A.N: I was doing the dishes and putting away knives when this came up.
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"Daddy?" A small boy walked into the room.
"Yes Nate?" The man revolved the chair aournd to face his son.
"Where's mommy?"
"She left for a while."
"Oh. Ok. When is she coming back?"
"Later Nate."
"ok."
There was silence between the man and the child. This man was young. But he looked tired and weary. This child was very young. But he was … different. His snow-white hair was the first thing that made him stick out. The other was his intelligence. Only four, he was already had the mental capacity of that of a 12 year old, and growing.
"Daddy?" He sat down on the floor, opposite his dad.
"Yes Nate?"
"I like the new paint."
"What paint?"
"You painted the walls red. And the floor." He gestured to the gleaming liquid on the walls.
"Oh. That paint."
"It's a little uneven but I still like it."
"That's good Nate." he stood up from the chair and rummaged in a cabinet.
"Daddy?"
"Yes Nate?" His voice was wavering and he turned away from the child.
"Am I going to be paint too?"
"No Nate. I will."
"Oh. OK Daddy." He stood.
"Nate?"
"Yes Daddy?"
"Go to the police station and tell them to come here ok?"
"Yes Daddy."
As soon as his son walked out the door, the weary man raised a gun to his head.
Police station is… to the right? Nate asked himself. He stepped off the porch and waited.
Bang.
"Daddy?"
… silence …
"ok Daddy."
… sirens …
"I love you Daddy."
… blue and red light …
"Tell mom that I love her too."
… screaming …
"Bye Daddy."
"Good Bye Nate."
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T-T wow… this might possibly be the saddest story I've ever written…