I had felt no remorse. All I felt was the weapon I had used to kill him. If only I hadn't left him at the house while I went to go get help. If only I had known to decapitate my dad's body before I left. He was still upstairs, in his own pool of blood.
As I finally wrenched the pick axe from my brother's skull I was sobered by that too familiar noise; that low, distant moan, growing closer. Something was dragging itself across the floor, leaving the most horrid stain on the carpet I found myself happy that I wasn't going to have to clean... It was my father. His legs had been broken and mangled- must have put up quite the fight. His left leg, masticated beyond belief, was seemingly hanging from his pelvis by tendon. The other he struggled with to stand sporadically but it gave way as it was clearly broken in several places and wobbled like jelly at every attempt. There was literally blood everywhere. It hung so thick. It clung to everything.
As dad- well, what used to be dad- approached, his lifeless eyes glanced down at my murdered sibling. Lowering his head to the body, he began slowly lapping the blood off the floor beside him. When he'd done, he let out a grunt and turned those black eyes to me. They reminded me of crow's eyes. Cold intelligence; subtle and predatory.
FWAPP!! The pick axe landed across his temple, peircing his already soft skull. My brother must have landed a few good strikes, softening him up for my final blow. A tear slowly built up in my left eye, I was alone, the last of my bloodline.
I wrenched the end out of his head. His mangled corpse lay there on the carpet a few feet from my brother. I felt my eyes burning with tears, I didn't stop them, I let them fall to the floor. Waves of pain erupted onto me. I knew that I couldn't stay hear and weep forever. I knew that more were coming, I had to do something.