Thomas' room was dark. There wasn't any need for light. He was fast asleep in his bed, oblivious to the fate that awaited him. It had been a long day for him, and by the end of it, he was so very tired, that he had to be carried to bed. His last thoughts before going into the deep slumber were that of bliss, in the arms of the woman whom he loved the most. In his dreams, he was still with her, laughing, happy, and in her embrace.
It wasn't long before Eric was outside Thomas' room. No one had seen him yet, and he was quite sure that he could leave silently too, without being detected. His anger still had a firm grasp on him, but his confidence of committing the act was leaving. His love for Thomas was making him weak, unable to act upon his decision. Standing outside Thomas' room, Eric gave it one last thought. His hand was on the door knob to Thomas' room, trembling, uncertain. With a final air of determination, a deep breath, and clasping his fingers tightly around the gun, he gently pushed open the door, and silently slipped in Thomas' room.
There he was, sleeping peacefully in his bed. Eric took in a long deep breath, watching the face of his soon to be victim intently. Trying not to make the slightest of noise, he carefully lifted the fully loaded gun. He suddenly wasn't so sure about what he was going to do. Still, he took the gun, carefully placed it just inches from Thomas' face, and steeled his nerves. 'I'm sorry' he thought in his mind, and placed his finger on the trigger.
Just then, he heard footsteps shuffling up the staircase, coming right toward's Thomas' room! Eric froze. He wasn't sure what to do. Should he do what he had come to do? Should he hide? Or just leave? This was all happening so fast that he could not decide. In a matter of seconds, the footsteps came nearer, the door to the room swung open, and a woman entered.
'What are you doing Eric?!' yelled the woman. There was a hint of surprise and comical amusement in her voice. 'Leave him alone' she said, walking closer to Eric. Eric stopped dead in his tracks, the gun still pointing towards Thomas' face. 'You were going to squirt that thing all over his face, weren't you?' the woman demanded to know in a half serious, half sympathetic manner. Eric melted, and his anger left him. 'But Mom! He destroys my drawings! All the time!' Eric implored. His mother was smiling, bemused at how her eldest was so frustrated by his younger brother's behaviour, that he wanted to teach him a lesson. 'Now now Eric, he is just a baby. He doesn't know that your drawings are important to you. Just keep them away from his reach. That's all sweetheart' said his mother. Walking towards the crib, she lifted her youngest, Thomas. Just a few months old, Thomas had just learnt to crawl all over his 3 year old brother's drawings, making him furious in the process. However, Eric gave in. 'I love the little monkey' he thought. He dropped his water gun in the room, picked up a sheet of paper which was lying there with some scribblings on it, his 'drawings', which on many occasions were found to be 'masterpieces' by his family. Carefully placing it on the table nearby, he went out of the room with his mother and brother, into the kitchen. 'I think I will have a peanut butter sandwich' he thought, as he walked down the stairs.