Sep 17, 2025

Kilmer

[short story]

Content Warning: This story includes scenes of abuse and violence that may be distressing for some readers. Please proceed with caution.

"Kilmer! KILMER!"

"Yeah mom, what's wrong? Why are you shouting?"

"Kilmer, you bloody bastard! You ate the damn pudding!"

"Wait, wasn't it for me?"

"No, you dimwit! My boyfriend's coming over, and you ate the goddamn pudding!"

"But, it's my birthday... I thought you'd-"

"I don't care you little shit! You're gonna pay for this. Come here, boy!"

I ran. I ran as fast as I could. I tumbled through cabinets in the kitchen, the couches in the rec room. From the corner of my eye, I saw my mom, well,
my step-mom, chasing me with her black leather belt in her hands.

I reached the front door. It was locked.
There was no way out.

I turn my back towards the door and felt her alcoholic breath on me.

"Kilmer, boy, you're done."

I don't wet my pants anymore. After Dad, things got worse, and I guess just got used to it. I don't even know why I try to run. I know there's no saving me.

But there's always tears. Mechanical. Automatic. Tears.
"Mom, I'm sorry!" I plead.

With one hand she pushes me against the door, and with the other she whips me. I close my eyes before the first whip. My senses come to a close. I imagine Dad and I at the park we used to go every Thursday, the bedtime stories he read me. I am at a safe place now. Nothing can hurt me.

The belt hits my thighs and calves one at a time. I wince. My mom cursing me every time she swings her belt. "You idiot, you sick fucking child, you rotten piece of shit."

And then there's a loud thud. The whips stop for a while.

"Mom?" I call out. There's no answer.

I open my eyes to see my mom lying on a puddle of blood. Eyes wide open. I get close to her. "Mom? Wake up, mom!" I know she's not going to wake up. She's dead.

"Yeah, she's dead." A voice calls out. "We killed her."

I see a boy sitting on the couch. He has a blood-stained baseball bat in his hand. My baseball bat. He catches me looking at him, "Well, that was supposed to happen sooner or later. I figured I'd help you out a bit."

The boy looks like me. He is me. But how do I know that?

"You know that because I am really you, Kilmer, and you are me. Two sides of the same coin," he says, examining the bat in his hand. "Come here and sit down with me."

Timidly, I do as he says.

He moves his eyes from the bat to me, "You know I'd always protect you, right? I would never let anyone hurt you."

I nod, "I know."

"Good. But you see, there's no time to dance. We've got a problem in our hands," he says, pointing to the dead body with the bat. I follow the bat's direction. I see my abusive step mom, just lying there. Bloody. Contorted. Dead. The scene closely resembling the grotesque image of a pig beaten to death.

I can't stop my tears.

"Hey, Kilmer, look at me." I look at him.
"Stop worrying. Nothing's going to happen to us. I got you." I nod. He touches my cheek, wiping my tears.
"We're going to handle this like we always have. And always will. Have you got that?" he says.

"Yeah."

"Great." he snuffles and gets up from the couch, "Because we're just getting started."

He walks up to the body, and looks at me.
"Sit tight, Kilmer. It's all going to be a-okay." And he smashes her skull to pieces.

"GAAAH!" he strikes it again. I can see the brain matter flowing out of her skull, and it makes me nauseous. I close my eyes. I take deep breaths. I don't hear his grunts anymore. My senses come to a close. I am being taken to a safe place now. I am going to be okay. Nothing can hurt me.