Richards grey hair glared in the sunset as the clock hit 5, his shift was over. He drives his Chevy home, the back seat littered with the remains of children. He sits down with his family and eats the leftovers from last nights meal, dining on fingertips and feet.

Daniel, his son expresses his disappointment in the leftovers, that the feet are still covered in sand like yesterday. The father clenches his fist, “Daniel, the economy isn’t the way it used to be. Mommy and Daddy don’t have as much money as they used to. Sometimes we can’t afford to drive out to the McDonald’s and pick up the obese and fat children there, we’ll have to settle for the kids on the playground in the park across the street, they’re very small, not all of them wear shoes to prevent the sand getting on their feet.” He drives his fork angrily into the sandy foot on his plate.

Daniel mumbles something across the table and Richard snaps. “You ungrateful bastard! I work day and night for this family-” His wife interrupts, “Richard I think you’re being a little harsh on him, I mean-” Richard Growls “Barbara you stay out of this!” Her black eye tells another story. He continues on with his rant, “I work day and night for this family! I deserve more than this!” He grabs a bottle of Jim Beam, waters it down with some blood leftover from dinner, and slams the front door.

Richard takes his usual pace around the block, sometimes drunkenly stopping by the Catholic boarding school, to get something to eat. Instead he returns to his house, leans against the car, until he can calm himself. He goes inside.

By now everyone is asleep. He stops by his son’s bedroom, his son laying there angelically in his tiny race car bed. Richard gags his son with a balled up sheet, and takes out his pocketknife. He ignores his sons muffled screams as he slits Daniels throat. He kisses his son on the cheek and leaves the room.

He lays down with his wife in bed, undressing himself and finishing off his Jim Beam. She wakes up, they kiss on cuddle for a while, his wife trying to muffle her laughs as they think of old memories and interlock hands, and watch the sunrise. He takes the wooden baseball bat out of the closet, he rises it above her and she smiles and says, “Oh Richard, these are times when I remember why I married you!” He crushes her skull. Breaks the neck just to be sure.

He pulls down the string to the ladder in the attic and climbs it. Samantha is sitting in her cage , dying of blood loss and alcoholism, her cage littered with 40 oz.’s. She claps her hands and spews out “Pop Pop! Pop Pop!” Richard smiles at his daughter and says, “Yes, yes Pop Pop is here!” She’s shitfaced, and covered in blood, it’s not clear where she’s bleeding from, nobody in the family knows. They figured the youngest daughter could fend for herself, after all the teachers at school always said she was a lot smarter than the other one.

He pulls out a box behind his back and says, “You know what today is don’t you? It’s your third birthday, you silly banana!” She giggles, flaps her arms and says, “Open it! Open it!” He opens it, pulls out a razor, shaves off some of his five o’ clock shadow to demonstrate. Takes it to her cheek and peels the skin off of her face on both sides, she laughs, lays back down and dies. Her pupils reach the back of her head.

Richard sits in bed with dead wife, masturbates, then goes to sleep. He can’t wait to go to work tomorrow.