text: Time stood still. George stared at his wife’s lifeless body on the floor just inches away. Blood soaked into the beige carpet. Her cold gray eyes held confusion and fear. The pistol in his shaking hand was still hot. George wept. His revolver crept up slowly to his jaw. He weakly mouthed the words, “I’m sorry” as he pulled the trigger. \- Ugh, not meatloaf, again. I hate meatloaf. I really don’t get why Dad likes it so much. It’s just massive hunks of slimy peppers and smelly onions smashed together with hamburger and ketchup. Yuck! The worst part is the mushrooms. Who puts mushrooms in meatloaf, anyway? Those things shouldn’t even be considered food for that matter. They taste like dirt. Dirt mixed with vomit. I *hate* mushrooms. Wow, I must really be in a pissy mood. I don’t know why. Today started off good. Dad made blueberry banana pancakes. Mom let me put a ‘modest amount’ of makeup for school. Even bratty little Trevor didn’t bother me as much this morning. He was too preoccupied trying to convince Mom and Dad to buy him the latest toy he saw on television or something. Trevor may only be seventeen months, six days, and seventy minutes younger, but he can be so annoying and immature. Sometimes I just want to hold him by the ears and scream in his face, ‘Grow up!’. I should stop getting so worked up. I’m starting to sweat a bit. Why did they have to make meatloaf tonight? It never turns out good. Most of the time Mom burns it and tries to cover up the dark spots with more sauce. Dad usually makes a wise crack about liking the burnt parts even more than the other. I know he’s joking because, ya know, who likes burnt stuff? I guess it’s okay though. It makes Mom laugh and I’m sure she feels better about ruining dinner. I don’t really mind, either. I *really* just want this to be over. I have so much to do. Okay, that’s not entirely true, but I just don’t want to be *here*. Speaking of which, is it hot in here? Did Dad turn up the air again to try to save a couple of measly bucks while we all suffer? I can see the thermostat. 74 degrees. The air must be broken again. I wish Mom *or* Dad had better jobs so they could fix this junk. Maybe they could even buy me a bike. I’m, like, the only seventh grader without one. So lame. I can’t seem to shake this bad mood. Ever since that stupid squirrel, or whatever, bit me. God, it still hurts. I was just trying to be nice. That little thing looked lost. It was gonna get hit by a semi or eaten by a bird, I know it. It looked all sweet and wrinkly. I fed it some of my Pop Tart and everything. I just put it back where I thought its nest was. I should have at least gotten a thank you. But no, the little jerk had to go bite my finger. It doesn’t look bad, but the throbbing makes it hard to eat. I hope we can finish dinner quickly. I’m really not hungry anyway. No Mom, I don’t want to talk about my day. Nothing happened that I want *you* to know about. No, Dad, your stupid jokes aren’t funny. They never are. I just want to go to my room. God! My head is boiling! What is wrong with me!? I could scream! Why is everyone looking at me like that? No, Mom, get away from me. Don’t touch my hand, I’m fine! No, it’s just a small bite. Stop pulling my hand. I don’t need a stupid band-aid! I just want to... Leave me ALONE! ... Wait... What just happened? Ugh, my head really hurts. It is really hot in here. I feel sweat dripping down my forehead. It’s so gross. I’m so frustrated. Everything is so gross! It feels like my skin is on fire. Wait, what’s in my mouth? EW! A raw pepper! And Ew! When did those carrots get on my plate? Mom, I told you I don’t like carrots. I don’t care how much sauce you put on them. They are disgusting. Hmm, this pepper looks almost like a fingernail. Ha-ha. Mom was wearing that same color earlier. Hey mom, look at this. Wow, mom, you really look like you’re getting sick. Is that ketchup all over your hand? Mom! MOM! Why can’t she hear me?! It’s so frustrating! I’m, like, almost right in her face! Mom? You really don’t look good! Why are you so scared? What’s wrong with your hand? Did you cut yourself? Dad looks pissed. You’d better clean it up. You know how much he hates messes. Ha-ha. Did you and dad get into another fight while I was over here choking on that raw, blue pepper? Is that why you are ignoring me? Geez, I’m glad your kid’s health has such a high priority. Well, cool, you two argue. Maybe we can clean up this mess and I can just go back to my room. Right mom? Dad? Trev? Why is no one listening to me? Why is everyone screaming?! Oh great, I think my finger is bleeding. Ew, it looks so gross. Kind of purple and green. It’s still throbbing, but I guess it doesn’t really hurt anymore, so that’s cool. Hey dad, come here. Look at this puss coming out of my cut here. Wait. Why is everyone still freaking yelling? So, what, there’s a little bit of blood on my finger. Chill the eff out. Hey, Trev, what are you doing with that lacrosse stick? No. We can’t go outside and play right now, it’s dinner time. Okay, listen, I don’t *want* to go outside and play right now. Ouch! Don’t hit me, Trevor! What’s wrong with you!? Stop, you little freak! Dammit, I’ll show you how it feels. Dad tell Trevor to stop playing! It’s annoying! Trevor stop. STOP! ... Geez, he finally stopped. Trev don’t be sad. C’mon, get up. I just... I’m not in the mood to play right now, okay? I appreciate the help, dad. Way to sit on the sidelines and let your kids beat each other half to death. Ha-ha c’mon Trev, maybe we can watch that scary movie later tonight. Trevor? Fine, stay there like a lump. Why is it so hot in here? Dad, why are you looking at me like that? Are you mad? We were just playing around. Where are you going? Whatever, I’m just gonna finish my dinner so I can finally go lay down. I don’t feel well. Hey Dad, whatcha got in your hand? Oh, are you gonna clean your pistol? You love that stupid thing. Don’t let Mom see you scuff up the table, you know how much she hates messes. Woah, I didn’t realize how hungry I was. Why are you looking at me like that? Please don’t watch me eat. This reminds me of mom’s meatloaf. I wish Mom was here. \- George’s hands shook violently as he loaded the handgun. His gaze leapt around the massacre that riddle almost every corner of the small dining room. His daughter, his sweet little Lily, was hunched over her little brother. The chomping sounds were unbearable. She gnawed on Trevor’s neck as if she hadn’t eaten in months. Her summer dress was soaked with blood and sweat. The click of the revolver’s cylinder startled her. She looked up as he pointed the gun. Lily smiled. He squeezed the trigger. A loud bang shattered the air.