blood

I asked my mother why Dad had blood on his face.

"Why is there blood on your shoes?" my mother countered.

I noticed the blood on her bra. "Why is there blood there?" I asked.

She inquired further, "Why is there blood in your hair?"

I pointed out the blood on her hands. "And why is there blood there?"

There we stood, mother and I, silently staring into each other's eyes, our faces smeared with blood.