The title of this story; that I probably won't finish, is subject to change. Lacking in creativity. Have fun reading, criticism is welcome. Have a story you'd like for me to read just wall me. •.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.• "No of course..", Lelia was unable to finish speaking to her mother as they both entered the kitchen from the back door and found her son, Kale. Kale's body was propped up at an odd angle against the corner of the kitchen island, his legs bent up and arms at his side. Lelia's shriek continued for several minutes, drowning out the low, but loud whirring of the Thanksgiving turkey saw that was lodged half way into Kale's juglar vein. Grandma Quee murmmured an old Catholic prayer under her breath as her fading blue eyes stared into her only grandchilds dead cold eyes. Lelia, now on the ground, screamed at Kale, hoping...yearning for her son to respond to her. Kale's blood was still running down his throat, but most of his blood had spattered onto the adjacent drawers in the kitchen. Although her glasses had become fogged and tear stained, Grandma Quee could see that Kale had not hesitated a milisecond in shoving the turkey saw into his supple brown skin. Lelia sobbed uncontrollably as she cradled her son's corpse, but through her mascara covered tears she caught a glimpse of Kale's teal backpack. Kale had just arrived home. Lelia and Grandma Quee arrived one minute too late.