The Ghost's mother rolled her eyes, raising a pistol at him. "We're not asking." However, the Ghost grabbed the pistol's barrel and planted it on his forehead. "For someone who constantly made my life hell, say you could take me out of it... c'mon! LET'S FUCKING SEE IT! TAKE ME OUT OF IT." The Ghost's eyes locked with hers, and her eyes were the only one's trembling. "W-what..." She stuttered. "C'mon mom, you said I was the cause of your marriage stress, health problems, and oh so much MORE!" Exclaimed the Ghost, pistol still held to his forehead. "So, c'mon! Get that peace you "so deserve". She tried to pull the pistol away, but the Ghost kept it planted.
"You called me abusive, yet I have all the scars, you called me stupid, and yet you won't pull the fucking trigger. YOU TOLD ME I DESERVED HEARTBREAK, NOTHING SHORT OF DEATH! YOU FUCKING PICKED ME! YOU CHOSE TO ADOPT ME, THEN ABUSED, BROKE, AND NEARLY KILLED ME, SO COME ON! UN-FUCKING-PICK ME!" The Ghost's breaths were labored, not from pain, but from holding himself back. Seeing as she refused to shot him, the Ghost ripped the pistol from her hands and pointed it at her. "Ya know, did you ever consider... maybe, just fucking maybe, God took away your ability to have children... because he saw just how pathetic of a mother you'd actually be?" The Ghost gritted his teeth, then lowered the gun. If he hadn't his anger would've boiled over.
"Son... we're just looking to get into Grandma and Grandpa's for supplies." Said his father. The Ghost burst out into audible laughter. "REALLY!? Oh well, sorry to kill that plan... those are my supplies. So... unless you kill me, get walking. It's a long fucking way to Chicago, and I'm not escorting you." The Ghost said, grabbing his sledgehammer and began walking back to his Grandparent's house, letting the streets return to their still eerieness. He stood guard at the end of the driveway, ensuring they left. Once they'd gone, the Ghost walked back inside, locked the doors, and sat against the sunroom's wall. He was expressionless, yet a tear fell down his cheek. For twelve years, he'd put up with things far worse than their little streetside chat. Twelve years too long, and not another would he stand for. As far as he was concerned, he had no family left...