Kill Your Family

She nagged, she nagged, she nagged. She was nagging so much it made his eyes twitch with uncomfortable social pain and she wasn’t even his Mother. Even though he felt discomfort, he knew the girl was more uncomfortable than he. He was sure she didn’t want to sit next to her Mother, what with the way she was carrying on, but lucky for the young girl the Matriarch was too fat to even fit next to her. As he watched her occupy the seat made for two directly in front of her Mother, he could almost hear the girl’s eyes rolling and smell her inward teenage resentment. The girl couldn’t have been any older than fifteen and he wasn’t exactly sure what he was feeling when he looked at her. He did know he felt wrong though. He wasn’t really thinking any impure thoughts, in the Catholic sense, yet he still felt sinful. By now, it had become a habit to just go ahead and feel guilty about everything he did or felt.

After years of formal training in shame and self-punishment, these sorts of habits are hard to break. After years of being smacked by women in habits on various body parts with a ruler, it was ingrained into his psyche. His ass could still feel the burn from “the ruler incident” all those years ago. He wondered how many submissives Mother Superior had created. How many times had boys perfected the proper give-and-take of faked tears and non-response to prolong the punishment?

Once her Mother was settled and the lights dimmed, he moved to the seats in front of her. He took his notepad out of his jacket pocket and wrote, “Hi, does your Mother always bug out like this?” onto one of its pages.

He propped it open with a pen and passed it back to her through the separation of the two seats he occupied. She responded, “Yes, it’s sooo embarrassing.”

He tried to ignore the small cutesy heart she used to dot her ‘I.’ It made his stomach hurt, but she’s young. She’ll learn and plus he had no time for thinking, he had to react. He decided to just get it off his chest once and for all. He had known this certain fact for quite some time. The rest of the world had no clue, but everyone had always told him, “You’re wrong.”

“You’re delusional,” they would say, “There is no way to even know this. And even if there was and you can’t avoid it, as you say, why worry about it?”

He had already predicted her response, but he went ahead with it anyway. He wrote, “If I told you I knew the exact second the World was going to end would you take my word for it?”

His note pad returned through the cracks baring no response.