Dreams of the Dead

The fucking rain here is unbelievable. It never, ever stops. I woke up last night to the sound of thunder. I had been having a horrible nightmare with my parents. They looked very much as they did in the days before their accident. Dad with his usual grimace and disgusted look permanently carved on his features. Mom with her shallow, over joyfulness. Even all these years later that fake cheeriness turns my stomach. My parents were expecting company, some sort of family gathering. I wanted nothing to do with it and walked away from them. My father grabbed my shoulder from behind and spun me around, catching me with a left hook in the process. My face ignited with pain and blood. Through my swelling eyes I could see Mom look down at me and quickly turn away as if she hadn't seen anything. Dad was standing over me with his fists clenched in rage ready to strike at me again. He bellowed for me to get my ass up and help my mother. I pulled myself off the floor and staggered into the kitchen. I fumbled a butcher knife from the block and drove the blade into Mom. I didn't stop until the hilt reached her spine. She began to choke on her blood. It poured from her mouth like a waterfall. I turned and grabbed another knife and lunged at my father who was stunned into paralysis. The tip tore easily into his soft stomach. I pulled the blade out and repeatedly drove it into his torso. When I finally let his lifeless body slump to the floor I realized I was surrounded by family. After watching me brutally murder my parents they began to ask me how school was going and if I had chosen a college yet. What was I going to major in? Did I have a girlfriend? Why didn't I call Grandma on her birthday? Why don't I spend more time with my cousins? I started to stab at them violently but they wouldn't die. Their voices kept calling at me, droning on until they became an insufferable din.