Welcome to Gaia! :: View User's Journal | Gaia Journals

Slaughtered.

Slaughtered. Every. Last. One. I stared down at the blood soundlessly dragging itself down my white collared shirt. Though nothing was mine, I took off the shirt and threw it in the washer. Quickly, I studied my pants, not a spot of red had touched their peaceful tan. After adding the detergent, I turned on my heel and headed back to the scene. With a mop and about an hour's time, the hard wood floors were cleaned spotless. I straighted the potted plants and cushions before taking my shirt from the dryer, bleached and spotless. After adjusting the last button, admiring my shiny, bald head in the mirror in the hall, and ensuring everything was normal, I walked casually through the open back door and around the house to my silver, Chevy hybrid. There was a reason in life, to everything, I thought to myself. I guess our sole purpose is to find our own. I knew mine already, of course. It was quite simple. I climbed in the front seat and started up the car. It was clear when I first thought of it, since I had to think of it myself. I pulled the plastic off my head and the gloves off my hands as my black hair fell, shining, along the sides of my face. Nobody could tell you why you were here. But I knew why, at least for myself. I placed the plastic pieces on the ground and reached for my lighter in my back pocket. I continuously reminded myself of it. I set fire to them and looked at my watch. Three. I closed the car door. Two. I put it in drive. One. They'll all look at the remains and say, "That was the Carlson's house. Pity. They were so sweet." I guess you could say the Carlson's family was the sweetest. But if you asked me, I'd tell you they knew too much. I was down the street as the house exploded.