• The following links are prior chapters to this story:
    Death is no joke: http://gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100410509
    Death is no joke-part 2: http://gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100411039
    Death is no joke-part 3: http://gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100447527
    Death is no joke-part 4:
    http://www.gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100507329
    Death is no joke-part 5:
    http://www.gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100652857
    Death is no joke-part 6: http://gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100657349
    Death is no joke-part 7: http://gaiaonline.com/arena/writing/fiction/vote/?entry_id=100657779






    I woke up as I felt something cross my wrist. I looked below. I was on a chair, and Frank was tying me to it with wired string. I looked around.

    I was in a vacant room, with no furniture except for the chair itself. The floor was made of rotton wood, and I felt as though it would give way any second, even though there wasn't much on it at all. Suddenly, I felt a drop on my forehead. I looked up. A leak in the roof caused a plip-plop-plopping rhythm. My head started throbbing, and I suddenly had a mermory of last night, as I got bashed violently by Frank's gun. I had to force it out of my head. It would only make matters worse.

    Frank stepped back, admiring the look of me tied to a chair. I snarled at him, and struggled to get out. But the only thing that caused was a sharp pain in my wrist, as I soon figured out I was tied to the chair with chicken wire.

    "Now, don't get antsy," Frank said smugly. "You might hurt your self." Thanks. I'll take your advice.

    "What-what are you doing?" I croaked weakly.

    "Kid, I suppose you got a lotta questions to ask me, hm?" Heck, yeah. Like, why'd you make my life turn upsidedown? Why do you even EXIST? But I didn't say anything like that. I just nodded. His smile widened.

    "You wanna know what I was talking about that day, right? You wanna know what your daddy owed me. You wanna know my motive." I nodded again. He paced around my chair, starting his story slowly,

    "Well, I'll tell you, my old brother, John, and I never really got along quite well." I was left speechless. Frank...my uncle? This bum on the street...was my father's brother?

    "My father...never told me he had a brother," I whispered. Frank laughed.

    "'Course he didn't. Why would he? It would only raise questions, questions he couldn't answer." He paused, expecting me to say something, probably something like "what questions?" But I didn't. I was under shock.

    "A loooooong time ago," he continued, as if he was telling me a children's story. But I knew this wasn't gonna turn out to be a "children's story".

    "When you were just an itsy-bitsy baby, no more than 5 months old, we were having a Christmas party...at my place." I gasped,

    "THIS place?" Frank let out in large burst of guffaws.

    "No. Heck, no. I was rich back then. In the day. I had a mansion, and a wife, and a daughter." I tried to imagine it, but really couldn't. I bet where I was sitting probably wasn't even his house or apartment. I bet it was just some random, abandoned place that he decided to call his own. But I just nod, and he continues,

    "Your daddy was pretty rich too. Had a nice corvette. But anyway, you guys were comin' over for the family reunion I was holdin'. You were late, and really rushing. But that's not why I killed your father. You know that. You know I wouldn't do something like that for such a little reason." I was about to say something smart, like, "no, I didn't kown that" but I held my tongue and let him continue,

    "Your daddy was in quite the rush. He pulled into the driveway with a screech. And then there was an agonizing scream." He paused, then suddenly he started to act all sedimental,

    "I didn't see what happened, but the scream was 'bout enough to tell me something was up. I rushed outside, and there your father was, weeping and looking like the most pitiful man on Earth. And I found myself weeping too, as I looked on the driveway, right in front of the car, was my little daughter, my little Cindy." Then his face got all angry, as he paced around the chair faster and louder.

    "It was obvious what had happened. My brother had killed my daughter. Accidently, of course. It was tragic, but it was true, and accident or not, he had killed my darling." He hesitated, and then kept on going,

    "I didn't tell the police it was my brother. I realized it was an accident, and I felt a wave of pity on your brother. I payed for everything; your father's car, the burial service, lawyers. It cost me a ton. But the money was the easy part. Little by little, I went to work less and less, mourning and too sad, and eventually, I got fired. As soon as I did, my wife left me, taking half of what was in the bank. I had no job. I had no wife. I had no kids. I had hardly any money. And guess who's fault it was? Your daddy's. Everything was his fault, and if it weren't for him, I would still be rich, I would still have a job, I would still have a wife, and I would still have my little Cindy." He looked at me, his eyes full of anger,

    "Do you understand now? I only asked for money. A few thousand dollars, that's it. Even that wouldn't heal everything, but that was all I was asking for. I gave your father 10 years to gather the money. 10 years to make it up to me. But he never did it. That's why I shot him. Then, I shot his wife. I lost my wife. I lost my daughter. That's what he deserved." He was still looking at me, expecting some sort of answer just after he had unraveled all the mysteries. Expecting me to comprehend all of that. Of course, I didn't. I felt a lump in my throat. My expression was nothing, just blank face. My mind wasn't functioning, and for a moment, it felt like I was dead.