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This is an incrediblely demented story i wrote one day when i was bored...um sweatdrop .....i hope you enjoy!

I pin the woman down with my foot and slowly plunge my sword into her stomach. Her tormented cries are abruptly cut short as she chokes on her own blood. I watch, fascinated as blood drips from her pale skin and seeps into the cold ground beneath her.

I am heartless.

There's that man again, standing in his usual spot in his backyard. He always looks at my little brother so strangely when we walk past. I aim straight for those eyes, widened in fear, and make sure he never looks at him again.

I kick his useless body aside and make my way towards my house. I smirk as I walk through the streets of my neighborhood, littered with corpses. The thick stench of blood mingled with vomit hangs in the air.

I see my aunt and uncle lying in front of their house. I remember the way my aunt writhed and gasped for air after I stabbed her throat. My uncle could only lie beside her, watching helplessly.

I open the front door of my home and slowly walk inside. My parents are on a mission, though they should return any moment now. I briefly wonder how they will react to the gift I generously prepared for them.

I notice blood dripping all over the floor, pick up a small piece of cloth from a shelf and begin cleaning my sword. Soon, I hear someone yelling my name and the door in front of me bursts open.

My parents look relieved and father asks if I'm hurt, but stops as he sees the blood staining my clothes. I welcome them home and ask if their mission went well. They don't respond; they just stand there watching me wipe the blood off my sword with the cloth that was now drenched in blood.

My father asks if I've gone mad and I chuckle. Foolish parents. They'll never understand.

I am surprised that my mother is the first to attack me, but I quickly dispose of her. She asks what I will do with my brother and I tell her that I will take good care of him, just like a good big brother should.

As expected, my father is more of a challenge. But eventually, he falls, like all the others. I grab my father's chin and lightly kiss his forehead before thrusting my sword deeper through his chest.

I step back, admiring my work, engraving the image into my memory. I tense as I suddenly hear someone coming. The person's footsteps are quiet and gentle, even though they are running.

I tell my little brother not to come inside, but he doesn't listen. I feel a strange pain in my chest as I see the horrified expression on his face. He looks at me and asks me who did this. He asks me who would be cruel enough to murder his beloved parents. My foolish little brother stands there trembling, staring at me with those wide, innocent eyes and I hate how he's so blissfully unaware of the blood on my clothes and hands and I hate this pain in my chest and...

What's this? Are these tears?