Creative Writing Prompt - Psycho

Like a lamb to the slaughter, men foolishly fall in their traps and all they can possibly to is turn tail and run. I don't want my boy to be hounded by those women; I safely keep him in the house, away from any possible danger with hefty draperies drawn across the glass windows to forbid any possible view of one and any possible attraction to one.
             When the herald of spring arrives after taking a sabbatical for the winter, I allow Norman to go out into the small garden behind our cottage. It is a beauty, that garden. Clearly cared for, petite plants frame the turf and in the centre, enhancing the view, proudly stands a Himalayan birch, renowned for its luminous white braches. During this time of the year, there was always a stained-glass clarity to the sunbeams. It starts with panes of light poking the shadows and making the earth steam and midges rise with the grass mist; that was before I had the fences built. We do, however, get some visitors. At times, I watch Norman from the window as he stealthily prowls towards a small magpie with his large hands cupped in front him, ready to grasp. A smile of satisfaction appears on his face as the bird flaps hopelessly between his strong, virile palms, and tenderly, he welcomes it into the house- into his room.
             Behind the oak panelled door of his room, the faint whimpers of the bird can be heard before it is completely muted by the metallic hammering of my Chinese cleaver. Often, I silently enter his room and examine the folds lining his forehead as his brows subside into the inner corners of his eyes. He squints as his eyes prudently follow his fingers that draw the pieces of wire through the body of his masterpiece. At least it keeps him distracted from any temptations that a young man in his early thirties should have. A lone wolf he may be, Norman has me and that is all he will ever need.
             A lone wolf, I may be, I have my mother and that is all I will ever need.