The World Undone Pt 2

He went down the hallway with a knife.

It started out as fun. First he would grab a knife and then run down the hall. Not just any knife, a knife that felt right. Butter knives were a joke (why call them knives at all?), Swiss amy knives were ok, but who needed a can-opener or a pair of tweezers to get the job done?

This was a surnami knife, the "sharpest out there" according to the adds. This knife felt right, and that is what he needed. How else were you suppose to get the job done? He crept to the door of his parents room and slowly turned the knob. After several years of creeping into his parents room this noise very rarely woke them up.

He climbed on top of the bed and looked down at his mother's face. It was just how he imagined. Of course he knew every contour of his mother's face by heart; you don't spend every waking moment of your five-year-old life with someone without being able to close your eyes and picture their face perfectly. But looking at her when he did this was different because he had been thinking about getting the job done for quite some time now. Well, about a month, but to a child that is almost an eternity.

At first he was just going into the kitchen and grabbing the knife. He would grab the handle and wave the knife up and down getting familiar with it's weight and grip. Then about a week later he would travel down the hall with it and stop at the door. It was only in the last few days that he was actually climbing onto the bed with the knife in hand.

His mother's face looked angelic even in a troubled sleep. She always slept on he back. Her blond hair spilled over the pillow underneath her head. Her brow was furred in a worried look and her mouth was shaped in almost a frown. His parents had been fighting a lot lately and his dad had been sleeping out on the couch for the last couple weeks. This was actually a relief to the boy; he had been wondering how he could get the job done with both of his parents in one bed. Even with a lot of planning he still had the disadvantage of being a small child, but now everything seem to have been falling into place.

He crept closer to his mother on the empty part of the bed where his dad usually slept. Still on his knees he straightened his body, held the knife up high, and looked at it. Over the past month this blade had become the closest thing to a best friend that he had ever known, and holding it as high as he did it shown bright in the moonlight leaking in from the bedroom window. He was mesmerized by its beauty. Maybe tomorrow night he would finally ---

"Jacob? What are you doing?"

The boy looked down at his mother. She was awake with a groggy and confused look on her face. How was he going to explain this? Maybe he could just say he was sleepwalking ---
Without thinking he sliced the blade through his mothers throat. He didn't even really mean to do it. The groggy look on his mother's face was replaced by an expression of horror, but the confused part stayed the same. Blood sprayed across the bed and onto the boy before the mother was able to cover her throat with both of her hands. The boy could hear gurgling noises as his mother desperately tried to breathe through the river of blood that was pouring from her open neck.

The boy just gazed at his mother as she struggled to get out of the bed. She was probably trying to get to her husband. It didn't matter. The more she struggled the harder the blood gushed from her neck.

As she began to weaken and almost come to a complete stop, the boy turned her onto her back and looked into her eyes. He very much loved his mother and didn't like hurting her, but this was part of getting the job done, so he had no choice.

Still looking into her eyes he kissed her mouth and watched her die. The horror that was on her face slowly faded away into a look of peace as her heart came to a stop. She almost looked happy; happier than she had in weeks. This pleased the boy a lot.

He looked at the pool of blood on the bed and the blood that stained his pajamas. He felt accomplished, but he was only half done. His mom had been dead for several minutes and he had yet to hear any other sounds in the house. His father was still asleep. It was perfect.

He went down the hall to finish his work. Maybe after he got the job done he would finally be able to sleep. It would be a good sleep, the kind of sleep someone gets after a hard days work. He couldn't wait. This part would be easier, because unlike his mother...
He really hated his father.