Breaking Point

by EvanGravelle

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Sad, Tragedy, Human
Length: 2706

An ex-cop kills his daughters rapist. He commits suicide and then wakes up in a land of ponies.

Hey my name is…unimportant. What is, is the fact that I am broken. I have fallen over the precipice of all that is considered sane and normal. All I feel is anger. When that leaves me, I feel hollow, like a dead man walking with no where to go. All of this, because of one critical instance in my past which sent me down this long, arduous descent into the bowels of hell.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not asking for sympathy of empathy or whatever. I'm just telling you the facts. Don't want to hear them? Then leave, but if you do, the door is always open.

So why don't you walk it, and take trip with me as we see just what happens when you break a man.

It's not rated mature due to the fact that what occurs in the first chapter will not occur again. It is simply there to set the scene and I'm not making some gore fic. The intro just happens to have gore in it.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-06-01 02:44:01 UTC

Retribution

Every man has his breaking point. A point where he has sunk so low, that nothing matters, a point where your mind starts a deep, dark descent into an all consuming, all encompassing abysmal darkness which it will never return. It’s a scary thought. It’s an even scarier situation. Most men will never reach their breaking point, and in all honesty, I hope none of them ever do. It is a truly terrifying experience.

When a man ‘breaks’, his mind will usually be consumed by a single emotion, generally the same one that led him down the path of near-insanity. For some men it’s grief. For others it’s anguish. But for me, it was rage.

Anger was my sole emotion. I felt my blood boil, my vision turn red and my mind became clouded in an incomprehensible, inconsolable rage that told me one word over and over again. Kill.

Now hold up, I’m not some serial mass murderer here, my mind said kill, but it was not a blanket statement. No, it was directed at one man-…no not a man, an animal, a sick dog that had to be put down, and I just so happened to be the veterinarian.

So, now that you know about my little…anger issue, lets just take a look at what I did shall we?

***

So there I was, standing in front of the dilapidated bungalow that housed Leroy Keller. That fucking piece of human excrement who had taken everything from me; my daughter, my marriage, my job, my mind…

The house was a total disaster. The paint was peeling everywhere, the steps were broken and the once functioning gutters were hanging limply off of the roof. I looked around to see no other houses nearby. That was probably the selling point for Leroy. Too bad his seclusion would also be his downfall. No one will hear him suffer, scream and squeal as he slowly bleeds to death in a pile of his own waste.

I cracked my neck twice and straightened my leather jacket. Oh how was I going to enjoy hurting this man. I reached into my waistband and removed the revolver I had placed there. I popped open the cylinder and saw all six .44 Magnum rounds just where they were supposed to be. I had no reason to doubt that they would still be there, but seeing them there with my own eyes somehow relaxed me a little.

I spun the cylinder and with a flick of my right hand, snapped the cylinder back into large frame of the S&W 629. I slowly ran a finger up the five inch barrel and just as I reached the tip, I let go, letting the full weight of the weapon rest in my hand.

Now, you might be saying to yourself, ‘A bullet wont make this man suffer very long?’ and you’d be right. So that’s why I brought this butterfly knife.

I took it out and flipped it open, revealing the stunning, steel blade. After a quick glance over the knife, I flipped it back closed.

Time to get to work.

I slowly and confidently walked towards the home, the soft gravel of the drive way making a soft ‘crunch’ with every foot fall. I could see the pale light of a television coming from one of the basement windows. The illumination bathed that particular patch of grass with an eerie white light that was really hard to miss.

Feeling no apprehension, I skipped up the almost-broken stairs and reached the door. I looked down at the door mat and saw something that made my blood burn to a point you’d swear my heart pumped hydrochloric acid into my veins.

There, lying casually on the ground was a little, pink girls sock. I bent down to look at it and noticed it was covered with little purple ponies. As I further examined the discarded piece of footwear, I saw a few drops of blood on it.

I just lost it.

I got up and kicked the door in with all the force I could muster. The door flew open in a shower of splinters and paint chips. I marched in and the first thing that hit me was the smell. It was a disgusting mixture of sweat, mold and cigarette smoke. The foul scent served to only further enrage me as I marched through the dark house, following the sound of the television.

I marched past rooms on either side of me, not caring what lay inside. All I wanted was that sick fucker’s neck between my shaking hands. As I walked, seething with rage, I found what I was looking for. It was a simple white door at the end of the hall; I could hear the television on the other side.

As I prepared to kick the door open, I noticed that there was a lock on it. Evidently whatever went on in that basement, Leroy didn’t want anyone to know about it.

Well, good thing I brought my trusty revolver. I leveled the gun to the door, cocked the hammer, and squeezed the trigger. The sound in the confines of the hallway was deafening, but once again, I did not care as my entire sensory system was clouded by some inhumane rage.

Confidant that the lock was destroyed, I kicked the door down and watched as the once pristine white door, fell to pieces under my shoes and showered down the thin staircase.

I marched down the stairs with a confident swagger and saw Leroy.

There he was, sitting on his couch, in his underwear, eating a bag of chips and watching some cartoony show with talking ponies.

“Who the hell are you?” He shouted, his voice cracking in surprise.

“You’re worst fucking nightmare.”

I marched up to him and socked him square in the mouth. His face was slick with grease and I immediately wiped my knuckles on my jeans.

“Ah shit! What did I ever do to you?”

“Oh, you did nothing to me. But that’s not why I’m here.” The man had a look of pure confusion on his disgusting face. “No…I’m here for what you did to Katie.”

Leroy’s eyes opened wide as he realized why I was there.

“P-p-Please! I’ll do anything you want! Just please, don’t hurt me! I’m weak!”

I somberly walked over to his shaking body; a pool of urine was forming around him. I took the knife out of my pocket, flicked it open and watched as his eyes shot open in terror.

I got real close to him, and quietly whispered into his ear. “Scream…”

He immediately tried to get up, by I simply kicked him in the gut sending him right back to the ground.

I took my knife and shoved it into his chest. “This is for Katie!” I pulled the knife out, blood pooling on the ground and then proceeded to stab him again “This is for ruining my life!” Once again I pulled the knife out, the pool of blood continued to expand. “This is for raping little fucking girls!” His screams of pain were music to my ears, there was nothing more pleasing then his agonized cries to a God who would never come to his aid.

I got up, drenched in blood, and threw the knife across the room. It hit the cement with a satisfying clatter.

I then kicked him in the face. He started to convulse as he choked on broken teeth and blood.

So there I was, standing over the near dead body of my daughter’s rapist and killer. I wonder if she would approve, I doubted it.

Shaking any other thoughts from my mind, I pointed my gun at his head, cocked the hammer and pulled the trigger. The gunshot was even louder in here than it was upstairs. Blood, brain matter and pieces of bone splattered the nearby TV set, seemingly covering a smiling purple pony.

I almost smiled at the sight…almost.

As the adrenaline slowly dissipated in my body, I got a chance to look around the room. I really wish I hadn’t.

There was a combination of strange pony posters, pornographic posters and worst of all, Polaroid pictures of little girls, bloody and beaten. Some had their necks slit, others were bleeding from much more obscene areas. As I scanned the images in morbid fascination and disgust, I saw something that just made me lose it.

There, was my little eight year old daughter, naked with her neck slit from ear to ear, lying in a pool of blood.

Suffice it to say, I was angry.

I trashed the room I destroyed the television, punched the walls, and ripped up the couch. I then grasped the gun once again, and shot my four remaining rounds into the lifeless body of the sick fuck who had taken the photos.

As I slowly calmed, again, I removed my baseball cap and ran my fingers through my hair. I didn’t have much hair for my fingers to run through, but it was an action that helped me calm down.

Looking around the room, I saw the mess I had made. It was bad.

“He deserved it…” I mumbled to no one but myself.

I turned, away from the havoc I had caused and slowly ascended the narrow, creaky staircase. This time, as I was not mad, I was able to actually take in the layout of the house. On my immediate right was a kitchen and in said kitchen, I found a gas stove.

An idea popped into my mind.

I fumbled around inside my jacket pocket until I found just what I was looking for. It was a gold Zippo with my initials engraved on it. I didn’t smoke, so it was pretty useless. I kept it as a knick-knack, something to play with when I had literally nothing else to do.

I walked into the kitchen, it was disgusting. There were used plates and take out containers everywhere. Flies hung around the sink and there was an irritable and audible drip coming from the sink. It would be a blessing to burn this place to the ground.

The stove was rather old and I simply pulled it out a bit and unhooked the gas line in the back. Slowly, the room began to fill up with explosive gas.

I took some dish rags and napkins and wrapped them all together in a sort of rope. I then lit one end of it and watched it as it burned very slowly. Perfect, this would give me enough time to get away from this place.

I casually tossed the burning rope thingy into the hallway and promptly left the house.

I walked to the street where I had parked my car, a 1978 Trans Am. The thing was a mean little car; I had bought it after selling the house, something fun to take my mind off of my life, otherwise known as Gods little joke.

I opened the door and stooped a little to fit my six foot two body inside the low, small car. As I got comfortable inside, I pulled out the keys, plunged them into the ignition and started the car.

The engine roared to life and I sped off into the night.

The car motored on for about five minutes before I saw the explosion. It had been much larger than I had expected. Despite the isolation of his home, there was not doubt someone would see, hear or feel the explosion that had just occurred. If someone still somehow managed to miss that, there would always be the plume of smoke that would be oh-so visible once daylight bathed the area in illumination.

Considering I should probably try to get as far away as possible, I floored it.

***

I shoved my key into the apartment door. When I opened the door, I was greeted by the smell of stale beer and darkness.

Fumbling for the light switch which always seemed to elude me, I realized that I was still covered in blood.

“Hope no one saw that…”

When I finally felt the plastic of the light switch, I was rewarded by the lights turning on and bathing the small apartment with light.

On the ground lay an assortment of beer bottles, beer cans, liquor bottles, clothing and video games.

Home sweet home.

Not even bothering to take my shoes off, I rushed for the kitchen. Once there I ripped open the door to the fridge and found my favorite dinner, whiskey. I grabbed the whole bottle and marched over to my couch turned bed. I did not have an actual bed in this apartment. But whatever, a couch works just as well.

Sitting down on the couch, I searched for the remote and eventually found it wedged under the two cushions. Turning the TV on, I sat watching the shows through a warm, happy filter known as alcohol.

After about an hour of pointless television and an elevated blood alcohol level, I decided it was time to turn the TV off. There really wasn’t much good on at five in the morning. With the television turned off, my thoughts started to take hold of my psyche.

I had brutally killed a man, and for what? Revenge? Justice? None of that would fix my life. None of that would repair my marriage. None of that would bring back little Katie.

I used to be a cop for Christ sakes! And I had just committed murder. I thought I might feel a sense of satisfaction or fulfillment after I had killed him, but nothing came. I still felt hollow, dead inside.

Nothing had changed.

“And nothing’s gonna’ change.”

I reached under the couch and produced a box of .44 bullets. Taking my revolver I placed five rounds in the six chambers. I spun the cylinder and waited for it to stop moving. Placing the gun to my head I contemplated what exactly I was doing.

“If I die,” I said aloud. “God wants me to see Katie. If I don’t, seems he really does hate me.”

I pulled the trigger.

*click*

“Know what? Fuck this.”

I rotated the cylinder once, chambering a round and pulled the trigger. The gun barked as the round impacted my skull and the soft brain inside of it. Death was almost instantaneous.

***

When I awoke, I hoped to see clouds, bright lights and a chorus of angelic voices calling upon me. What I expected was to see fire and brimstone. A large, menacing, pitchfork wielding demon who was prepared to make my eternity one of suffering and pain for my sins.

Needless to say when i opened my eyes to blue skies, large fluffy clouds and green grass I was suprised. The colour was what first struck me. Everything ws so...cartoonish. It seemed impossible. Maybe this was heaven because it sure did not look like hell.

Slowly and groggily I got up, my clothing was still blood stained and my suicide instrument was still in my hand. Well, this place seems alright, I'll just explain to them that I...had an accident. Yeah, and that all of this was my own blood caused by my own doings.

I looked around and could not see a soul. I saw a small town in the distance so I figured someone would be around here.

"Hello! Is anyone here?"

No one came.

"I need help! Please some one help me!" Maybe that might work.

Almost immediatly after adding a plea for help at the end of my cry for attention, a blue pegasus with a rainbow mane dashed from one of the clouds to my side.

"No fear the most awesome flier in equestria is here!" Her eyes were closed and she evidently had not noticed me, a different species standig in front of her.

Annoyed that I had not said anything she opened her eyes.

"Hey whats the bi-" Her words were cut off once her large magenta eyes landed on my and my bloody apparel.

"Whoa."

If i could have mustered a word to say, that sure as hell would have been it.