Nintendo DS

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I was playing with it first.

The satisfaction from the scene before me jerks me awake from the shock. The image of his thin broken body sprawled at the bottom of the stairs brings a slow grin to my face. Then I notice the dark liquid quickly spilling onto the tile floor, surrounding his head like an army of angry red ants in a battle to claim their new territory. His eyes open are still open in shock, mouth open in a scream that never sounded.

Poor little bastard never had a chance.

The loud noise from his Mario games continues from the light blue DS lying a few feet away. His arms twisted at an impossible angle, small legs wedged in between the last stair step and the wall.

I stare at my shaking hands, stuck in their guilty outstretched position. An incredulous shudder numbs my body and I clench my hands into fists reflexively.

One heart beat passes. Another.

My gaze travels up towards the plastic plant on top of the doorway. Three Chinese characters hung below it cause me to throw my head back in a burst of uncontrollable laughter. I fall backwards onto my father's army bag from the force, but it doesn't stop the giggles.

Happiness. Love. Tranquility. Such useless words.

Moments pass by; a tingly shower of bliss strokes my buzzing nerve endings. My chest expands, and just like that, the sweet intoxication breaks. Sobering, I push myself up from the floor, momentarily stunned by the image reflected from the hallway mirror. A creature with eyes too bright, shadows smearing the skin beneath them hauntingly, and lips half-quirked in a lingering mirth

I make my way towards my bed, carefully counting each step like someone with an obsessive counting disorder. Once there, I plop myself across the blue flower patterned bed sheet, smashing my earphones into my ears and then hissing at the pain. Leisurely, I reach out to grab my laptop and place it in front of me. With a smile, I begin to reply to the blinking orange lights of my MSN conversations.

Moments later, the front door opens. An annoying, yet familiar female voice yells out irritated, "Who the hell is blocking the door? Do you want to die?"

Instinctively, I grab my iPod and increase the volume to drown out her scream as my mother realizes that the figure and stain is simply the lifeless body of her youngest child decorating the entrance to her house.

Bathed in his blood.