“Peter, why don’t you do the honors?” his mother asked him. He grabbed the large kitchen knife lying in the congealing juices of the turkey. Everyone was looking at him,smiling. He would wipe those grins right off their faces.
His father sat at the head of the table, although he was anything but the leader of this family. He looked overused and tired with the whole charade. Just a slice and his rest would be eternal.
His mother was next. She sat there grinning like a silly ninny, completely oblivious to the hurt she inflicts. A little stab for her and the pain could cease.
Then there was his baby sister. She hit puberty and started dressing like a slut and acting a fool. A cut here and she’d never reach thirty. He’d just carve up the whole family and then everything…
“Peter!”
Jolted from his reverie, he realized his grip on the knife had tightened.
“Peter…are you going to cut the turkey or not?” his mother asked testily. Forcing a pleasant smile to reappear, he obeyed.