Boondock Saints. One-shot. Incest. My first fanfic uploaded on the web. Please, enjoy. No flames if you don't like that sort of thing. Thanks doll. Boondock Saints is © Troy Duffy.

Metal, shinning, feels cool, fresh against my lukewarm forehead. Eyes shut, I slide my gun down my cheek. I smile to myself. I love this new feeling of control, of power. Air sluggishly escapes my mouth. I drag my finger down the gun, onto the trigger. Eyes open, before I pull.

I need a smoke.

And there's none on the side table.

I don't feel like getting up. I rather lie here, staring at the leaking white ceiling that's drowning in shadow. It's endless, the ceiling, my boredom. I hear myself sigh without knowing it. My senses are returning to me. The clock is loud. It's tick-tocking at me for every second that passes. Sixty seconds pass before I stand up. I toss my gun onto my bed. No, I rather hold onto it. I pick it back up and tuck it into the side of my jeans, under my belt. I walk through to empty space. The door is open but I know I won't be disturbed.

He's in the kitchen, smoking. My dad is drinking at the table, next to my brother. I lick my lips. What I wouldn't do.

"Sit down," I hear. The television is on behind my back, Sally McBride is blaring. Something about a robbery. My head throbs.

I obey. I'm next to my dad. My brother slides me a pack of cigarettes. His pack. He must be in a good mood tonight. I take one out and light it off of his. I breath in the black aroma and puff it back out. I really should quit. But my brother keeps on.

I have a hangover. I pick up a half empty bottle from the table. I chug the rest. This isn't helping. All of this. I'm covered in filth. The kitchen is dirty. The beer is old. Everything is like this. Not just this place. The whole world is like this. I'm going to die here. I suddenly feel disgusted and dirty. I want a shower, I want the fresh water sliding down my bare skin, somehow giving me rebirth. I stand up so suddenly. Too suddenly. My heart beat is pounding slowly in my head.

"Where you goin?" He asks. He takes his cigarette out of his mouth and twirls it around in his fingers, covering the table in even more filth. Even through all this filth he stands out.

"Shower," I hear. My own voice sounds so foreign.

"Have fun with yourself," My brother answers, sticking his cigarette back into his mouth.

My brother. My twin. He slowly turns the cigarette around between his lips. He doesn't care. My dad sets his empty bottle onto the stained table. He doesn't notice. My heart beats louder. I glance back at them as I make my way to the bath. I suddenly feel so separated, walking away from my family. My brother, my friend. Sometimes I wish it wasn't like this. Just us three in this dingy place, packed away from the world. Sometimes I wish I wasn't alone like this. Alone in my head, alone in my shower, alone in my bed at night.

I close the bathroom door but don't lock it. Have fun with yourself? Or did he mean by yourself? Sometimes I wish he'd always stay with me. Sometimes I wish that I was allowed to sin like that and not be one who has to carry out the Lord's wishes. I want my own wishes to be fulfilled for once.

I turn on the water for the shower and wait. I don't know what for, but I wait. I wait for someone to walk through the door, join me, but he never does. And my cigarette is burning out. And the water is warm now. So I stop.

I'm thinking too much.

End.