in this life that you just accept the way they are," Kitty spoke and the boy nodded his head in agreement.
His dad walked in and shut the TV off, "What happened, boy?"
"Turn it back on."
"Boy, I am talking to you. Now, you tell me what happened or so help me I will beat you within an inch of your life."
"Turn it on."
"That's it," his dad walked towards him drawing his hand back to strike, but before he could the boy shot through his blanket and into his dad's neck. His dad fell to the floor, grasping at his neck, gasping for air, trying to stop the bleeding. The boy set the gun on the couch next to him and stood up, wrapping the blanket around him. He walked over to the TV, turned it on and sat back down. His dad grew louder with each attempt for air.
"Shut up!" the boy shouted to his dad.
His dad finally stopped gasping. The boy turned and looked at the gun, Keep me close, boy. Keep me close. The boy took the gun and wrapped it in his blanket with him.
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