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With dread, I realised what I had done. The anger was still there and it persuaded me to leave the room and enter that of my sisters. Again I raised the axe's wooden handle and brought it down. Again the faint cry of hopelessness escaped their mouths as I killed every one of my siblings and my parents.
I sat in the kitchen where we had shared countless meals, where I had listened and heard of my brother's death, and where we had played as children. The anger subsided and I looked at my bloodied hands numbly.
To my horror, blood began to ooz from the ceiling's wooden frame, drip-drip-dripping onto the floor and myself. It was the blood of my family.
Then the demons materialised again...