My stomach turned. The comprehension of the actions from the night before have finally settled in. Blood on my hands, stains on the walls, I trembled, making my way down the wooden stairs. It was never intended to end like this, the fight was never meant to go this far, but the screaming wouldn’t stop and I wanted the aches to end. The house was silent as I dragged open a drawer, displaying the mugs and bright colored cups buried underneath. From the outside we looked happy, displays of color and seasonal decor were put out on the shelf with every change of the leaves. Family photos matching the accustomed looks of our 3 person family. I started the coffee machine, the scent of the warm grounds covering the poisoned scent that was left beforehand.  The kitchen knives sat perfectly still, only one missing from its spot, it still remained in her body. Father and I were always arguing, he would always be on me for something ignorant- last night it was a C- in a class I attended close to home. The screaming took place abruptly at 6:45pm, it stopped at 9:21 that same evening. I could still feel the satisfaction of digging the knife through his chest. Mother was harder to kill, she had a precious soul, naive,  but the look on her face told me everything I ever needed to know. She had to go. The coffee machine beeped as I am torn away from my thoughts. A knock at my door confirmed my inquiry, I knew they were coming, which is why the coffee was brewed-all I needed was the donuts.