I’m a man of simple needs... All I require is a castle somewhere in a god-forsaken forest, a loyal butler to do my chores, a grand library and my solitude... The last one being the most important. After all, writers aren’t really known for their social skills.
Cutting the Strings
He slammed his massive fist on the table, startling Lucky, who bolted through his doggy door.
“Don’t bring yer mother into this, boy! We’ve talked ‘bout this a thousand times already. Your place is here, in the field, with the cattle. Ya need to marry a decent woman who’ll give ya a lot of children, instead of wastin’ ya time with this twig ya call a she.”
“Father, please. Calm down. I was thinking...”
“Ya weren’t thinkin’ nothin’, dimwit! If ya were, we wouldn’t be havin’ this conversation. Listen to me carefully, now. Get rid of that thing.”
“Whatever. Get rid of her. She’s bad influence. Got it?”
It was pointless. The outcome was as expected. He was too drunk to be reasoned with. I simply accepted defeat and nodded.
“Good. Glad we’re clear.”
I got up and stormed out of the kitchen. With Mother gone, the feeling of helplessness overwhelmed me. She used to bring out the best in him. But all that was left now was this empty husk of a man. A pathetic, selfish drunk... I really wanted to hate him, but for some unfathomable reason I couldn’t. It might be because I thought he was better than this. But I could be wrong. Although, one thing was certain − he did love Mother dearly. Even though he had never entered a church, he had built a shrine in our house. In the corner of the living room, he placed a small wooden table he himself had carved, assembled and painted white. On it stood a framed photograph from their wedding. The people in it were smiling. She was beaming, and his lips were mildly curving upwards, uncomfortable in that position. But it wasn’t fake, unlike the smiles he deigned to show me. Hidden behind that photo was another one. A smaller one − depicting a toddler laughing while being swooped through the air by the woman from the wedding. That one used to stand next to the bigger one, but he moved it when she died. Ever since then, he wouldn’t even let me visit the city. He decided to imprison me here instead, so we would wither away together. I sat on the sofa and covered my face with my hands, when I heard the creaking noise of the doggy door, followed by jovial panting. In a matter of seconds, Lucky skipped across the room, jumped on me and gave me a slobbery hello. I stared at his hazel eyes while my hand glided through his golden fur, as soft as fleece. I chuckled, rolled him over and started scratching his stomach.
“That’s a good boy. Yes, you are.” Read more...