Untitled Story

"Honey! I've got some hair wrapped around my toes." It's damn distracting is what it is. Can't get a thing done with that on your mind. Not a respectable way to spend the day at all. And you had such high hopes for this one. (button:)[[Next|Common 01]]

"Only the right foot." Your breath huffs out as you plop onto your chair at the head of the table. "Damned annoyance." Your wife makes a noise. "My apologies, dear. I know better than to swear in front of the boy." Your son squirms in his chair and you chuckle, ruffling his hair indulgently. "Not like he hasn't heard that and worse at school. Isn't that right, champ?" (button:)[[Next|Common 02]]

Greetings and welcome to the behind the scenes of Sunny-Side Up! If you're reading this, your a curios sort that like to get a look at how the magic happens. Welcome and my apologies. I'm a writer foremost and still strengthening my coding skills. I've gone about achieving my story in a clunky fashion, but I got it done! If you have comments or suggestions, I'd love to hear them! Feel free to leave a comment or review and my inbox is open over on tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/petricakegames Thanks very much! ~Laurie

Any son of yours wouldn't reach fifteen without knowing half a dozen proper swears. Hell, most of them are running through your head right now. The more you shift your foot around the tighter the hair gets. "Ah, pay it no mind." Flipping open the newspaper, you give it a satisfying snap. "Just like the economy. Pay it no mind when things get tight. It'll take care of itself." Your own commentary makes you laugh--not your wife or boy, though. That's alright. Humor of that caliber isn't for the likes of them. Down at the office they'll appreciate it. "I imagine coffee should be ready by now, shouldn't it?" Nothing but bullshit in the news. As usual. Where the hell are the sports pages? * [[//Oh, god. Why is he calling me his wife?//|Common 03w]] * [[//Not my dad. Not my dad. Not my dad.//|Common 03s]] * [[//Our voices are faint...//|Common 03h]]

A reliable morning routine. That's all you expect. Is that too much to ask? "Patience is a virtue, my dear." You carefully fold the paper, lining up the creases. As you flatten it on the table, a cockroach skitters across the headline. "Lucky for you, your husband is a virtuous fellow." (button:)[[Next|Common 04]]

Pranks. Nothing but damn pranks with kids these days. Sure, you got up to shenanigans as a kid, but you never would've fucked with your old man's sports pages. That was a surefire way to a tanned backside. "Now, junior." You roll the paper into a tight tube and tap it against the table for emphasis. A roach darts out from under your plate. "It's tough being a little shit, isn't it? No control over where you go. What your day looks like. I remember a time when I had no power." You stand and adjust your belt. (button:)[[Next|Common 04]]

How is a man supposed to enjoy the start of his day with hair--that sure as hell hadn't belonged to him--tangled up on his foot? It would drive a saint to distraction. And you're no saint. It's a test. It must be. A chance to demonstrate your resolve. Your dedication. A lesser man would falter. Would succumb to carnal influence. Standing, it shifts, pulling painfully tight around your smallest toe. You don't give it the satisfaction of responding. A man like you would never. "Where's the damn breakfast?" You drop the paper over a cockroach crawling across the empty plate in front of you and walk toward the stove. (button:)[[Next|Common 04]]

The coffee hasn't even been started. Christ, that woman's lucky you're a patient husband. Maybe a little too indulgent at times, but you take your rewards elsewhere. Besides, you've been a bachelor before. You can make damn pot of coffee. "'The conscience of every man'," you say, gesturing toward your family with an empty mug. "'Recognizes courage as the foundation of true manliness, and manliness as the perfection of human character'." Courage is what you'll display today. The old machine screeches as water filters through it. Now, if only there were a way you could position your toes inside your slipper to ease that sensation. * [[//We're taped to the fucking chairs. I can't move.//|Bad Common 01w]] * [[//This dude's fucking crazy. Knife on the table. Get it. Run.//|Bad Common 01s]] * [[//...but there are enough of us now.//|True End 01]]

"The perfection of human character," you continue, turning back toward the table. "I spent a long time meditating on those words. Hell of a relief, actually. Means a man can trust his insticts. No room to second guess yourself. Couragous acts are what a man does." Courage against the fury. Against the fucking lunatics that walk around like they own the world. Like they have any right to talk to you. Flaunting their perversions. Discipline is what they need. To be put in their place. Your Wife strains against the restraints and you slap your palm on the table. Moldy plates rattle from the impact. "A wife doesn't leave the table unless a family member has asked for something. Set a good example of what a boy should expect from his spouse, dear." (button:)[[Next|Bad Common 02]]

"The perfection of human character," you continue, turning back toward the table. "I spent a long time meditating on those words. Hell of a relief, actually. Means a man can trust his insticts. No room to second guess yourself. Couragous acts are what a man does." Courage against the fury. Against the fucking lunatics that walk around like they own the world. Like they have any right to talk to you. Flaunting their perversions. Discipline is what they need. To be put in their place. Your Wife strains against the restraints, a gurgled sound escapes from the tape on her mouth. Courage to do what needs to be done. To bring a bit of order to this fucked up world. You slide your belt free from its loops. (button:)[[Next|True End 02]]

## Sunny-Side Up by Petricake Games Sunny-Side Up is a short, interactive horror game made with Twine (Harlowe). This dark tale follows what we'll call an unconventional family starting their day. Explore the mind of a man dedicated to shaping the world as he sees fit. Guide the family to safety, strengthen the hideous past to extract revenge or doom them all. One thing is certain: no one escapes the influence of the patriarch. Content Warning: this story contains depictions of familial violence and body horror (button:)[[Begin|Start]]

Discipline takes courage. The belt slaps against the table. Your family flinches. They'll know you don't lack for courage. "Routine is the very backbone of society." //Slap.// "Stores open on a set schedule. Work starts at nine on the dot. Sixty minutes make an hour." //SLAP.// "A man's breakfast is on the table when he enters the kitchen in the morning." The Wife whimpers. You breathe deeply. Authority. That's what your family needs. A firm hand to direct them. To correct them. (button:)[[Next|True End 03]]

Your hands are wet by the time you're done. (button:)[[Next|True End 04]]

"Hope you did the laundry this weekend." You're panting slightly as you chuckle. The heart is a muscle and you're in absolute control of your body. Under your attention, it slows its accelerated rate. Adrenaline leaves your hands shaking and your prick stiffening. Shameful. "'The determination'," you whisper to the cracked ceiling, continuing to exert control over your body. "'To have one's own way, coupled with contempt for safety and ease, and readiness to risk pain or death in getting one's own way'." You know what it means to be a husband. * [[//Shit. Shit. He just...he's gonna kill us.//|True End 05]] * [[//...I can't...I didn't...ugh. My arms are...//|Wife Dies 01]] * [[//A little more time...we need to gather.//|Worst End 01]]

This is never easy. These necessary moments. It's a comfort to know she sees the real you. The man behind it all. The Purpose. You //know// she does. Your lovely Wife. "Watch your posture there, junior." Your Son groans as you pull him into an upright position. "Ah, I bitched at my old man, too. But, you know what? He was right. Apperances are crucial. People will overlook any manner of sins as long as you look the part of an upstanding citizen." Wiping your fingers clean on a napkin, you shake your head. "I'll forget about the sports pages for now, okay, champ? Just make sure they're back in the paper by supper or there'll be hell to pay." (button:)[[Next|True End 06]]

They never appreciate what a sacrifice it is to be the patriarch. To be a living paragon every day. Every choice reflecting the qualities of manliness. "A good man needs a haven. Somewhere indiscretions are recognized as what they are. A pressure release. That's what a family is for a man. And a good man has high expectations of his family." And you are, without a doubt, a good man. (button:)[[Next|Worst End 02]]

The hair is around your foot, now. "Damn it, Wife. How long has it been since you've cleaned the bathroom?" Don't think about it. There's a busy day at the office ahead of you. And you still need to make it through breakfast. Just leave the slipper on. Overcome it. (button:)[[Next|True End 07]]

A momentary lapse. Your knuckles hurt and you realize you've lashed out again. Control. Maintain control. "Sorry about that, honey." You squeeze her tenderly and the shoulder trembles under your touch. "A man can't be held accountable for his actions on an empty stomach. Isn't that what your mother says?" (button:)[[Next|True End 08]]

With a deep sigh, you retake your seat at the head of the table. A moment of calm. That's all you need. A chance to recenter and focus. A demon takes over your Wife. The creature screams through her throat and flings her body--chair and all--at you. All your efforts to calm down vanish. (button:)[[Next|True End 09]]

Because she never fucking appreciates what you do for her, does she? Just like all the other women. No matter how badly you want her to be different, they're all the fucking same. "Which is why you're on the ground, now." You're shouting, which fuels your shame which fuels your rage. "Does this make you happy? Are you satisfied? You've interrupted breakfast." You move to stand over her, pinpricks gnawing through your toes. * [[//Run, kid! Get out while you can!//|Son Dies Transition]] * [[//Jesus, he's gonna kill her.//|Wife Dies 07]] * [[//Their fear...powerful...//|True End 10]]

Broken glass cuts through your slipper and bites into your knees as you kneel down over the demon, your Wife. It breaks the skin and your whole leg is numb but you don't care. "There's a lesson to be taught." Even though this moment is inevitable--the demon always takes her by the end--part of you hopes each time the new one will be different. Won't be such a fucking disappointment. (button:)[[Next|True End 11]]

"The burden of discipline always falls to the man. If it weren't for us, you hedonists would reduce society to rubble. Your simpering and pandering only coddles weakness in the species." It's crass to be straddled over her like this. A vulgar parody of the marriage bed. Your Son shouldn't have to see this. "But junior needs to know. Needs to learn this lesson, too." Flesh is a poor protector. All it takes is a bit of pressure for ribs to snap. She'll learn. They both will. Just like all the others. (button:)[[Next|True End 12]]

"Simple needs. A man does not want for much. Certainly not more than a wife can provide." It boils inside you. Ready to burst through the seams of decorum. A pressure, low in your gut. Animalistic. "Deference. Respect. And eggs, sunny-side up every fucking morning at seven. Routine. Is. Vital." Tears soak into her knotted hair and you know the demon has claimed her fully. This isn't your Wife anymore. (button:)[[Next|True End 13]]

Pain is an excellent rudder. One tiny piece to steer even the grandest vessel. An important tool at any man's disposal. As it explodes through your toe, you're treated to a first-hand reminder of its efficacy. A gutteral cry escapes your chest--shameful. Real men bear pain in stoicism--and you kick the slipper from your foot. (button:)[[Next|True End 14]]

Instead of your foot you see a mass of tangled hair, coiled so tightly your appendage looks like a trussed chicken. A cord of strands have pushed their way under the largest toenail, splitting it. The baby pink skin underneath wriggles as more strands push further, violating your flesh. A man is strong. Resolute in the face of adversity. "Boy! Pass your father a knife!" * [[//I can barely breathe...got to get away...//|Wife Dies 13]] * [[//Now. It's now. Do it. Move!//|True End 15]] * [[//We're in.//|Hamlet Transition]]

Too late you remember: great men must anticipate betrayal at every turn. Hellspawn takes your Son as well. The failure that is your progeny bullrushes you. You don't even see the knife before it slices between your ribs--dividing the viscera of your temple. "Useless child." Discipline sends him flying from you--only a taste of what's to come. Pain blisters higher up your leg. At least the boy brought you the knife. (button:)[[Next|True End 16]]

A man must endure. Adversity is the fire that hones him. Gives meaning to his retribution. Spittle falls in ribbons onto your ungrateful wife as she crawls out from under you. Wrapping your fingers around the handle, you steel yourself, mouth frothing as you eye the shattered remains of your family. The demons won't take them alive. You tug on the knife and it does not move. (button:)[[Next|True End 17]]

"W-witchcraft." It's in your veins. This //weakness//. Consuming you. Another pull, stronger than the first pulls the knife out only a bit. Just enough to see the hair tangled around the blade. You release the cursed thing and it pulls further back as the handle starts to push into you. (button:)[[Next|True End 18]]

You're on the ground now. Among the filth and debris of what your life should have been. Your birthright. The boy goes to the Wife. A mama's boy. That's what happens when you coddle them. Your old man set the standard. A standard you're too weak to follow. The last bit of the handle slips from view. Weakness guides the penetrating knife through your body. A body which shakes though your eyes stay dry. "Courage," you whisper through the ferrous fluid pooling in your mouth. "Foundation...true manli--" Hair wraps around your tongue, seizing your speech as it pulls the flesh down your throat. Your family leaves you writhing on the floor. Dark lines criss-cross your vision and the last thing you see--before the burning pain reaches your eyes and a squelching //pop// fills your ears--are your Wife and Son, fleeing through the door. (button:)[[End|True End]]

Ending 1 of 5: He had it coming. (button:)[[Restart?|Start]]

"The perfection of human character," you continue, turning back toward the table. "I spent a long time meditating on those words. Hell of a relief, actually. Means a man can trust his insticts. No room to second guess yourself. Couragous acts are what a man does." Courage against the fury. Against the fucking lunatics that walk around like they own the world. Like they have any right to talk to you. Flaunting their perversions. Discipline is what they need. To be put in their place. Your Son strains against the restraints and you slap your palm on the table. Moldy plates rattle from the impact. "Children ask permission before leaving the table. Proper children. The kind that mind their betters. I know I've raised you with manners, boy." (button:)[[Next|Bad Common 02]]

Your hands are wet by the time you're done. (button:)[[Next|Bad Common 04]]

"Hope you did the laundry this weekend." You're panting slightly as you chuckle. The heart is a muscle and you're in absolute control of your body. Under your attention, it slows its accelerated rate. Adrenaline leaves your hands shaking and your prick stiffening. Shameful. "'The determination'," you whisper to the cracked ceiling, continuing to exert control over your body. "'To have one's own way, coupled with contempt for safety and ease, and readiness to risk pain or death in getting one's own way'." You know what it means to be a husband. * [[//Shit. Shit. He just...he's gonna kill us.//|Son Dies 01]] * [[//...I can't...I didn't...ugh. My arms...//|Wife Dies 01]] * [[//A little more time...we need to gather.//|Hamlet End 01]]

"Watch your posture there, junior." Your Son groans as you pull him into an upright position. "Ah, I bitched at my old man, too. But, you know what? He was right. Apperances are crucial. People will overlook any manner of sins as long as you look the part of an upstanding citizen." Wiping your fingers clean on a napkin, you shake your head. "I'll forget about the sports pages for now, okay, champ? Just make sure they're back in the paper by supper or there'll be hell to pay." (button:)[[Next|Hamlet End 03]]

Your toes tingle and your stamp your foot until feeling returns. Mastry of the flesh. "Add cleaning the bathroom to the chore list. I don't care which one of you does it. Just see that it's done." There's a tightness to your voice that undercuts your authority. You see it in their eyes--doubt. The chore won't get done. It never does. How is a man meant to maintain order when his authority isn't respected? It's damn infuriating is what it is. (button:)[[Next|Wife Dies 04]]

A momentary lapse. Your knuckles hurt and you realize you've lashed out again. Control. Maintain control. "Sorry about that, honey." You squeeze her tenderly and the shoulder trembles under your touch. "Your mother was right about one thing at least: a man can't be held accountable for his actions on an empty stomach." (button:)[[Next|Wife Dies 05]]

Because she never fucking appreciates what you do for her, does she? Just like all the other women. No matter how badly you want her to be different, they're all the fucking same. "Which is why you're on the ground, now." Resolve calms your tone. Rage seethes within you, but it's not in control. //You// are in control. "Another lesson, then. The boy needs to learn what it is to make sacrifices for the sake of authority." * [[//Not like this.//|Wife Dies 07]] * [[//Oh, jesus. Fuck. What do I--//|Wife Dies 07]] * [[//Another one to join us.//|Wife Dies 07]]

"The burden of discipline always falls to the man. If it weren't for us, you hedonists would reduce society to rubble. Your simpering and pandering only coddles weakness in the species." It's crass to be straddled over her like this. A vulgar parody of the marriage bed. Your Son shouldn't have to see this. "But junior needs to know. This lesson is for him." Flesh is a poor protector. All it takes is the slightest bit of pressure and the tenacity to make difficult decisions. The windpipe concedes swiftly. It is the right of man to impose his will on others. (button:)[[Next|Wife Dies 09]]

"Simple needs. A man does not want for much. Certainly not more than a wife can provide." It boils inside you. Ready to burst through the seams of decorum. A pressure, low in your gut. Animalistic. "Deference. Respect. And eggs, sunny-side up every fucking morning at seven. Routine. Is. Vital." The body is still. This isn't your Wife anymore. (button:)[[Next|Wife Dies 10]]

You're a widower sooner than usual. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Son. I truly am. But it's the natural order for children to outlive their parents. The weaker sex loses the battle first." With a sigh, you stand, shaking your foot to rid it of the tingles that have returned. Rage continues to simmer. Now that the ending has begun it's best to finish it. Quickly. (button:)[[Next|Wife Dies 11]]

You take the steak knife from the table and scrape the rusty blade along the edge. "Stop crying, boy. A real man masters his emotions." Pain is an excellent rudder. One tiny piece to steer even the grandest vessel. An important tool at any man's disposal. As it blossoms through your toes, you're treated to a first-hand reminder of its efficacy. (button:)[[Next|Wife Dies 12]]

A grunt escapes you--more a sound of suprise than anything else--and you pull your foot from the slipper. A mass of hair has tangled the entire appendage. Thin cords knotted tight enough to turn the thing purple. It turns your stomach, but a man is strong. Resolute in the face of adversity. "Perversion. I will not be swayed by distractions of the corpus." * [[//Jesus, he fucking killed her. Bitch is dead. Run! Get the fuck out!//|Wife Dies 13]] * [[//Not enough...need more...//|Wife Dies 13]]

Too late you remember: great men must anticipate betrayal at every turn. Hellspawn takes your Son as well. The failure that is your progeny bullrushes you. A useless maneuver. Your body is thick and pure. All the boy manages is to knock you off balance. The entangled foot lands hard enough to make you curse. "Damn it, Son. Don't start something you're too weak to finish." (button:)[[Next|Wife Dies 14]]

Discipline and authority. That's what'll bring the boy around. Remind him who is in charge. You'll need the belt. "You've been spared the rod too often, boy." But your foot is stuck to the floor. (button:)[[Next|Wife Dies 15]]

"Damned witchcraft!" The hair is caught on a loose nail, slinking under and around the floorboard. And there's more of it than before. Filthy. Repugnant. How dare something so vile intrude on you like this. Does it think it can question your resolve? That you'll allow it to distract you from your course? Never question a good man's dedication. You stab indiscriminately, the knife reducing the strands to shreds faster than they can regrow. Your relentless attack doesn't stop until it's anihilated. You don't feel the pain, though your blood leeches into the wood. You never feel pain when your motivations are just. Flesh gave way for the sake of victory. The foot will heal. The scars will make you stronger. Your son is gone. Cowardice coddled by your Wife, no doubt. A man doesn't run. Doesn't hide from the responsibilities laid out before him. Your rage isn't satisfied. A man does not leave a challenge to his authority unanswered. It's time to start again. (button:)[[End|Wife Dies End]]

Ending 2 of 5: Sins of the Father. (button:)[[Restart?|Start]]

A momentary lapse. Your knuckles hurt and you realize you've lashed out again. Control. Maintain control. "Sorry about that, honey." You squeeze her tenderly and the shoulder trembles under your touch. "Your mother was right about one thing at least: a man can't be held accountable for his actions on an empty stomach." (button:)[[Next|Son Dies 05]]

With a deep sigh, you retake your seat at the head of the table. A moment of calm. That's all you need. A chance to recenter and focus. Rebellion endemic to youth takes control of your Son. Bonds that must've come loose during the first lesson freed him enough to bullrush you. All your efforts to calm down vanish. (button:)[[Next|Son Dies 06]]

The boy doesn't have a fucking clue what you do for this family. How much of yourself you sacrifice. No matter how clear an example you set for him, hysterics of the Wife leech through. Softness can only be corrected one way. * [[//It's not me. It's not me. I can still get out.//|Son Dies 07]] * [[//You fucking sick son of a--//|Son Dies 07]] * [[//Another one to join us.//|Son Dies 07]]

His body is still in your hands, head pressed below the surface of the fetid water in the sink. "Second lesson," you say, chest heaving. "Never interrupt the most importan meal of the day." Resolve calms your tone. Rage seethes within you, but it's not in control. //You// are in control. (button:)[[Next|Son Dies 08]]

"Simple needs. A man does not want for much. Certainly not more than a wife can provide." It boils inside you. Ready to burst through the seams of decorum. A pressure, low in your gut. Animalistic. "Deference. Respect. And eggs, sunny-side up every fucking morning at seven. Routine. Is. Vital." The body is still. This isn't your Son anymore. (button:)[[Next|Son Dies 09]]

You're childless sooner than usual. "I'm sorry you had to witness that, Wife. A parent should never outlive their child. Disobedience //that// entrenched can't be suffered to live. The fabric of society relies on order. With a sigh, you shake your foot to rid it of the tingles that have returned. Rage continues to simmer. Now that the ending has begun it's best to finish it. Quickly. (button:)[[Next|Son Dies 10]]

You take the steak knife from the table and scrape the rusty blade along the edge. "Now, now, I know we face difficulties today, but let's dry those tears. Be brave for your husband." Pain is an excellent rudder. One tiny piece to steer even the grandest vessel. An important tool at any man's disposal. As it blossoms through your toes, you're treated to a first-hand reminder of its efficacy. (button:)[[Next|Son Dies 11]]

A grunt escapes you--more a sound of suprise than anything else--and you pull your foot from the slipper. A mass of hair has tangled the entire appendage. Thin cords knotted tight enough to turn the thing purple. It turns your stomach, but a man is strong. Resolute in the face of adversity. "Perversion. I will not be swayed by distractions of the corpus." * [[//I'm sorry kid. God, I'm so sorry.//|Son Dies 12]] * [[//Not enough...need more...//|Son Dies 12]]

Too late you remember: great men must anticipate betrayal at every turn. A demon takes over your Wife. The creature screams through her throat and flings her body--chair and all--at you. A useless maneuver. Your body is thick and pure. All she manages is to knock you off balance. The entangled foot lands hard enough to make you curse. "Damn it, Wife. Don't start something you're too weak to finish." (button:)[[Next|Son Dies 13]]

Discipline and authority. That's what'll bring her around. Remind the Wife who is in charge. You'll need the belt. "Trust, honor and obey. Sacred vows mean so little anymore." But your foot is stuck to the floor. (button:)[[Next|Son Dies 14]]

"Damned witchcraft!" The hair is caught on a loose nail, slinking under and around the floorboard. And there's more of it than before. Filthy. Repugnant. How dare something so vile intrude on you like this. Does it think it can question your resolve? That you'll allow it to distract you from your course? Never question a good man's dedication. You stab indiscriminately, the knife reducing the strands to shreds faster than they can regrow. Your relentless attack doesn't stop until it's anihilated. You don't feel the pain, though your blood leeches into the wood. You never feel pain when your motivations are just. Flesh gave way for the sake of victory. The foot will heal. The scars will make you stronger. Your Wife is gone. Cowardice should be expected from the lot of them. Always such a disappointment. A real Wife faces the burdens of her position with poise and grace. Your rage isn't satisfied. A man does not leave a challenge to his authority unanswered. It's time to start again. (button:)[[End|Son Dies End]]

Ending 3 of 5: Matronly devotion. (button:)[[Restart?|Start]]

A momentary lapse. Your knuckles hurt and you realize you've lashed out again. Control. Maintain control. "Sorry about that, honey." You squeeze her tenderly and the shoulder trembles under your touch. "Your mother was right about one thing at least: a man can't be held accountable for his actions on an empty stomach." (button:)[[Next|Hamlet End 05]]

The boy doesn't have a fucking clue what you do for this family. How much of yourself you sacrifice. No matter how clear an example you set for him, hysterics of the Wife leech through. Softness can only be corrected one way. His body is still in your hands, head pressed below the surface of the fetid water in the sink. "Second lesson," you say, chest heaving. "Never interrupt the most importan meal of the day." Resolve calms your tone. Rage seethes within you, but it's not in control. //You// are in control. * [[//It's not me. It's not me. I can still get out.//|Hamlet End 07]] * [[//Another one to join us.//|Hamlet End 07]]

Broken glass cuts through your slipper. It breaks the skin and your whole leg is numb but you don't care. "There's a lesson to be taught." Even though this moment is inevitable--the demon always takes your Wife by the end--part of you hopes each time the new one will be different. Won't be such a fucking disappointment. (button:)[[Next|Hamlet End 08]]

You loom above her chair, hands heavy with the weight of what's to come resting on her shoulders. "The burden of discipline always falls to the man. If it weren't for us, you hedonists would reduce society to rubble. Your simpering and pandering only coddles weakness in the species." It's crass to straddle her like this. A vulgar parody of the marriage bed. At least your Son isn't here to see this. Flesh is a poor protector. All it takes is the slightest bit of pressure and the tenacity to make difficult decisions. The windpipe concedes swiftly. It is the right of man to impose his will on others. (button:)[[Next|Hamlet End 09]]

Instead of your foot you see a mass of tangled hair, coiled so tightly your appendage looks like a trussed chicken. A cord of strands have pushed their way under the largest toenail, splitting it. The baby pink skin underneath wriggles as more strands push further, violating your flesh. A man is strong. Resolute in the face of adversity. * [[//More of us. Enough of us. We're in.//|Hamlet End 11]]

You're on the ground now. Among the filth and debris of what your life should have been. Your birthright. They're both in view, bodies twisted, formed by your authority. Evidence of the final exertion of your control. Your old man set a standard and pride swells within you. He'd be so proud. "Courage," you whisper through the ferrous fluid pooling in your mouth. "Foundation...true manli--" Hair wraps around your tongue, seizing your speech as it pulls the flesh down your throat. Life leaves you writhing on the floor. Dark lines criss-cross your vision and the last thing you see--before the burning pain reaches your eyes and a squelching //pop// fills your ears--are the lifeless eyes of your traitorous family. (button:)[[End|Hamlet End]]

Ending 4 of 5: No one gets out of here alive. (button:)[[Restart?|Start]]

The hair is around your foot, now. "Add cleaning the bathroom to the chore list. I don't care which one of you does it. Just see that it's done." Don't think about it. There's a busy day at the office ahead of you. And you still need to make it through breakfast. Just leave the slipper on. Overcome it. Rage spikes within you. It's the damn family that's the problem. How is order meant to be maintained if directions aren't followed? (button:)[[Next|Worst End 04]]

Because she never fucking appreciates what you do for her, does she? Just like all the other women. No matter how badly you want her to be different, they're all the fucking same. "Which is why you're on the ground, now." You're shouting, which fuels your shame which fuels your rage. "Does this make you happy? Are you satisfied? You've interrupted breakfast." You move to stand over her, pinpricks gnawing through your toes. * [[//He's a monster. God, I've got to get us out of here.//|Son Dies Transition]] * [[//Fuck this motherfucker. You ain't getting us.//|Wife Dies 07]] * [[//Not yet...too soon...we need more//|Worst End 07]]

"The burden of discipline always falls to the man. If it weren't for us, you hedonists would reduce society to rubble. Your simpering and pandering only coddles weakness in the species." It's crass to be straddled over her like this. A vulgar parody of the marriage bed. Your Son shouldn't have to see this. "But junior needs to know. This lesson is for him." Flesh is a poor protector. All it takes is the slightest bit of pressure and the tenacity to make difficult decisions. The windpipe concedes swiftly. It is the right of man to impose his will on others. (button:)[[Next|Worst End 09]]

Rebellion endemic to youth takes control of your Son. Bonds that must've come loose during the first lesson freed him enough to bullrush you. The boy doesn't have a fucking clue what you do for this family. How much of yourself you sacrifice. No matter how clear an example you set for him, hysterics of the Wife leech through. Softness can only be corrected one way. * [[//Oh, jesus. Fuck. What do I--//|Son Dies Transition 2]] * [[//Another for us. Out of time...//|Worst End 10]]

"Simple needs. A man does not want for much. Certainly not more than a wife can provide." It boils inside you. Ready to burst through the seams of decorum. A pressure, low in your gut. Animalistic. "Deference. Respect. And eggs, sunny-side up every fucking morning at seven. Routine. Is. Vital." His body is still in your hands, head pressed below the surface of the fetid water in the sink. This isn't your Son anymore. (button:)[[Next|Worst End 11]]

Pain is an excellent rudder. One tiny piece to steer even the grandest vessel. An important tool at any man's disposal. As it blossoms through your toes, you're treated to a first-hand reminder of its efficacy. (button:)[[Next|Worst End 12]]

"Damned witchcraft!" The hair writhes as you watch. It pulls and tightens, searching your skin for entry. Filthy. Repugnant. How dare something so vile intrude on you like this. Never question a good man's willingness to do what needs to be done. You stab indiscriminately, the knife reducing the strands to shreds faster than they can regrow. Your relentless attack doesn't stop until it's anihilated. You don't feel the pain, though your blood leeches into the wood. You never feel pain when your motivations are just. Flesh gave way for the sake of victory. The foot will heal. The scars will make you stronger. How embarrassing to have let passions carry you away from reason. They're both in view, bodies twisted, formed by your authority. Evidence of the final exertion of your control. Your old man set a standard and pride swells within you. He'd be so proud. "The whole day's schedule will be thrown off, now. Lucky for the both of you, the boys at the office will cut me some slack. They undertand the responsibilities involved in being the head of the family." You'll have plenty of time to start again. (button:)[[End|Worst End]]

Ending 5 of 5: Just another Tuesday (button:)[[Restart?|Start]]

Rebellion endemic to youth takes control of your Son. Bonds that must've come loose during the first lesson freed him enough to bullrush you. The boy doesn't have a fucking clue what you do for this family. How much of yourself you sacrifice. No matter how clear an example you set for him, hysterics of the Wife leech through. Softness can only be corrected one way. * [[//No no no. Why did you--//|Son Dies 07]] * [[//Eat my entire ass!//|Son Dies 07]] * [[//Another one to join us.//|Son Dies 07]]

Exercising your authority leaves you shaken and more satisified than ever. It is the right of man to impose his will on others. How embarrassing to have let passions carry you away from reason. They're both in view, bodies twisted, molded by your will. Evidence of the final exertion of your control. Your old man set a standard and pride swells within you. He'd be so proud. (button:)[[Next|Hamlet End 09]]