Chapter 4The Flower in the Slaughterhouse

I had been soft-hearted and prone to tears since I was little.

I remember when I was young, my cat accidentally ran out when I opened the door.

When we found it, it had been tortured to the brink of death by someone.

One of the cat's legs was sawed off, and an eye had been gouged out.

I cried until I couldn't breathe.

My brother couldn't stand it. He looked at me coldly and said: "You don't want it to continue suffering, right?"

I nodded tearfully.

The next second, I saw my brother snap the kitten's neck.

The sound of bones breaking was clear.

But I clearly remember the corners of my brother's mouth turning up slightly.

Later, Dad checked the surveillance footage and saw that the cat was tortured by two boys in the same neighborhood.

We found the parents of those two boys.

They said lightly: "It's just a stray cat, isn't it? We'll pay you whatever it costs."

"Call the police? Don't be ridiculous, our kids are only fourteen. And honestly, you let the cat run out. I haven't even complained about your cat scaring my kids yet..."

One boy peeked out from behind his mother, smiling arrogantly and maliciously: "Mom, that cat scratched us first!"

"Did you hear that? I haven't asked you for money yet, and you come looking for us first. Who knows if your cat has rabies?" The woman sneered.

I was so angry that tears fell: "I saw on the video that they deliberately stepped on Mimi's tail, that's why Mimi scratched them!"

The boy said without any guilt: "Who said I did it on purpose? It was an accident! Cats that scratch people deserve to die!"

I rushed up to argue with him but was pushed to the ground by the boy's mother.

My brother helped me up and said lightly: "True, animals that scratch people should be killed..."

There was an extreme coldness in his tone.

Mom and Dad didn't speak, just smiled at the woman and her children.

The woman seemed to have never encountered parents like mine. She stopped arguing, her expression unchanging.

She chased us away guiltily.

A few nights later, I woke up crying and went to the kitchen for water.

The front door opened.

I saw my brother walk in.

In the dark, his face was obscured.

I smelled a faint scent of blood.

There was a glaring crimson stain on my brother's jacket.

"Brother... what did you do..." I asked tremblingly.

Although I already had a terrifying suspicion in my heart.

He grinned: "Brother went to deal with some animals that scratch people."

The next day, many police officers came to our neighborhood.

It turned out those two boys were disemboweled alive last night, their intestines spilling all over the floor.

This is my family. They seem to spoil me, love me, but they make me...

Feel terrified.