Trigger Warning: The following story includes graphic gore, violence against animals and self harm. Please do not harm animals and people, if you need help, please seek a therapist. I repeat. Contents below includes dark things. If you despise such, please do not proceed. You have been warned.
Pitter Patter.
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A thundercloud rolled in, flashing across the grey skies of the gloomy noon.
My mother knocked on my door twice, each pound carrying weight. "Come out, Lee." Her voice was mellow with suppressed anger.
I was leaning on the window sill just beside my bed, my ears deaf to her order.
As my eyes fluttered to glance at the door again, I heard a click as she returned with keys she took from my father.
"Why are you hiding inside your room? Come out for lunch, you've been asleep the whole morning!"
My mother stood glaring at me, her chest heaving and her arms by her sides.
I slowly got out of my bed and pushed my blanket down on the floor. She stared at me, pointing at the mess I made.
"I'm sorry, I overslept." My lips trembled as I scratched my head. She looked at me for a while before turning back to the kitchen. I followed her suit, closing my door in my messy bedroom.
My eyes darted to her figure busy in the kitchen, her hair was pulled into a bun exposing the back of her neck.
It was tanned and thick.
I felt a twitch on my fingers and looked down on my arms, pulling my long sleeves to my elbows to expose the wounds I inflicted on myself last night.
"Lee?"
Her voice brought me to reality.
I hated the feeling of pain...
Detested the way blood gushed out from my injuries.
Yet...
It wasn't enough.
My fingers trailed on the kitchen counter as I watched my mother cooked.
A glint appeared at the corner of my eyes.
I grabbed the butcher knife on the table and raised it up, swinging it down aggressively.
Blood splattered on the wall and onto my cheeks.
I wiped it lightly, staring at my bloodstained fingers.
It felt more disgusting than my blood that stained my bed sheets last night.
It's sticky and metallic scent stuck to my clothes.
But I didn't stop swinging the knife down, her bones breaking from the intense force.
Cries echoed in the kitchen as I skinned her, grabbing her head to stop her from running away.
She was still alive.
Such pity.
My father had left for town earlier this morning, there was no one to save her.
It was only me and her, just one on one.
Her struggles, it's futile...
On the countertop, I boiled a pot of water, it's sound echoing with her cries in the background.
The pot gurgled as I poured her remains into it.
Then, my mother handed me a handkerchief. "Wipe the blood away! You look horrendous! Who kills a hen like that?"
I looked at her in a trance, before pulling on my sleeves down to hide the slashes on my arms that accidentally revealed itself.
"You could've asked Father to do it for you, not me, this is my first time." My brows furrowed as I tried hard to laugh. "Alright!"
My mother rolled her eyes on me as she signalled me to move, taking the chicken blood for future cooking.
The pot continued to boil.
Gurgle.
"But mom, isn't this father's favourite chicken?"
"Ah, just tell him it got choked by its rope. I've been craving chicken for a while after all. Your younger sibling is quite picky too!"
I glanced at her big belly and chuckled as I washed my hands. Flapping it around and causing the water to fly around.
"Lee! Stop it!!" She snapped.
...
My mother began to clean up the blood as I peeked beside her. My eyes widened in curiosity as I saw her add salt to the blood while mixing it, the blood slowly turning mushy.
She was to cook something else.
"Why did you put salt in the blood?"
"I wasn't supposed to?"
I pondered and shook my head. I don't think I recalled my grandmother adding salt to blood before, it was vinegar.
My mother only glanced at me before sighing. "As I'm growing older, I forget things."
She then poked my forehead, tilting her eyes to the chicken I've been boiling.
"No, I can't cook." I shook my head dismissively.
"You're already old but still can't cook! What are you gonna do when I'm gone! Aiya!" She responded with a snort.
I moved to the side, watching her busy herself in the kitchen again. The blood she put salt on, now discarded. "Can I have the blood?" My hand held the container. "Yeah, yeah, you can. By the way, please call your father for me."
I nodded, "Okay, mom."
Sweeping my gaze on our small house. Just right beside our kitchen was our living area and dining room, an all you can place. The walls were made with wooden planks and cemented structure.
I pushed open our door with one hand while the other holding the container filled with blood, stepping onto my outside slippers that were coated with dirt and dust.
Our house was far from the town, located in a deeper and more secluded area.
There was just one dirt road that connected our place to the main road of the town. Beside our house, there were no neighbours, instead just a bunch of tall trees and plants.
As I looked around, I confirmed that my father had truly gone to town because his motorcycle wasn't here.
"Mimi," I voiced out. Mimi was a cat that I picked up months ago.
"Mimi." I repeated, but Mimi didn't answer my call like he should. I walked around, still holding the container as I wandered the vicinity of our house. But just as I went, I stopped.
There was rustling in a nearby bush.
Mimi?
My lips parted as I set the container down on the dirt floor, reaching out on the bush and spreading the lush dark green leaves apart.
It's Mimi.
A cat laid in the bush, its dark fur coated with mud. My eyes flickered, eyelashes dropping slightly while my hands hesitated to touch.
I crouched down, embracing my two front legs with my messy black hair covering my gaze.
Mimi is sleeping.
Or so did I think.
His tail should be moving around, punching the ground with annoyance like it should be, but he looks so still and frozen.
Where did your annoying meows went?
My gaze dropped.
I could see the speck of pink that was gauging out of his rear, and the dent in his stomach.
My ears buzzed.
Noisy flies…
I irritatedly flung my hand around.
"Lee! I told you to call your father!"
My mother shouted from the kitchen.
But I couldn't move. I was stuck there, sitting as I stared at Mimi.
"Mom! Can we cook another chicken?" My hand touched the ground, caressing the stones that sprawled on the floor.
"Father's favourite rooster got tied for real this time."
"Huh? Well, we have to ask your father..."
"But Mom, this one is just freshly dead. Are you sure you want it to not be fresh when he comes back?"
Freshly dead.
Isn't that the same state as you are, Mimi?
I finally stood up, clenching a rock in between my palm.
"Really? Okay, okay. I'll explain it to your father when he comes."
I left the container on the ground as I stepped slowly to the rooster that was standing with its claws clasping on its wooden porch.
Cockadoodledoo!
Just shut up.
I creeped in slowly and grabbed its poo-stained rope.
And tied it on its neck.
Then slowly...
I pulled.
Perfect accidents…
Didn't you do this to Mimi?
The rooster's body twisted in the porch, unable to escape and it was crying.
It kept screaming, so I took the rock and hit it hard in the head.
That might leave a mark, but my mom entrusted the killing to me anyway.
If I cut off it's head, no one will know, would they?
So...
Just die.
Just die.
Chop!