Why do we cry, is it because we feel sad or is it because we are simply furious or disgusted by our surroundings.
When I saw the horror that lay ahead on the path I was taking, none of those could answer but they all could at the same time.
What lay in front of my eyes was a horrific scene I wouldn't wish even my worst enemy to see. My father grinning from ear to ear sat in front of my dear mother's corpse.
Slowly slicing her arm with a pocketknife and one by one picking out her bones. The most disturbing thing was that he sliced my mother's skin delicately so as to not completely ruin her skin. Then in all the shock I forgot that my brother could still be alive.
I dashed over to my brother's bedroom. There he was propped up on his bed. He seemed so close yet so far away. The image of him pinned to the kitchen wall flashed in my mind.
I still moved forward; I extended my hand for him to grab it. He looked pale and ghostly staring me in the eyes, not moving a single finger. It was so quiet you could even hear the wind from inside. He still was not reaching his hand for mine.
Then slowly he started to turn his head to look down at my hand. As soon as my hand started to be in his view. Blood started gushing from his neck like somebody had slit his throat.
I stood there horrified as I looked up there was a sting attached to his head. My eyes followed the string until it stopped right above my head. When I looked up there was a sharp pointed log pointed right at my right eye. I took a second to process how I hadn't noticed the log when I walked in.Then a loud "snap" broke the silence.