Our hands pull apart those around us, hoping to make it to the top of the pile in order to breathe, but we choke on the blood instead.
I told him he had to kill me. It is the only way I could be redeemed. I bolted the church and night lay and heavy and I called out for him to find me. I write this with a candle beneath my desk, while I hear him dash about glass and splinter wood with the axe I gave him. It’s an abomination, what he has done to the crucifix of our Lord and Savior, but I told him this was the only way for him to be safe, to rest assured.
He’s at my door now. I can hear him knocking. Gently. But the axe eats its way through the door when there is no response. Shadows flicker across his face and he lifts the axe above his head to bring it down on me. I laugh before the end. For surely he has become his father’s son.