The Report Card

Her daughter's body was limp as she pulled the knife from it. It dripped with blood, much darker than she expected it to be. She noticed the report card on the floor, beginning to soak through with crimson liquid. She scrambled to save it from its near-ruined state. Her daughter's rank was in small letters, feigning insignificance. That number was anything but insignificant. It was her daughter's fault, really. She should have worked harder. She was ungrateful. She was lazy. She had destroyed her future, with that number, followed by a small message: #2: Congratulations, your child is Salutatorian.

She would need a way to clean up the blood.