GL looked at the two white-heads again, who were pleading for their lives. The two had just fallen in love when this misfortune befell them. But GL felt nothing. She did not feel sorry for them. It was not her fault that they were getting culled.
All she ever wanted to do right now was to kill everybody around. Only then she would find peace. Bloodshed was her calling. She chose a knife from her array of Cartini's. A soft-edged, almost like a butter-knife, would be good enough. They had hard skulls, these folks, but a sharper stronger knife wouldn't do much good. The white boy was to go first. The white girl turned away and flung herself to the ground in despair.
Tap tap tap taptappp tap. His skull was broken. The inconsolable white girl's fate followed his. GL's butchery united them in their deaths. The knife was washed clean. GL then picked the bigger, serrated knife. It had a comfortable grip and it's weight in her hand felt good. The glint on the knife made GL smile. This was one knife GL was proud of. It was the best among knives, the way GL was the best among her kind.
It was the brownboy's turn now. He was stoic. He didn't seem afraid and held his head high. He had watched the white-heads go. He looked squarely into GL's eye as she neared him. GL was quick with him.
The saucepan was greased and ready and within minutes, GL was rewarded with four slices of French toast - warm, welcoming and with an appetising aroma.
two white heads: two eggs
* Weekend Wordsmith prompt 87: reward