Six months ago, the body of my mother lay lifeless on that rug. Her horrified dead eyes and the blue color of her skin weren’t what ripped my heart out from my chest, but the deep hole in her temple was the rusted arrow that penetrated through my very soul and flesh.
I remembered the rivers of blood gushed beneath her head and the pieces of her brain were splattered along the red pools
I spent hours gathering those pieces with my own fingers two hours after her funeral, along with the smashed little bits of her skull that wounded my hand when I clutched on them and wept at the fresh memory of her slaughter.
My hands gripped to the leather of the couch near me with force that could break my fingers, I clutched to it in anguish and in a muted scream that resounded within my being. I could no longer look away from the rug or the splatter on the coffee table, my heart swallowing behind my ribs which were soon to be broken.
The stinking smell of blood- my own mother’s blood- intensified in my nostrils,
so I held my breaths and pierced my lips tightly,
With an abrupt whirl, I clutched the neck of the person behind me and squeezed it with one hand. My fingers were on his throat, willing to rip it out,
I'm so happy you liked it, especially that you liked his thoughts because that's just as important to me as the writing style itself. 
Dead eyes? I know what you mean by this, and this is not even wrong, but I would or your readers would get a better picture if you replace it with some expressive word like 'lifeless' or 'hollow' or something. I am not sure if you'd agree with me.Her horrified dead eyes and the blue color of her skin weren’t what ripped my heart out from my chest, but the deep hole in her temple was the rusted arrow that penetrated through my very soul and flesh.
My hands gripped to the leather of the couch near me with a force that could break my fingers, I clutched to it in anguish and in a muted scream that resounded within my being.
What I think is that you could have done a better job at describing the smell of the blood. I know you can as you've done all this along. I am saying this only because you want to make this better. Some nice words(otherwise, foul) and weird would be cool to have in here.The stinking smell of blood- my own mother’s blood- intensified in my nostrils, so I held my breaths and pierced my lips tightly, having a wish to block my lungs and drop dead on the ground.
Personally, this seemed awkward to me-chests don't heave up and down, do they? So you could make like-something inside chest heaved up and down, etc.My wide eyes goggled fiercely at the person whose gasps cut the silence, my breaths getting louder and my chest moving up and down in an emphasized attempt to soothe the fire in my heart with air.
The word choice was quite beautiful and the way you framed sentences was equally nice. I'd love to read more of this story if you ever post. One question, was this the beginning or somewhere from the novel? Whatever it was, I enjoyed it thoroughly. The word choice and all was fabulous, and don't ever doubt your talent.
. Since this is the first time I have read anything of your work, I got to say, I loved it. And I have to agree with Shubs, you do have a great writing style, It's like I was there when I was reading it. Your really good in details ^ ^ I only noticed something, sometimes, you use wrong choice of words. But other than that, it's all good. I enjoyed reading this one. Again Doa, forgive me for forgetting about the favor >.> Lol. Too many faces, but it describes my happiness! 
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