My uncle is gone. I know he won't hear a thing.

I creep around the house, deadly silent, looking and listening everywhere. I'm too furious to be afraid and the only thing that might get in my way is the sound of blood pounding in my ears. I freeze as I think I hear something, but it's just the radiator. I slink through the kitchen and up the stairs, reminding myself that it's just a matter of time. I crouch in a corner of the bathroom, hide under my bed, and sit on a windowsill. Every time I move, it's in a silent and efficient blur. He's coming, he's coming.

He's here. I detect the slightly wet sound of his movement around the corner of the hallway and tense every muscle in my body. This is the moment where it all comes together.

As the first flash of blue motion meets my eyes, I jump out. My foot connects with his face, knocking him back and smashing him against the wall. I drop down onto my knees, grab him by his gelatinous skin, stand up, and begin bashing his head against the wall. I shiver as I notice rivulets of red blood tricking down from the wounds I create.

I decide it's time for a little chat. I drop him to the ground and start herding him into my room with sharp jabs from my feet. He spits out a mouthful of blood. "Why?" he asks in a strained sob.

"You killed my parents." My tone is soft, intense, and focused. "I want you to know that I'm killing you because you killed them. You're a disgusting monster and you don't deserve to live." I stomp on him and he cries out.

"Mac," he groans. "It was an accident. It wasn't supposed to happen like that."

"Liar. You laughed at them while they drowned."

"No."

"Yes. You're a liar and a murderer and I'm going to kill you."

I grab my lamp and smash it across his head. I realize that the carpeted floor is cushioning my blows, so I reach down and begin to drag him away.

"I didn't realize they were going to die. I didn't know what death was back then."

I drag him out of my room, over to the stairs.

"Please—ow—don't—ow—do this…"

I drag him down the stairs, savoring each _bump_ that he makes on the way down.

"I was upset when they died, too. That's why I ran away. I couldn't take it."

Soon we're outside on the driveway and I throw him down on the asphalt. No one is there but I wouldn't care if someone was.

"Mac… Mac, listen. If you kill me, you'll be a murderer. That's not something you want on your conscience, is it? What can I even do? I'm just a helpless blue blob. Look, you've already beaten the shit out of me, okay? I'm sorry for what I did, for everything I've ever done."

I stare down at him. Each breath I take is loud and ragged.

"You don't want to destroy another thinking, feeling creature. It's not in your nature. You don't want to cause that kind of suffering, the kind that happens when you end a life." His face is so bruised and bleeding that it's barely recognizable. He's shaking like a small dog.

He smiles. Maybe he notices that my shoulders have started to relax, or that my breathing is slowing down. "There, you see? You don't need to get so mad."

At the word mad, something snaps inside me. It's no longer a matter of deciding whether or not I really want to kill Bloo. All I know is that I'm doing it.

He flails his arms as I stride forward. "No, no, no! Mac, I didn't mean it like that! I meant you don't need to let your anger control you, and you shouldn't—Mac, stop, please!"

I lift my foot up, letting it hover over him for a few seconds as he writhes in abject, unbounded fear.

"We're friends, remember? I"—

Crunch. The foot falls; the face collapses under the force; blood splatters; the arms fly up and fall sideways. It all feels like one motion. I slowly lift my foot back up and look at what I have wrought without remorse.

I drive down to the docks. Bloo's body is in a cardboard box back home, but I expect it'll be empty when I get back. I sit at water's edge and gaze out, wondering what's left for me now.