A Glass Of Water

Alabaster woke up in a sweat.

He was breathing hard and heavy, just awoken from a nightmare. He relaxed as he came back to reality, realizing that he was in his room, and everything was fine. He turned on the rocket-shaped lamp at his bedside table and jumped out of his car-shaped bed.

Alabaster stretched and wiggled his toes.

"Jeez, what a scary dream," he said out loud to himself.

He tried to think about it, but he couldn't remember it.

'Must not be that scary if I can't remember it.'

After using the bathroom and lying back down in bed he couldn't fall back asleep. He stared at the wallpaper with blue and white stars and the blank ceiling.

He decided to go downstairs to get a glass of water.

Alabaster opened the door slightly and looked down the dark hallway. He was no longer afraid of the dark, but he was afraid of getting in trouble with his father. He was always angry when he woke him up at night.

He was always angry.

Alabaster slowly made his way down the hallway and held onto the stair banister. He tiptoed down the stairs, wincing every time the house let out a soft creak.

Once he made his way down the stairs he knew he was home free. He went to the kitchen and turned on the lights. After getting himself a glass of water he decided he was hungry and wanted some toast. He opened the drawer to get himself a knife for his jam and heard loud footsteps.

Alabaster quickly slammed the drawer shut, and was on his way out the kitchen when his father came upon him.

"Didn't I tell you not to wake me," said his father.

"Yes sir. I'm sorry, sir," replied Alabaster.

"You're not supposed to be up at this time," said his father. "You have school in the morning."

"Yes sir," said Alabaster. "I'll go back to bed."

Alabaster's father grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him from moving.

"You've done a lot of bad things Alabaster," said his father. "It's time you were punished."

"I said I was sorry, sir. I'll go right back to bed."

His father's eyes glowed a deep red.

"That's not what you're in trouble for, Alabaster. You know what you did."

Suddenly images and memories flooded his mind. Alabaster saw all of the horrible things he had done throughout his life that led him here. He tried to push the thoughts out of his head, but he couldn't. Alabaster didn't want to talk about it, so he lied instead.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," said Alabaster.

His father sighed.

"You're already here, and you still can't admit to what you've done," said his father. "What a shame."

His voice was more like a growl than that of a man's. At that moment Alabaster realized that this was not his father. This was not his home.

He noticed it was a hot summer night, but he couldn't hear any crickets or frogs outside. The lights turned red and suddenly the room felt a lot bigger, and he, a lot smaller.

His father grabbed him by his hair and pushed him into the kitchen counter. Alabaster froze up in fear.

"Stop," mumbled Alabaster. "Please stop, sir."

His father opened the counter drawer with all the silverware inside, and he prepared himself to be cut again, one of the usual punishments he was given. The room got hotter and hotter, and the air was thinner, suffocating even, and Alabaster was sure the house was on fire.

His father took out all the silverware from the drawer and threw them onto the ground. Alabaster sighed with relief.

No cuts.

Only another lesson of cleaning things his father would purposefully dirty.

Alabaster's father opened the drawer as wide as he could and put Alabaster's head into it. Alabaster shook in fear as he realized what was going to happen

. "Please sir," he begged. "Don't."

His father smiled. His voice had returned to its sweet normal self.

"You didn't fight back," he said. "That means you want it."

Alabaster knew that his father or that thing that claimed to be his father knew that he remembered. His father then took the drawer and slammed it shut, but stopped right before it would crash into his skull. Alabaster tried to jerk away, but his father held him down.

"Please stop sir," cried Alabaster.

"Why should I," said his father. "I can do whatever I want, whenever I want."

Repeatedly his father terrorized him by opening and closing the drawer at a faster rate, pretending to crush his skull and pulling his hair.

"I brought you into this world, Alabaster, and I can bring you out of it because I own you ."

The house was hotter than ever.

There was no smoke nor fire but the walls were melting, dripping, the sound of water was boiling, coming from the floor. Alabaster's sweat mixed with his salty tears as he struggled to stand but he couldn't. His palms were too sweaty to grab onto the counter as tried to get away. The once cold tile of the kitchen burned into the soles of his feet.

Alabaster sobbed as he tried to stand up but his father kept pushing his head into the drawer.

"Why are you doing this," cried Alabaster. "Why?"

Alabaster's father held his head up and pulled it back so far that Alabaster was forced to look up at him.

"You asked for this, remember," chided his father. "You wanted it, walking around the house, wearing those slutty clothes."

Alabaster cried even harder.

His father pushed his head back into the drawer, and this time he slammed it shut as hard as he could. Alabaster cried as blood poured out his ears. Faster and faster his father slammed the drawer against his head. Alabaster's arms and legs flailed as he tried to escape, but he couldn't.

A soft, wet crack could be heard and Alabaster went limp.

His father didn't slow down. In fact, he increased his speed, slamming the drawer open and shut until all that was left was brain matter. As he continued to slam the drawer open and shut, it became harder to hold onto the handle with the mixture of sweat, blood, and sinew.

Sweat poured down his face as he completed the task at hand. With cold, cruel indifference, he continued to open and shut the drawer until he accidentally broke it off its hinges.

The headless body fell to the floor.

Alabaster's father took the half-full cup on the counter and finished it. He sighed deeply as he enjoyed the drink.

The melting walls and hot tile were of no concern to him as he washed his hands and rubbed the water off onto his pants. He tried snapping his fingers, but his hands were too wet. So he dried them off on his pants again, and this time his hands were dry enough for it to work.

Snap.