In Cold-Blood (?)

the beggining. (draft)

"You. little. Brat... what have you done?!", my... innocent mother had cried, at the visceral sight before her, sat in a colossal pool of her own tears and...
And father's -decay.

...

I remembered that rotten day quite vividly.

I was shaking with fright as I stared down at the knife clenched between my  whitening fingers... And the slowly dripping blood that obscured the gleaming steel underneath.

I couldn't count the number of scars that were littered on my palm, some older than others. There were far too many that I had lost track.

I had made this observation faintly within the recesses of my mind as I stared blankly. That fragile beating organ trapped underneath my chest begged to put a halt to the assault of pain and emotion it throbbed.

I began to develop a splitting headache as well, as my mind was tragically too slow to process the height of the situation and my horrid actions.

I knelt there paralyzed, for what felt like hours on end.

I barely felt alive.
None of it felt real.
Was it a dream?

Oh, please... let it just all be a dream.
I may soon wake up to the sound of glass breaking and a body thumping to the ground as Eugene beat my mother relentlessly. It's a twisted sense of normalcy, but normalcy all the same.

A fate I'd long been resigned to. The only thing I knew.

I'll wake up.

Soon enough.

Right?

My mother had taken my shoulders under both her hands, shaking wildly, nails biting harshly through my tattered, crimson coated clothes.

She was in a state of hysteria, and I partly felt like I didn't blame her for it.

Partly.

He deserved his end.

I shook the unwarranted thought away as quickly as it slithered into my conscience.

The shattered alcohol bottle still remained in my father's pale fingers, I noticed as I swiftly swiveled my head back. The movement reminded me of the injury on my forehead, and the pain came full swing.

I barely had the energy to wince and reach my hand up to staunch the blood that was leaving behind a thin trail down my forehead.

Just by looking at his face, I knew, the face of death, i knew... he felt cold, almost freezing like the state outside, where small flurries of white spiraled to the ground sluggishly.

And our sanities spiraled down with them.

My mom was taking out a knife from the holder.

the old antique clock began to chime.

tick tock.

Those things I barely registered through my periperal. My vision was honed on the gruelsome imagery staring back at me, accusing me of...

I couldn't even think it without feeling sick to my stomach.

I had turned around just in time to see her eyes locked intently on my neck... and with a gasp, I was jolted back into reality.

tick...

I wrestled the knife away from her,but not before she managed to slash at my eye.

I winced.

tock...

well, that would leave a scar. My morbid humor personality chuckled faintly.
But it all faded away. Everything, like a tunnel vision that was honed in on....
The harbinger of death In her hand.

t-t-tick...

the clock was old.... and broken... father always wanted to get it fixed...

t-tock...

but never got around to it.

tick

tock tick

tick tick...

tick t-tick tick...

and he never would.

tick.

the knife had clattered to the ground, shattering my delusions, my denials, in one final, resounding clank.

For a single moment, only our heavy breathing could be heard in the dark silence of the aftermath.

...Silence.

Then we both lunged. I had managed to grab it before her hands even grazedmine.

she was under the influence of drugs... she couldn't think straight... nor could she move fast enough...

and i held it up to my face, while my other hand...

... i held my eye. Luckily, I hadn't lost it or my vision. it had just grazed the skin, but it was bleeding in a way that an outsider could assume I was crying tears of blood.

The jarring sound of the new hour echoed through the halls.

clang...clang...clang...

she leaped at me, finding a source of energy in her determination... to be loyal... wife...

she screamed, hollered wept...

and i was overcome with the need to...

stop. stop this .

my hands had slipped as my brain and heart fell down into its dark dark.... chasm....

straight into her heart.

and that was when...

nobody was left alive.

even before i... before, mother..

none of us had been alive.

even the ones with breathing bodies.

because thats just what they were.

physicaly alive, but a mere husk, a fragment of what they once were...

marrionettes on strings now broken, eyes now dulled, soulless

staring

into

your

own

.

grown volatile.

and they could never be brought back.

" You ruined us... everything could've been perfect if you just obeyed!" My mother had screamed at me while my father was still alive and... as healthy as he could've been...

the blood-stained bottle of alchool... chipped, he was carrying in his hand...

mothers eyes scrunched in fury and tears welling in her eyes.

I.... how could i make my mother cry?

i wanted to wipe her tears... tell her that i had always cared for her even if she never really felt the same...

but.

I had sinned.

and as i stood in front of my now still mother, i...

who could've known a single swing, a mere angle of the blade within the palm of my hand...

The same knife that once was used to cook, to nurture, to feed.

Who couldve known .. things would turn out this way.

after there was no more life-or what was left of it - to destroy...  I had decided to run away that day.

And I would've come to deeply regret it.