Jason sat at the table staring down at his plate. The plate was covered with his all-time favorite food, his mother’s homemade chocolate chip pancakes. He held his fork tightly refusing to move the utensil to the warm goodness on his plate.
“You gonna eats Momma’s cakes boy?” His mother said from across the table.
Jason didn’t move his fork frozen in his shaking hand and his eyes locked on the pancakes in front of him.
“Jason, you eat those cakes son.” His mom said more forcefully.
Jason didn’t move. He concentrated on not looking at his mom. She had been dead for three years now and her face was a mess of dripping blood and brains that continued to ooze out of the hole created by the shotgun she used.
“You eat those fucking pancakes boy. I slaved over the stove to make your favorite now you are gonna eat them.”
Jason stared down at the plate, he could see spots of red gore spread out through the cakes and over the plate.
“BOY, you listen to your mother.” His father said from the chair at the head of the table. “AND YOU LOOK AT US WHEN WE SPEAK TO YOU” The man screamed.
Jason kept his eyes on the plate trying to ignore the spreading gore that now covered the pancakes. He did not want to see the face of his father. He knew that face well. Jason had found the man hanging in the back bedroom, the bulging eyes and protruding tongue burned into Jason’s brain. He didn’t want to look up and see that horror again.
Jason’s fingers turned white as his grip tightened on the unmoving fork.
“You FUCKING listen to us” His parents yelled in unison.
“Herb, I don’t think he will listen.” Jason’s mom said. Jason could hear blood drip from her destroyed face and land on the table in front of her.
“No, I don’t think he will Alice” His father’s voice deep and gravely as the words came from the crushed throat.
Jason’s parent both rose from the table and moved toward their son.
“Time to join the family boy”
The fork in Jason’s hand finally moved and his screams caused his neighbors to make 911 calls.
The emergency workers found Jason in bed with a bloody fork clutched in his hand. His throat an open and bloody mess where the fork had done its work.