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This isn’t really a story. It’s more of a character sketch/concept piece.

aggressive child punchingWhen he hid in his room, bruised and battered, I cried for him.

When he came home from school smiling, blood on his clothes, I wondered what happened.

When the school scheduled a conference to discuss his behavior, I ignored their concerns.

When he started going out, I thought he’d made friends, and I rejoiced that he’d finally blossomed.

When our neighbor couldn’t find her dog and my son walked away whistling, I was confused.

When the news broadcast the fifth in a series of violent murders, I wondered and worried.

And when my son came into my room, eyes gleaming, butcher knife clutched in his hand, I blamed myself.

Inspired by the WordPress Daily Prompt: BlossomΒ