Keiran looked down at his mother. She didn't move. He waited, making sure. Still nothing.
Satisfied, he clapped his hands together and continued with the plan.
He returned to his room, taking the cleaning materials out from the back of the wardrobe. It was essential nothing looked out of place. He began tossing things into a black bag. The bird, his candles. his books. Everything that suggested something was wrong. He wiped all the surfaces, cleaning all remnants of his experiments and beliefs away.
He took the bag downstairs, stepping carefully over his mother's body. He tossed it in the wheelie-bin at the front of the house, then made his way back inside scanning the neighbours' windows as he went. All clear.
He checked his watch. Not long till his father would be home. He returned to his room, double-checking his tracks were covered. His father couldn't know what he had done.
Keiran had considered taking both of them with him, but something held him back. Maybe his father still had work to do.
Keiran stood, poised at the top step. He made one last appeal for guidance, then toppled forwards.
Legs tumbled over head, twisting and popping. Crunches echoed through his head.
Finally he settled at the foot of the stairs, crippled arms draped around his mother's still form.
His breath slowly faded, inevitability overwhelming his desires.
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