Daily Flash Fiction Challenge

“Tell me the truth.” she said with a worried frown.

The boy shuffled guiltily on the front porch boards and mumbled a weak “It was...me.” She continued to look down upon him and he continued to shuffle.

“I know we haven’t talked to you about these things, but I hope you know that we’ll always accept you for who you are.”

His head sank a little lower, as though this had made things worse, and he flinched when she touched his shoulder.

“Sweetheart,” Mother said warmly, “you needn't worry. It’s all very natural for a young man to…” And here she stopped and chose her words, deciding upon “…discover things about themselves.”

The boy shrugged, his shuffle subsiding. “Suppose.”

She smiled and lifted the boy’s chin, looking lovingly into his eyes. “Your father and I have always known you were different, since you were just a tot, and we knew then it wouldn’t matter.”

He blinked back a few tears, his face already streaked, and managed a small, grateful smile.

“But darling,” Mother said, her voice taking on that edge again, “you can’t try to blame someone else when your hands are covered in blood and you’re still holding the knife.” She shook her head admonishingly and took the instrument. His head sank again as he guiltily looked down at the body of the cat and then at his own sticky fingers.

“I…” he ventured, “I panicked.”

She ticked her tongue, wiping the knife on her apron, and led the boy into the kitchen where she carefully washed his hands in the sink. “When your father comes home,” she told the boy, “we’ll have our talk—we want you to be careful, and safe.”

“Thank you, mom,” he said, and then: “Can we get a dog?”