I’m more of a poet than a story teller but I want to get into other forms of writing as well and so these might all suck or might all be amazing so just fair warning this isn’t my area of expertise. I’ve been writing for a good part of my life but I’ve never written a short story so enjoy my very first one below.
A prodigy, my 10 year old sons version of a good book consists of Edgar Allan Poe and William Shakespeare. Still I read to him every night tonight were reading A Black Cat, one of Poe’s more famous short stories.My son somehow understands the deep meaning behind the words as his eager ears soak them in. Perhaps it’s because of what he has seen; for this I let a single tear drip down my cheek mourning the loss of his childhood.Putting the book down I begin tucking him into bed and he tells me, “Daddy, check for monsters under my bed.” I look underneath for his amusement; regardless of the fact that his version of monsters are the ones that live in your head, and see him, another him, under the bed, staring back at me quivering and whispering, “Daddy, there’s somebody on my bed.”
I shoot up and back into the wall as my son, or who I thought was my son on the bed walks slowly towards me with a wicked grin. Warping slowly into an ugly creature that lives in my own head. Me. He screams “Perverseness is one of the primitive impulses of the human heart!!!!” Over and over louder and louder until the words of Edgar Allan Poe made my ears bleed. Shooting up in my bed sweat dripping down my beet red face I breath for a moment, it was only a dream. Yet still I had this deep feeling of hatred boiling in my soul that I could not pinpoint the origin of. Walking on shaky feet to the kitchen, pouring myself a glass of whisky I cried screaming out in this lonely house.
I hovered for the first time in ten years in front of my sons door. Caressing the handle, examining the way his deceased mother embellished his door in flowery designs and poetry excerpts. I flung the door open in a fit of indignation, hatred fighting its way to the surface. “This is not who I am anymore” I scream as I destroy my dead sons room, ripping pages of his writing off the wall. “I would never fucking hurt them” I cry throwing the rocking chair I used to sit in once a night straight out of the window. “I saved them from this wretched life” I beg as I lay on my sons bed drifting into a tear filled slumber.
Continuous banging wakes me up as I peer at the book shaped clock reading 5:00 am. Swerving down the hallway to the front door still feeling the venomous effects of the whisky; I stop trying to catch my breath from my now palpitating heart. A uniformed man and woman stand at my door still banging as I haven’t built enough courage to answer. After three minutes I muster just enough to open the door. A man, probably about twenty short in stature with brown hair, piercing green eyes, and a jaw line that looked like it could cut metal almost made my mouth fall agape as he looked just like I imagine my son would have. Next to him a woman, whom did make my mouth fall in disbelief looked like my deceased wife with the same green eyes and wrinkles in between her eyebrows, she was a perfect replica. Only looked about 5 years older possibly almost 40.
My voice catching in my throat they both looked at me angrily, almost hatefully. The woman speaks up as the man looks at me, slight curiosity in his eyes, “Sir we got several complaints about someone yelling and screaming, we fear it was a physical dispute may we come in and take a look?” In a monotonous voice, ” I threw a rocking chair out of the window and destroyed my sons room.” The curiosity peaked in the mans eyes, “Why would you do that?” I shoot him a venomous look, “None of your fucking business.” He backed down but the woman spoke again. “If you don’t let us in I fear we will have to get a warrant. We need to make sure you didn’t hurt anyone.” With those words my blood boiled I just wanted to scream, to put her in her place like I did my wife, instead I moved and motioned them inside.
“I live alone my son died 10 years ago and my wife 5.” Pity filled their eyes, any hatred for the man that smelled of whisky left. “May we ask what happened?” The man said in a small voice seemingly scared of me. I let the silence blanket over us as I wondered how they possibly looked so similar to those that I held so dearly. Impatient the woman spoke,”Are you drunk? You reek of liquor.” Dreading reliving the hours before,I prolonged the inevitable,”May I ask your names?” Now irritated they both spoke at once, “Officer Dole: Officer Sheen” A sharp breath left my mouth as the feeling before returned,my teeth gritted and my fists balled,” My name is Abel Gomez thank you for asking. “Will you take us to your sons room?”A cautious voice spoke. My eyes pierced the man standing before me flooding with rage the nerve of this man made my blood boil.
Still I showed them to his room taking slow steps down the hall, in my mind it seemed to get longer and longer each step. Unfortunately, it wasn’t real and next thing I know we were at the door. I looked back at the officers for reassurance perhaps, or maybe it was to stall some more. Either way I got what I wanted when they both nodded. Opening the door I let out a long breath I didn’t know I was holding, can’t they just leave I didn’t hurt anyone. I watched them nod to each other, “I apologize for our intruding we see that your not in a great state of mind; but sir get that window fixed and go to an AA meeting, if we get anymore calls of disturbances from this address we will have to court order it.” the woman spoke calmly and quietly as she examined he room with sad eyes,”We were told this is the 5th call to your house this month as well as all the times you’ve been arrested for drunk and disorderly outside of the bar.”
I live in a small town you see, but not so small that everyone knows who I am, only the ones who’ve lived here as long as I know why i’m like this. I tend to catch a break with the law because of it, but this is the first time any officer told me to go to AA. She seemed to care about my health unlike the others, again this made my mind wander why now did these two officers show up? Why now did I feel the need to get sober? unlike any of the times I had to sit in a jail cell or hospital bed. I answered my own questions so with my thoughts wandering I bid them a goodbye and showed them the door.
I walked to the kitchen grabbed the whole bottle of whisky then made my way to my sons room. Sitting on his bed I drank my body into shock, my blood ran cold and I felt like I couldn’t feel it was bliss. Normally this is where I would go to the liquor store or the bar but this time I didn’t want to drink away my misdeeds, I just needed to build the courage to repent. With one last long look at my sons room I closed the door then made my way to my room; sitting for the first time on my wife’s side of the bed. Letting the tears fall for my dearly departed, letting the tears fall for her heroine addiction. Sobbing for the abuse my son endured in his mere 10 years of life. I say I saved them, it’s possible… however I was just to weak to admit that evil lives inside me.I grabbed the very weapon that I used, walked to the cool wet basement breathing in my last bit of air as I tied the rope to the beams that held my house. I will not be meeting those that I love again, hoping to god that for their sake I’d be tortured;with that last thought I put the rope around my neck and let the world fade around me.