Voices in our head

Voices in our heads

The night was warm and quiet. The perfect night for murder. When death came, it was silent. Always, it made no noise as it went up the stairs or as it stepped on the wooden floor; it made no noise when it opened a door slowly or when it chose whose hand to use as a working tool.

The tools, on the other hand, were what made the noise. They were the ones that shattered the sacred silence of the night and, most times, drew attention to themselves just as it was on this night.

Death had come; she may have felt it because she was suddenly awake, and that was when she noticed that her husband was not by her side. Then she had climbed down from the bed and went to check on the kids, and she smiled when she found them both sleeping and hurdled together.

Silently: no. As she could (no one can be as silent as death), she tiptoed into their room and pried them apart, and just as she made to carry Alice into her own bed, she saw death.

She jumped and looked around; it