The Rose of My Eye

Welcome to a psychopathic family, RosEye. (Just my luck.)

I ran away laughing into the woods. The feeling was exhilarating. My serrated butterfly knife still dripped with my mother's — no, victim's — blood. In the middle of the forest, I let out a giggle and stared at my bloody weapon. I saw my reflection in the blades and it made me grin. The rose was a nice touch, a lot better than a pure black eye — a lot more prettier.

As my thoughts went to the word pretty, I couldn't help but laugh louder.

“Honey, please don't do this.” She pleaded, her tears mixed with blood streaming down her cheeks as my dagger slip up to her eye. “We c-can talk, right?”

The thought of her even trying to negotiate with me added to my insane laughter. The memory of gauging out her right eye replayed in my mind. Oh the way she screamed was so delightful! She should be grateful I hand-picked the rose that will replace her eye. 

“H-Honey... P-Please... Stop.”

Oh how much I would've taken a picture of her face! After replacing her eye with the rose, I heard the car engine at the driveway which indicated that father was home. I cursed, I wanted to make the kill longer — more painful. But what has wishful thinking ever done to me? Oh yeah, nothing.

I saw the way mother's eyes sparkled in hope when she heard the car, it disgusted me. The fact that I was going to kill her either way and yet she can still have hope? I had hope, hope that there is going to be at least one decent person in the world who will accept me for who I am. I also had faith, faith in my parents who will see that I am like any other kid and not some two-eye-coloured monster. And my conclusion? Hope and faith brings you nothing.

Becoming agitated and impatient, I grabbed my mother by her hair. Her head jerked forward violently as I tugged her hair down so that her eyes — I mean, eye — met mine. Not even giving her a second to process what is happening, I plunged my knife into her chest. A few bloody coughs escaped her mouth as her eyes rolled back into her head.

I heard the door being unlocked, I swiftly leaned her corpse against the wall and used my bloody knife to write on the blood-spattered wall. I made her eye pretty. You're next. Then ran out the back door, I heard my father's horrified scream as, I assumed, he entered and encountered the body of his wife.

Before he could check the backyard, I jumped over the fence that divided my garden from the forest and here I am. I flipped my knife closed and began thinking. I shouldn't kill my father right away. I should make him suffer, grieve, and most definitely make him feel paranoid as he was going to be next.

I'm quite impressed by the fact that cutting out my own eye didn't even hurt. Out of curiosity, I touched the rose in my right eye socket, but like all the other times, I felt no pain. I could still feel bleeding down the back of my neck, probably from the bully who smashed me against the lockers.

His identity is not important, so I won't bother telling you who or what his name is. But what I will tell you is that I know where he lives, it was for academic purposes. But now, it was for his demise. I flipped out my bloody knife, but closed it. This knife, with my family's blood, I didn't have the nerve to use it on someone else who is not related to me. Even if my family treated me like crap. So I took out my spare and went to his house.

It was around dinner time, about six o'clock, when my next victim's house came into view. From where I stood, I could see him in the kitchen. I checked the gates of his house for any guards (he's rich) before climbing on to a tree and hopping over the tall fence that surrounded his house. The front door was unlocked, making it easy for me to sneak in without suspicion.

“Hello. I haven't had the time to repay you, have I?” I leaned against the counter as my victim jolted as he heard my voice.

“What are you doing here, freak? You're trespassing.”