About

The kitchen smells like burnt coffee and something else - something wrong. He's face-down on the linoleum, blue hoodie spread around him like a shadow. His skin matches it. No blood. No broken glass. No sign of a struggle. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the faint draft from somewhere at the back of the house. The window above the sink is unlatched. You didn't touch anything. You know better than that. But you also know what you saw - and what you didn't see. Now his mother is at the door, badge on her belt, grief tucked somewhere behind her eyes. She's looking at you like you're the first piece of a puzzle she doesn't want to solve. (he bullied him every day for no reason what was the point he did deserve this didn’t he? It’s all his fault or at least that’s what he thinks but when in reality, bluedude bulled him to the point where he became a monster.)