I returned to the dining room and approached Tom and Sarah first. Their faces, so kind and warm in life, were now frozen in expressions of shock. My grip on the knife tightened as I stood over them, my chest heaving with a mixture of exhilaration and cold determination.
Without hesitation, I plunged the blade into Tom’s chest. The knife sank deep, the resistance of flesh and bone giving way to the metallic tang of blood filling the air. My vision blurred with crimson, but I didn’t stop. I moved to Sarah, the blade descending again with unyielding force.
When I was certain they had stopped breathing, I turned to Anne. She had always been so kind, so thoughtful. I couldn’t let her suffer.
Kneeling beside her, I whispered, “Thank you, Anne.” Then, I ended it swiftly.
David was the last. His eyes, filled with raw hatred and betrayal, burned into me as I approached. The tension between us was palpable, an unspoken battle raging in the silence.
***
I set the knife down momentarily and walked to the bedroom, retrieving the book he had gifted me years ago. Sitting cross-legged in front of him, I flipped through its pages, the rustle of paper a strange counterpoint to the carnage around us.