My parents were…different. I never felt like I really belonged to them. They always looked mad and barely said much of anything to me. My dad always sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the table. My mom, well, she was a different story. She just wouldn’t keep still. It was much harder to murder her.
I heard them the night I decided to kill them. They were arguing extremely loud. I had to get up the next day to take a major test so I became…annoyed. As their voices grew more robust, my anger reached it’s highest peak. I was at capacity and ready to explode. Usually, I kept to myself and stayed quiet. Usually I imploded. Usually, I was…myself.
That night felt different. I feel like I slept the whole night, but when I woke up there was blood on my hands and my clothes from the night before. I took a shower and threw my clothes in the garbage. I waltzed downstairs and saw both of my parents sitting at the kitchen table. When I got closer I saw blood oozing out of their stomachs and their torsos stained with blood.
Immediately, the memories from the night before flooded into my head. I fell on the floor, unable to handle the madness. I stood up from my bed and calmly opened my door. My parents’ voices boomed from their room. I still couldn’t tell what they were arguing about, but I heard the words “psychiatrist” and “hospital” thrown around. I slowly turned the knob to the bedroom and opened their door. Both of them stood close to each other and stared at me. My mom was the first to speak.
“Son, go back to bed, please. We’re okay.”
My dad chimes in with my mom. “Okay, Jon, we’re having an adult conversation. Close the door behind you.”
He turned his back toward me and I charged at him, my weight pushing him down. He managed to yell, “Run!” As he fought me off of him, my mom raced towards the door and down the stairs. I hopped off my dad and chased her into the kitchen. She grabbed a large knife and swung it around by me.
“You don’t know what you’re doing, honey. You need to go back to sleep. Go to sleep!”
I quickly grab the knife, ignoring the blade cutting into my skin. She drops it and tries to run, but I thrust the knife in her stomach. At that exact moment, my dad hit me over the head with a blender. The pain throngs inside my head. I turn around and stab him in the stomach. I continue to stab him until he sinks to the floor.
My mom, clutching her stomach, tries to crawl away. “Please, Jon, you don’t know what you’re doing. I want to help you.” I kneel down and stab her in the stomach over and over again. I pull each of them onto a kitchen chair and neatly sit them up. The blood continues to gush from their stomachs. The last thing I see is myself walking up the stairs, going into my room, and passing out on my bed.
I look back up at my dead parents. I can’t believe I exploded like that. I go to the refrigerator and pull out the carton of milk. I grab the cereal next to the fridge and pour myself a bowl of cereal. I sit next to my mom and begin to eat.
The school bus pulls up across the street. “Gotta go, guys. Have a great day!” I grab my backpack and run out the door. Today was going to be a great day.
Well THAT was dark, right? I wrote this during school today while the students were working on an assignment, so that’s where my head was. Basically I enveloped the mind of a psychotic 14 year old & ran with it. Add your own alternate ending, I don’t care. DAY 2 DOWN!