Lethal •My Jeff The Killer Origin Story•

Part. 6, The End Of My Happiness

"Baby, what the hell do you have that for?" Peter whispers in a rush, standing despite his mind hardly catching up with these events.

He worried she was still drunk and tried to snatch it from her, but she rushed back to the bathroom, stomping on the floor. She then holds it up at her son almost in a trigger happy way, the tears falling down her cheeks erratically.

He looks up, and his eyes widen." Margaret-!" Peter walks out, and looks at Jeffery before gasping." Jeffery..." He says and spots the horror laid out for him.

Jeff lets more tears fall, as he turns around," Don't move." She spoke coldly, and Jeffery jerked in surprise." Ma'am, what are you-," "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

Peter finally snaps out of it when Jeffery chokes back a sob, his hands shaking as they met near his stomach." Margaret, what the fuck are you doing, that's our son-," "He's not our son anymore, Peter." The two look at each other.

What Jeffery saw, was a stranger likely, but Peter saw his son. He saw someone who's been through hell, and needed help, not to be killed." Dear, think behind your actions." "Shut up Peter! This isn't our son anymore! It's an outsider, who just wants to hurt our family, again."

It was too loud. His parents were too loud, they were too loud...

Jeff's panic strikes when Margaret slams her fist into the wall, making his breath hitch.

Peter grumbles," Enough! This is fucking crazy Margaret, so calm the fuck down! Put the gun down, and let's talk about this civilly." His voice hitched from a yell to false calmness.

Jeff's face changes to that of a distressed, pathetic face." Please, please be quiet," "I said stop talking! Peter, stop being stupid and listen... To me for once!" She slurred. Jeffery looks at his father, and Peter finally realizes the panicked rage in his eyes.

It was relatable to prey when cornered by predators. Under life and death prey will do anything to survive.

The kitchen knife rests behind his palm, and before Peter could react, Jeffery lunges at his mother, tackling her to the ground.

Peter's breath hindered in shock, as the gun is flung across the room, and Jeff muffles her screams with an erratic hand that moved to keep her down.

He didn't speak, didn't even breathe, as the knife in his right hand came down and struck along her stomach, making her gasp out in agony, before he kept going.

Blood trickled across the hardwood floor like spilled water, and Jeffery kept going.

In and out, the blade glimmered in the bathroom's bright light until that too was covered in the thin crimson liquid. Margaret's shrieks were long silenced but he kept going, even when blood chunks splattered everywhere, staining into the floor as the knife sliced her pale skin apart. Piece by piece she flew, and with each hit came a new indescribable sound that went squeeesh, and my did it sting in everyone's ringing ears.

My, did she bleed that day.

A beautiful moral of crimson paint, with the dash of blonde hair occasionally flickering in the bathroom light. It was beautiful... So, so, beautiful.

But Jeffery didn't see beauty then— no. He could only see tears as they poured down his cheeks, his hands shaking as he dropped the knife to instead clutch at his throat as if to soothe himself. He lets out a sob,

Peter backed away, shoving himself deeper and deeper into the wall as petrified eyes gazed down Margaret's stern face, stained with red. Her body, from her neck to her hips, she was torn open to reveal a petite skeleton, her clumps of flesh spread down the hall. Her husband trembled as he stares at what was left of his wife.