The sunrise that morning was especially brilliant. Such an odd day for them to find his mother hanging by a rope and his father’s brains spattered on the wall. They’d wonder who’d done what.
It hardly mattered, he decided.
He stuffed his clothes in a worn valise. In his hands, Shaun clutched the birthday card grandma sent him twelve years ago, when he was five – her address scribbled in pencil on the back. He slipped it into the pocket of his plaid flannel shirt.
No one could suspect him. Shit, they didn’t even know he existed.
Thus began the first day of his freedom.
Submitted in response to Monday Morning Writing Prompt: https://liv2write2day.wordpress.com/2011/03/07/monday-morning-writing-prompt-flash-fiction-3/ I invite you to return to the original post to view other writer’s contributions.