The Son

The Son

He lay silent on the floor, curled up with his knees to his chest. The sun lightly touching the cold wooden floor, but he knew the time was coming. He could hear the heavy footsteps on the stairs below. They were clearly meant for him. He could sense the anger in the thuds and creaks. He shut his eyes tight again, so tight he could see the red and white circles on the black background of his eyelids.

The wooden door slammed open, hit the wall hard, and flew back. It halted at Luke’s father’s hand.

“Git up,” came his father’s gruff voice.

Luke stirred, but not fast enough for his father’s patience. He felt the fingernails dig into his back as he was pulled to his feet. When enough blood was drawn from his flesh, his father pushed him against the wall to make sure he was not going to be able to fall asleep again.

“Git dressed!” was all he heard before the slam and click. He was alone with his thoughts again as the monstrous footsteps faded.

He placed the blood and sweat stained shirt on before he pulled on the faded pants that matched the condition of the top. He forced himself to face the reflection in the mirror. Brushing the auburn hair, his pale blue eyes focused on the red patches of skin that plagued the left side of his whole body. He looked himself over and frowned at the patches that hung from the right side of the scalp. On the left there were very fine pieces strung about, but he could see that it was bare. It was his punishment for murdering his mother during birth, his father always told him.

“I am goin inta town. Stay here. Do not leave! No one wants ta see a hideous creature like ya,” greeted his father when Luke came down to breakfast. As he sat down to consume his cold eggs, the older man stood up and turned away from him.

“Ya disgrace me.” With that, his father grabbed his coat and headed out the door without another glance at his son.

Luke tried to leave the house once. He had been chasing a butterfly and wanted to touch his wings. By the time he held it in his cupped hands, he realized the mistake he made. Strange eyes peered at him and tongues wagged in disgust. He looked down at the butterfly with tears in his eyes wishing some of its beauty would take away his curse. He released it before taking off for home again. His father had come home that night and rewarded him with lashes until he passed out from the pain.

Now he made his way out back to take care of the animals. They too flinched at the sight of him, but hunger got the better of them and Luke was allowed to approach. He heard the front door open again. His brows furrowed at the thought of who could have been intruding.

“Luke,” his father called with a forced sweetness. “C’mere, son. I decided ta stay home taday.”

Luke warily limped inside. His wounds from last night had not completely healed, affecting his gait this morning. He met his father with a smile, but did not get close to him. The taller man held an axe in his hand.

“Ya know, son, I’ve had a revelation,” he twisted the handle of the tool as he talked. “I have dealt with a murderin monster in ma house for far ta long. I decided tha ya are old enough ta leave th’house.” His grin widened and for the first time in years Luke knew the meaning of true fear.

His father shifted the axe downward and out to his side, “I’ve had enougha people’s rumors. All cause ya made yaself known ta th’world. Now I can’t git no one ta buy a thin from ma farm. No one wants product from th’father ofa creature that gives ‘em nightmares. But taday that ends. Ya murdered one innocent angel an’ got away wit it, but ya won’t git away wit another!”

He swung the axe and Luke covered his eyes with his arms, preparing for the sharp pain, but it never came. He heard a squish and a yelp from his father. He dropped his arm a few inches and saw the weapon lodged in his father’s thigh. He pulled it out with some difficulty and jammed it in the wound again, cutting further into his flesh. Another yell of pain from his father as he fell to the ground. Luke just stood there and watched in horror; it was all he could do.

“Tha sherrif’ll come an take ya away. An then I can live in PEACE! Ya took tha only woman I cared about from me. Never haveta see yer damned face again. Never haveta feeda murderer again.”

Blood gushed from the wound, but his father ignored the pain a few more times until the dull axe made a crack sound from within. It had hit bone and split it. The pain was too much to bear; his father howled in pain. Luke couldn’t stand it anymore and ran to help him. The man who tortured him since birth, made scars that matched the color of his distorted skin, and Luke only felt sympathy for him.

The authorities found him over his father with the axe in a bloodied hand. It was his father who called out, “He’s tryna murder me! Git ‘im offa me! GIT THA BASTARD OFFA ME!”

No one wanted to touch Luke afraid that his disease might spread to them, but when they finally pulled him off of the bleeding man he dropped the axe to the ground. His father smiled wickedly at the scene, rolled his head back, and passed out. One man of the law went to get help for the victim.

Luke was questioned, but flinched every time he was touched. The officers of the law examined him. They noticed the bruising and the scars that looked to be inflicted. Then they saw the inflammation of the recently acquired wounds. They wondered if they had it all wrong the whole time. Were these a product of his father’s wrath?

“Did he do this to you?” they asked indicating the marks all over his back, arms, and legs.

“I help him,” Luke managed to get out.

They nodded, dropping the subject of abuse, and continued, “Did you try to kill him?”

“I help him! I help him! I help him!” he repeated over and over until he cried and could speak no longer. Later that day they concluded that the tragedy was self-inflicted and that Luke could go. He now was master of his father’s house; his father had died of blood loss.

When he arrived home, he filled a bucket with water and started to clean the place from top to bottom.

“Father dun like house dirty.”