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 door to the ward creaked open, and she slowly turned her head toward the sound.


When her eyes locked onto mine, they burned with a hatred so fierce it felt like it could pierce through me.


"Perez," she spat, her voice trembling with rage. "You killed your parents? Are you insane?"


Her words came sharper, dripping with venom. "They treated you so well! How could you? How could you live with yourself?"


Her anger swelled, and she tried to lunge at me, to strangle me, to end me. But her legs—her severed legs—failed her. She collapsed forward, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.


Seeing her in that pitiful state, a bitter sense of satisfaction surged through me. My heart raced with the dark pleasure of revenge.


Tears streamed down my face, yet I laughed uncontrollably, my body shaking with raw, twisted emotion.


"Yasmine," I said, my voice cold and cutting. "What right do you have to say that to me? What identity do you use to lecture me about loyalty?"


Chapter 5