One Time Story:A boy who forgot to feel

(Blæzê)

(*includes Murder*)

Once upon a time, nestled between a whispering river and a dense, emerald forest, lived a boy named **Blæzê**. He was twelve years old, an age often associated with innocence and boundless energy, yet Blæzê knew little of either. He was perpetually **kept out of the house and ignored**, a shadow in his own home. His parents, absorbed in their own world, didn't even bother to feed him. His sustenance came from the earth: **insects and small animals** he skillfully hunted. Despite his harsh existence, he possessed an unlikely talent: he was **good at cooking**.

As days bled into weeks and weeks into months, the constant neglect gnawed at Blæzê’s spirit. Slowly, irrevocably, he began to **lose his feeling of care for anything**. Emotions, once fleeting whispers, faded into silence. He became **emotionless**, a blank canvas where joy, sorrow, or even anger once resided.

Then came a day that would forever alter the course of his desolate life. With his mother away, Blæzê saw an opportunity. He **entered his father's house secretly**, his movements as silent as the forest's breath. He walked directly to the **kitchen**, his eyes scanning for a familiar glint. There, among the mundane utensils, he found it: a **knife**. Its cold, hard presence felt strangely comforting in his hand.

His next destination was his father's room. He pushed the door open soundlessly and stepped inside. His father sat, his back to Blæzê, facing the wall, engrossed in something he was writing. Blæzê’s footsteps were deliberate, each one a step closer to an unfathomable precipice. He reached his father's chair, the knife held steady. Without a flicker of hesitation, without a single expression on his face, he **stabbed his father's head 29 times**. The rhythmic thrusts were precise, mechanical, devoid of any feeling. When he finally stopped, the silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the faint rustle of papers as his father’s body slumped forward.

There was no remorse, no shock, no fear. Only a chilling calm. With the same knife, he meticulously **opened what was left of his father's brain**. He then proceeded to **cook it**, a grotesque culinary endeavor. The prepared brain was then fed to a pack of **hungry dogs** that roamed the edges of the forest. But Blæzê’s twisted plan had another layer of malice: the brain was **filled with poison**, ensuring the dogs' agonizing demise.

His grim work far from over, Blæzê returned to the corpse of his father. With practiced efficiency, he **opened his father's chest** and **pulled out his organs**, casting them into the nearby river, where the current swiftly carried them away. What remained was processed further. He **ripped off scraps of his father's skin and flesh**, gathering it into a grotesque pile outside the house. The **bones were broken**, meticulously separated into a different pile.

As dusk settled, Blæzê built a **campfire** outside, its flickering flames casting dancing shadows. He sat on a wood slice, gazing at the pile of flesh. "Father is flesh," he murmured, his voice devoid of emotion. He picked up one of his father’s bones, sharpened it against a stone, and **stabbed the meat**, coating the bone with blood. Then, with an unnerving proficiency, Blæzê **cooked the flesh**, transforming it into various **meat dishes**. He carefully packed the dishes into boxes, his intention clear: to give them to **hungry poor people**.

He made his way to the place where the needy gathered, placing the boxes down and calling out to them. They approached, their eyes wide with hunger, unaware of the horrific origin of the food. They took the boxes, grateful for the unexpected bounty, and carried the poisoned flesh away. One by one, they succumbed to the insidious toxin within the food. **No one survived.**

His mission accomplished, Blæzê returned to his solitary camp by the river and sat there, the flickering firelight reflecting in his unblinking eyes.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***