The blue pharmaceutical clock ticked twelve and Evan jerked awake.
The seven year old boy had sprawled on the couch; waiting for his parents to return and in waiting, had fallen asleep on the mauve velvet couch. The television was switched open on cartoon network and jingles were echoing across the corners of the room.
The echoes were mortifying to the little boy, and he soon succumbed into sobs.
It was always the same. He would wait. And wait. And they would not return.
Next day, they would promise that they would come back soon. And he would wait yet again. And wait more again. But they wouldn’t come.
Next day, they would bring him a present to mollify him. And they would promise again that they would return soon and spend some quality time with him. And gullible as he was, he would wait again. And wait more. He would sleep on the couch again. But they wouldn’t come back.
Next day, they would try to appease him by doting on him and would present him with a pack of chocolate. He would be very stubborn but then they would persist and he would take the chocolate. He would gobble the chocolate and hear them instructing the servants that they were going out for shooting again. And that they might be late. And he would wait. And wait till his back would hurt by crouching on the couch and his feet would get sore by pacing up and down. But they wouldn’t come and kiss him good night for once.
Next day, they would be off to a tour. No goodbyes this time. No promises this time. No barking instructions to the servants this time. No satiating him with rich presents this time. They would just make a call in mid day, informing that they were off to yet some other place in abroad for shooting and they might be there for a week and that he shouldn’t worry – the servants would fully take care of him. Click! and the call would end. And he would begin to wait again for the next call.
But no call would come. And he would be let-down.
They would return after a week, all peaked up and flushed in pleasure – they would have had spent a wonderful week in La-La Land or something – and as per usual they would not care as to how insipid, how sad the week of their son had passed.
But they would have brought some souvenirs to gladden his heart and he would be happy. For a while, that is: until they would yet again bundle into a car and leave. Making promises that he knew they wouldn’t fulfill, barking instructions to the servants in case they get late which he knew well they would, and already making up their minds to get him something good in the morning.
And then the monotony would recommence.
He would wait yet again to get disappointed yet again.
The green French vintage clock struck twelve and Evan’s eyes had no hint of sleep.
He was eight years old. And he was yet waiting.
He wouldn’t now sleep on the couch as he used to. He would instead clamber out of it, drag himself to his sumptuous bed and lie down. He would be much dejected and very much alone. He would bite his lips off as he would prevent himself from crying. But he would be futile. Tears would trickle down his cheeks and he would cry his heart out.
His cries would echo in the solitary room and he would be mortified once again. He would whimper. And he would cry more.
He would then brush his skinny hand across his eyes to quench the tears and would continue to gasp for air.
Once his breathing would stabilize, he would begin to conspire: as to how he could stop them from leaving him all alone, for making him wait for such long periods of time.
He would think of ingenuous plans which would force them to stay at home.
He would slice his hand on a jagged knife and blood would pour out. They would get frantic and would stay by him all day: only to leave at night, firing a few servants and instructing others in the course.
He would fall off the stairs and break his leg. They would be frenzied and would remain by his side all day and all night: only to leave next day abroad for a shooting, entrusting him once again to the care of a team of doctors.
And he would wait yet again to be disappointed yet again.
The mahogany Grandfather clock chimed one and Evan slid across the shadows that enshrouded his room into the luxuriously carpeted hall way.
The nine year old boy crept towards the kitchen, and barefooted, treaded slowly in the blinding darkness through the hallway.
He slinked into the kitchen and standing on his tiptoes, rummaged through the drawers until his hands closed on the thing he wanted. He pulled it out and in the moonlight creeping from the pantry window, metal gleamed momentarily.
Clutching the thing tightly, he walked out of the kitchen and headed towards his parents’ room.
He stopped at their room and took a deep breath. He was not hesitant and slowly opened the door of his parents’ room.
The door creaked slightly and he held his breath. But his parents’ didn’t stir. They had been lulled into deep sleep by exhaustion.
Temptation reigned strong in his blood and desire for love had galvanized the very cells of his body, as he walked towards the master bed. The yearning for parental love had made him pull out the most extraordinary ways to draw his parents’ attention – but the craving had now culminated into something more intense, something more sinister. Neglect had cloaked his heart in darkness – and his innocence had become bait to evil. Not that he was sullied in anyway: but he had opened his chest to the most odious schemes to make his parents stay at home.
He was deluded in his thirst for love, his psyche only motivated to achieve what he desired. Love had churned such a lust in his body that his mind now only registered plans to keep his parents at home. Lust it was, as it preyed on his gullibility and butchered whatever remaining innocence he had left in his chaste soul and had stimulated a storm that induced in him the fervor to execute the plan which would gain him his long-yearned desire of love.
Evan slowly ambled towards the master bed, on which his parents slumbered, blissfully unaware of his presence. He reached the foot of the bed and slowly climbed onto the bed into the space ensconced between his parents. His mother groaned softly in her sleep, as the mattress sunk down with his weight.
His eyes glinted in the moonlight-lit room. He had virtually halted breathing, until his mother after shuffling for a bit, settled once again into heavy sleep.
Evan let go of his breath and pursed his lips determinedly.
He raised the sharp knife that he clasped in his hands, which gleamed ominously as it reflected a moon-beam – it emitted a malevolent aura.
Lust had completely consumed Evan’s soul – and with its prompting, he crashed the knife he held into flesh and blood splattered on the rich matte walls of the room.
Blood-curdling screams echoed through the regal mansion.
“How ironical that Nathan and Susan Blake who had announced last night at the Oscars, that they would now only undertake one project a year so that they could properly care for their child are dead – the very same child slaughtering them!” the newscaster solemnly commented.
His partner nodded gravely and remarked,” Ironical indeed, what you say, Leighton. Police reports also say that the child was found to be continuously repeating– “You won’t go anywhere now. You won’t leave me again now!” as he kept stabbing his parents with a long knife. Police believes the child to be mentally off-balanced.”
Leighton shook his head slowly – to express his misery and disbelief at the fatal event that had occurred.
To kill to prevent his parents from leaving him alone, amazed Leighton very much.
He now understood – why lust was one of the deadly sins.
It was deadly in love.
And in neglect.