This is a story I wrote for the Your Story contest for Writer’s Digest magazine. It didn’t make the cut into the top 5 so I’m now posting it here. The story was inspired by the following prompt which they provided. Enjoy.
Prompt: You wake up to find a dead body on the floor—and a bloody knife in your hands.
You can’t remember exactly what happened, so you piece together the clues.

There was an icy quality to the air and a grayness, like a sponge had wiped the world clean of it’s color, all around me that afternoon as I sat silently on my bed. The whites of my eyes had turned a dull shade of pink and my salty tears stained vertical lines down the front of my face. I cried not only at the loss of life but also my loss of innocence. I was sixteen years old, I was nearly a man, but there I sat feeling like the confused child I wanted to leave behind. The back of my head was throbbing, my vision was slightly blurred, and I struggled to remember why I had just done what I had.

Could it have been how I was treated or how I was perceived that drove me to pick up the knife that day? I was always the last kid picked for all sports activities, not because I was the fat kid, even he got picked before me, but because I was seen as weak, and where I’m from males are rugged and tough. I harbored a lot of anger in those days, which I didn’t realize until years later, mostly aimed at myself for not being the type of person I was supposed to be. By that age I should have had calloused hands and leathery skin. I was rail thin and soft. I needed to toughen up. I needed to prove myself.

There were voices audible from another room that permeated the uninsulated walls of my house and found their way into my ear drums. I was the topic of conversation.

“No, I told you, I saw him do it,” It was a man’s voice, gravelly and deep. “Then he fainted, with the knife in his hand, lucky he didn’t fall on it himself.”

The response came from a woman, her voice was gentle, but blanketed with concern, “I hope you realize that this means it’s time to rethink his future.”

One-hundred year old floorboards creaked and groaned, clearly showing their age, with every step the man and woman took. Soon the voices trailed off and became too faint for me to hear. I was staring down at my feet, but really I was looking through them, looking through the floor, through the earth even, to a place of total darkness. In that darkness I hoped to find my future, to see a glimpse of what would become of me. Even though my entire life to this point was characterized by moments that exposed my differences, I did my best to fit in the established mold. That’s why I took the knife that day; that’s why I spilled blood.

I stood up from my bed, knowing that this was the moment I would confront who I was and what I had done, and with slow, deliberate steps, I treaded outside. The bright sunlight enhanced the colors of the rural landscape and the warm mid-day air was comforting, like it was holding me tight, reassuring me that everything would be alright. I smelled the familiar pungence of manure in the air, rising up from the fields as I passed behind the old barn, and approached the couple talking on the other side.

Her face was soft and her eyes seemed to say, I understand. His face was tight, jaw firmly locked in place, gazing at me with an intensity that made me uncomfortable. I tried to resist, but I surrendered to my weakness and looked away, in doing so I caught a glimpse of my victim for the first time. I knew that it had only taken her body a few seconds to bleed out after I struck her with the sharp knife. I could smell blood lingering in the air and for a moment felt like I was going to be sick. His voice brought me out of my head and back into the world with them.

“I guess this means you ain’t gonna be no farmer then?” He spoke directly and his tone was firm.

I inhaled air deeply through my nostrils, feeling the sensations up into my brain, nearly causing me to become lightheaded. Tears began to well up in my eyes again, not because I felt bad for slaughtering the hen, but because this was the first time in my life that I truly felt that I caused my father disappointment. I just lowered my head and shook it back and forth.