ManyWriters

I filled a whole bottle of sleeping pills in my daughter's cup on her full moon day.
My parents, who were busy preparing for the celebration a few hours ago, now have blood and flesh on their limbs and their bodies lying horizontally in the bright red pool.
Yasmine is my wife who has just recovered from childbirth and had her knee removed. Her expression showed that she had suffered extreme pain before.
I proactively called the police, but my emotions were surprisingly calm.
And now I am sitting on the sofa, gazing at the bloodstains on the snow-white walls and the remnants of my once perfect life.

The Family's Final Celebration

The law enforcement officers were visibly perplexed by my composed attitude.


As we made our way down the staircase to exit the medical facility, they couldn't help but interrogate me.


"How can you claim your child died by your own actions? What are you implying?"


I remained silent, merely bowing my head and continuing to walk.


They likely assumed I was mentally unbalanced. One of the officers slowed down, whispering to a colleague behind me to examine my health records.


The seriousness of the situation was clear. With three fatalities, the incident was causing significant public outcry. Despite my composure, I was still required to wear restraints. A jacket was carelessly thrown over my shoulders, an obvious attempt to hide something. Anyone familiar with police dramas would recognize the tactic immediately.


By the time we reached the hospital's exit, a crowd had formed. Onlookers, some of whom had been waiting nearby, quickly surrounded us.


Chapter 7