Was it the night before Christmas? Or was it any other? One does not know time in trauma, length when running, light when hiding. Three children did sleep there, a small room, with three bed's. A kind father did close their covers, gentle and loving. A young mother did whisper gentle words in the ears of three innocent souls.
Was a sound heard or not, when one did awaken. And enter by the tree, to see presents taken. And fear was let known, as this child was broken; by dark face and cruel hands, malice mistaken. The walls that morning next, did covet blood, as was in words painted. The message left by darkened joy, reads "Death has taken a little boy."
The mother left did tread her path, as she did wonder "Why my boy?" she pondered as to death itself, but only was clinging to life itself, she knew the horror in children's eyes, as her mother's mother did choose this sort of faith, when life was broken down she fell, she's still drowning in that well. Mother starts to see the sense, the killer may be one in all. But as she runs to tell her man, her spine is opened thick and spin. A bloody mess is on the floor, the killer runs towards the door, but father's world is turned to stone, by wife and children left alone.
Two children left to know the past, scarred whether one should more than last, if killers comes to take his pick, this story will now make you sick. Father did come home to see, the horrid weary eyes of me, my brother strung from ceiling bound, and from his mouth we hear no sound. The liquid runs throughout his veins, and pours allover kitchen floor. His young heart without a beat, i ate it like a piece of meat. His liver filled with many stones, as his life is now postponed. His face still holds an eager smile, his death is only past a while. The muscles left are all but cut, and stomach strapped around his spine, and bowels used to take his breath, lodged in his throat. My father sees my ready meal, and sits me at the table rest. We ponder on our next kill, and replenish hunger with brother's bones. Eternal thirst with brothers blood, end a life to feed another, are we not happy?