logan_howlett (logan_howlett) wrote in artofwar_rpg, @ 2011-11-12 14:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | {narrative}, ♠sl: house of w |
Who: 10 year old James, before he was Logan
What: HoW seconds phase, worst fears, in which Logan relives the night of his parent's death.
When: Sometime in the fall of 1889 in western Canada
Where: The Howlett family estate
Warnings: PG-13 for violence and sensitive material
Status: Closed; narrative.
The harsh yelling of Dog's father woke James from the deep sleep he had been in only moments before. Something crashed to the floor downstairs (one of mother's expensive Chinese vases more than likely) and he got out of bed to investigate. The older grounds keeper was livid, something had truly angered him beyond the point of reason. A glint of metal caught in the light of moon streaming in through the open door, and little James ran onto the walk way outside his door. His father came running as his mother screamed at the grounds keeper to stop, and the struggle between the two men began.
James crouched out of sight and watched as his father began to stave off the wild man's attack, that is until Dog's father pulled out a second gun. The shot rang through the house, leaving the small boy crouching in the shadows temporarily defend by the noise. When he looked up, small hands still covering his ears, he saw his father stumble back, clutching his chest. Dark eyes widened on the young boy, and he ran down to his father, only to be held back by the man who had shot him. His mother fell crying at her husband's side, and the dying man ran a bloodied hand over her cheek before giving his final breath of air. His mother collapsed, crying like a banshee into her dead love's lap, and Jame's struggled against the restraining arms holding him. His little fists balled and began hitting anything they could, and finally he broke free, grabbing a broken piece of glass and charging his best friend's father, driving the shard into the older mans chest.
He didn't have time to react upon what he had done, as his mother called his name and he turned as the grounds keeper fell, his breaths coming short and quick. "James... I love you." She said, the gun his father had been holding after he had gotten it away from his attacker pressed to her temple. Before he knew what had happened, a second gun shot rang through the home, and bits of his mother's head sprayed onto the floor.
Jame's stood there, his right hand bleeding from driving the large glass shard into his father's killer, who now lay dead behind him. His father's eyes were still open, staring in shock. His mother's lifeless body fell across his father's in a sort of Romeo and Juliet type setting, the gun still lightly held in her hand. Everywhere around him blood pooled, the images forever seared into his memory. He ran out of the open door, and kept running until he fell to the forest floor, a mess of blood, tears, and a broken spirit.