I stood barefoot on the red carpet.
But wait, wondering who am I?
I'm Ash Elliott and I'm eighteen years old. Yeah, my birthday just passed a month ago and to be honest... I don't care much about this nonsense. In my opinion, birthday is a celebration of bringing life one step closer into a world full of suffering .
Anyways, when i looked at my right, the ordinary window of my room was allowing the soft moonlight into the room and everytime, the moonlight genuinely makes me smile.
My room was very small: a wooden table right next to the window, a red carpet on the floor to sleep on, a wooden wardrobe on the left, and finally, a lantern hanging over my head. And I really loved the golden light of the lantern, I felt like I was getting closer to death everytime.
"Ahhh~ Ahhh~ Ahhh~"
My head immediately snapped toward the sound, and... it was the same noise I'd always heard since my parents died.
The sound came from the closed door in front of me.
It was the rhythmic creak of a bed.
Heavy breathing. Voices that rose and fell without shame.
I didn't react. Actually, I couldn't remember the last time I did.
At that moment, my eyes were too tired to react to anything. My shoulders hung loose. I exhaled and began removing my clothes, piece by piece.
My shirt fell.
Then my pants.
The underwear kissed the wooden floor at last.
My body felt lighter, but not in any meaningful way. I snapped my fingers out of habit, and the empty click echoed softly. Those sounds assault my ears daily and unfortunately those are the true sound of this house. No... It's not even a house, just a shell rotting from the inside. They enjoy themselves in their room while I starve in mine.
Behind the door, a voice rose again. This time more breathless and thoughtless.
"Ahhh~ more~"
I ignored it and walked to the table.
The round steel box sat where it always did.
I opened it, revealing the sandalwood powder inside.
The drawer beneath held a matchbox.
A single matchstick.
A small flame blooming into existence.
The powder caught fast. The warm and sweet smoke curled upward, slipping into my lungs as I inhaled.
For a moment, the sweet, woody scent filled my lungs and the tightness in my chest loosened its grip. The other room became a distant and meaningless hum. It was a lie, of course, but for that one breath, it was a lie I could live inside.
Then the sharp and callous cough hit me again. I covered my mouth with my hand, and a thin smear of blood spread across my palm.
"I don't have much time."
The noises behind the door continued.
"Ahh… ahh~ please more hard."
I let the brief but real irritation pass over my face.
I started rubbing the blood between my palms as if smudging out a stain. And after all these years now I finally realised that these noises isn't passion, it's gluttony. They consume the food, the warmth, the silence… and now even the air is thick with their selfishness. They're no more than a cancer in the space my parents left behind.
After rubbing my hands for a while, I turned toward the window.
Outside, the night felt very strange and detached from everything inside this house and that's what I like most about the night.
My hand rested on the cold glass, leaving a weak streak of red.
Far away, a giant mountain rose into the sky. Its peak was lost in the clouds.
I stared at it, and something in me hardened.
I stepped back, opened the drawer again, and picked up the knife.
Simple.
Sharp.
Heavy enough.
I didn't hesitate.
I walked toward the door, and the sounds grew clearer. I knew exactly what I was doing.
Plahh… plahh…
I lowered myself and looked through the keyhole. My uncle and aunt were tangled together in the dimness.
I wasn't disgusted at all. My eyes lingered too long on them with pity.
"Shh! God... Not so loud."
The soft curve of my aunty's body was vibrating and shaking with each thrust. He grabbed her chin and pulled her face near to his.
"You're one to talk." A dark and foolish chuckle escaped.
"I'm serious.... He's righ..."
"Then be quieter yourself. Or don't. I don't give a damn who hears you."
"God! You're hitting too dee..."
He kissed her passionately, their tongues wrapping against each other and lips utterly filled with lust. Later, he pulled out his organ, grabbed the woman's legs and spread them wide. I watched it all... Waiting for a good time.
My uncle kissed her between the thighs. She murmured in lewd voice. He kissed her again and licked at her secret sweetness. He kept licking until his trimmed beard and her special skin were both soaked. He put his tongue with two of his fingers inside her and explored her more efficiently. She gave a soft moan and shuddered.
Through the keyhole, it was a blur of shuddering motion and muffled, wet sounds.
My expression didn't change.
I stood.
I gripped the knife.
And I opened the door.
The hinges groaned softly, but they didn't hear. My uncle's back was turned.
My aunt was lost in her own breathless, meaningless intoxication.
I walked toward him.
One quiet step. Then another.
The moment he turned slightly but still unaware, I brought the knife down and stabbed him in the neck.
Warm blood sprayed upward, hitting the wall in an arc.
His body crumpled with a heavy thud.
My aunt's eyes snapped open, wide with shock and terror. She inhaled... Ready to scream.
But I moved first.
I lunged onto the bed. She rolled instinctively, and my momentum sent me off balance for a second. The sheets were already slick and warm beneath me. She opened her mouth to scream.
I clamped my hand over it and her voice died in her throat. Her nails clawed at my wrist, her legs thrashing wildly.
I locked her legs with mine, her body stiffening in panic. Our naked bodies were sliding against each other harshly in the cold, winter night.
And without wasting a second, I stabbed the knife in her stomach.
My first thrust was clumsy, the knife grating against a rib. She made a choked, gurgling sound into my palm. I pulled back and stabbed again, lower this time. It sank in easier, a sickening, soft pop. Her body bucked beneath me. I couldn't see her face, just the wild terror in her eyes. I didn't know how many times I did it. I just kept driving the blade in until her thrashing stopped, until the only movement was the twitching of my own arm.
When I finally let her go, she rolled away, her eyes were still open, staring at nothing.
The room was quiet now.
The only sound was my steady breathing.
No triumph. No rage. No fear. And no regret.
Only the emptiness I carved for.