Darren closed his eyes, a series of images flashing across his mind. He saw the club, its bright lights casting a warm glow on the pavement. He saw the paper cup that had accompanied him from the dancefloor to his house. He saw the knife in his hands.
The blood on his palms.
He had crept in earlier that night, his face pale, his eyes glazed over and distant. His house, a small building sitting on the outskirts of town, looked the same as it always did- quiet and welcoming. There was no wall between the kitchen and the sitting room. A small TV perched on a coffee table close to the stairs. Bookshelves lined the wall behind it, groaning under the weight of the books and action figures that had been placed on its surface. In other words, everything seemed normal.
There was a creaking sound upstairs and Darren tensed. Who was in his house? He couldn't remember inviting anyone around.
Grabbing a knife from one of the shelves in the kitchen, he ventured up the stairs. He flinched as a light was turned on in his bedroom. His head throbbed and his eyes felt like someone had stuck needles in them. The light blasted into his vision, searing a painful path towards his brain.
Reaching his bedroom door, he paused and breathed heavily, leaning against the frame. He shouldn't have drunk tonight. Everything had become a blur. Objects merged to become piles of colour that attacked Darren's eyes.
Slamming the door open, he staggered towards the person and tackled them, sending them crashing into the floor. The person screamed, struggling to release themself from Darren's grip. They pulled something out from underneath them...
Darren, unable to see past the blurriness of his eyesight, was terrified. The object looked like a weapon. The stranger could kill him.
Darren wasn't going to take any chances. Before they could strike, Darren brought his knife down and stabbed the person between the ribs. He held the blade there for a minutes as the person writhed, each movement weaker than the last. Blood bubbled out of the wound, soaking Darren's hands. Soon, the person moved no more.
Darren stood back, disbelief forcing its way through his drunken stupor. He had just killed someone. Leaning forward, he reached out and grabbed the object the person had been holding.
It was a bottle.
The person had been getting rid of his alcohol.
The person was his daughter.
