He was always a weird child. They all knew. His parents knew. He went into the kitchen and grabbed a knife from the counter while his parents were preparing dinner.
“Oh no sweetie, don’t touch that. Don’t want you to get hurt,” his mother said gently, noticing him looking at it like it was a brand new toy.
“Alright momma,” he said, putting it back down. “I won’t touch it. Never ever again,” he said, looking down at the tile floor with a small smirk.
“Why don’t you play with your toys in the living room? Dinner’s almost ready,” she said.
“Okay momma,” he said, walking away to go play with the toys. Pretending that he was cutting up things that were alive.
Hours past, dinner was cleaned up and they were all heading to bed. The boy smiled sweetly at his parents and the dog, the last dog out of five, ran into the parents’ room.
“G’night momma, g’night papa,” he said, hugging them tightly. He ran into his room after they went into their room. He listened to their door shut, inaudible words exchanges as he waited to make sure his parents were asleep. There were no more words and feet shuffled over to the bed and a couple more minutes of silence before he got out a knife he took from the kitchen. Walking over to their room, he opened the door slowly before slipping in and went over to his father, looked at the knife and drove the knife into his father several times. The dog barked at the kid, waking his mother up and she screamed at the sight.
“Don’t worry momma,” the kid said, “I got dinner planned for tomorrow.”