I woke up to my mother screaming her lungs out. What does a man have to do to take a nap around here?
In the room immediately next to mine my brother was swinging softly, still hanging from the shower curtain rod. Purple-blue lips, broken blood vessels inundating his wide-open eyes.
Such a pretty sight for Friday night, what I say.
8 hours after his death
“Ma’am, your son didn’t commit suicide, he was murdered. The marks on his neck were not from the shower curtain found around it (dramatic pause, building up the tension) those were fingers.”
Wow! Good job detective we all knew that already. Well apparently my mum didn’t because she almost fainted in my arms.
They offered her some water and when they though she was ready for more (right, because a mother just needs some water after her son has been murdered) they asked her:
“Ma’am, did you know your son was gay?”
My mother glanced in my direction before realizing they were not talking about me. Ha-ha, good one, Mum. All because of that little incident with the movie she caught me watching. It was an Oscar winner for Christ sake! And the director didn’t focus on the physical relation at all. It was freaking art. Jesus, mothers don’t understand shit. But anyways I had to give the detective some points on this one because he didn’t actually know my brother. Everyone else knew. Well apparently except from my mum.
After some more revelations in those lines they ask my mother to wait outside because they had some questions meant just for me. Honestly, I had one question of my own regarding last night but the police wouldn’t be interested in answering it.
Why was he eating Red Velvet cake?