For things like this, people always say that they see it everytime they close their eyes.
It's a lie.
It doesn't matter if his eyes are open or closed. He sees them all the same.
He sees broken little bodies and red clothes. Red clothes, red dirt, red little broken bodies. Eyes open, eyes closed, he sees them always.
If he closes his eyes, though… if he closes his eyes and closes his hands into fists, tighter and tighter, until his palms sting, he can feel wet blood against his fingertips. And when he does, those little broken bodies disappear.
And he sees one body. One big broken body, crying into the dirt. Screaming as David digs his bare hands deep, cutting and twisting and breaking bones for each little body Daniel had broken.
David squished the mashed potatoes on his plate and feels Daniel's guts squish and ooze between his fingers.
Two weeks ago, David had finally tracked Daniel down. One week ago, Daniel finally succumbed, and David had called the police and then sat himself down in a chair to wait.
Two weeks ago, David smiled and hasn't lost it since. One week ago, seasoned police had gagged at what once had been Daniel and asked him why.
But couldn't they see?
David's kids were dead. All his kids were dead. All of David's kids were dead.
That was all the reason he needed.
David stabbed the end of his plastic spoon into whatever the meat on his tray was. The sound it made sounded like when he'd squeezed Daniel's still heart between his fingers, and David's smile grew even wider.