My Murderous Parents
Written in jest... For my parents are not really like this… But, perhaps that's just what they make me say? I guess you'll always wonder after today... Finally, I must warn… This story contains some gore…
Deadly murderous parents doesn't sound great. But they're also clumsy and forgetful, so maybe it's just ill fate? Let's take the story of The Headless Toaster, which caught alit and flew across the room with startling fright. Towards a head, that unfortunately fell, rolled onto the carpet, body departed. Or beware the Pie of Poison. One cursed bite, yet you'd never believe you died. For the taste is so blissful upon a tongue, but there's venom inside, like a snake it hides. Contorting the flesh in spasm so hellish, the stiff body is forever embellished. I lead you now to a tale so horrid, I beg you take a chair, for your own care...
"Take out the garbage, that's a dear," said ma, so sweet and sincere. I grumble once, no make that twice, before lifting the bin liner with strife, as it tore, raining waste onto my toes and garbage water across the floor. With another grumble, I scooped it up, and ran to the trash can out front. There a single wolf did wait, hungrily snapping and dooming my fate.
"Mother dearest!" I called in shake, but no response did she make. "Father!" I pleaded, and soon succeed when a shotgun he rose to the beast, who merely groaned at the loss of his feast.
BANG! Then everything was silent. A wounded man crawled from behind, the wolf had vanished from all sight. "Oh dear!" my mother wailed, as the man clutched blooded guts, "QUICK! Get him inside at once!"
Blood dripped like timid rain, an intestines dangling behind in train. A gurgled gasp escaped the man's soft lips, so small and curled that my heart did skip. We laid him down beside the fire, as ma stitched and pa sedated the esquire. In hindsight perhaps it was just misfire, as they both looked at me in glee.
"He shall marry you!" they exclaimed, and I turned in bashful shame.
Sadly, the tale does not end there. For the following day, the man did rise, bid his farewell and was on his way. He didn't get far, as a stitch came undone and so a pack of creatures had a delicious lunch. As on the porch ma did sit, knitting a sock, while pa stood cooking over a pot.
And now my story takes a disturbing twist. For my ma and pa died long ago, by rocks launched by a wicked foe. Two skeletons now roam my home. They will never leave me alone. Every day they linger still, haunting their one and only kid. I look at the rocks and see my fingerprints, understanding how it is me they wish to kill.