Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog.  While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience.  Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections.  Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.  

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author.  Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts!

———-

“I just don’t know Scott, maybe we should get you to the hospital…”

“I’m FINE mom.  Really.  I think I just worked a little too hard is all.”

He sat on the edge of his chair at the dinner table, hunched over, with his head between his legs.  He ached from the inside out and wanted nothing more than to be left alone.  Across the table, his mom let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’re NOT fine Scott.  You haven’t been acting like yourself for weeks, you’re having headaches almost every day and now this?  What is going on with you?”

The question hung in the air importantly, demanding an answer he didn’t have, and when she realized that it wouldn’t be forthcoming she threw her hands into the air and turned toward the kitchen window.

“I know things have been tough since your father left…”

“You don’t know anything.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said; You. Don’t. Know. Anything!  Did you hear me that time?”

“I think you better watch your tone, mister.  I’m still your mother and you WILL respect me!”

“Go on, tell her.”

He sat up very slowly, partially because he wasn’t sure of what would happen, but mostly because he wanted the dramatic effect it would have.  He was angry.  His heart ached for a time when his family was whole, but was heavier still knowing that it would never be so, again.

“He left because you drove him away,” he said quietly.  His voice was almost inaudible and if it wasn’t for the shock that was beginning to register on her face, he would have thought that she hadn’t heard her.

“A good start, but you can do better.”

“You care more about your work than you do for us.”

“How…how can you say that,” she gasped.

“Simple.  For years you’ve only spoken of false promises, filling our heads with vacations that would never come to be.  We would tell you about how much we missed you and then you would say you would take us to the park or something to make up for the missed dinners, birthday parties, or whatever.”

“Scott, that’s not fair,” she said weakly.

“No?  And what do you call what you did to us?”  He paused long enough to take a breath.    “So, how can I say that you drove him away?  If you were so goddamn busy that you couldn’t spend any of your free time being a mother, then how the HELL could you even be a good wife?”

“That’s enough,” she finally erupted.  Tears were streaming down her cheeks, pouring from eyes now filled with pain and anguish.

“Everything I have done has been for this family and you know it!”

“Oh really,” he asked mockingly.

“You’re damn right, mister, and you have some NERVE talking to ME that way.”

“Good.  Now you have her right where I want her.”

“You have some nerve calling this,” he gestured wildly, “a family,”  He spoke through his teeth, and as he did he placed both hands on the table and pushed himself to a standing position.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

“We’re done here.  I have somewhere to be tonight.”

“We’re not done until I say we’re done!”

“Oh yeah,” he asked.  His voice rose, drawing the word out at the end.

“Sit your ass-”

At that moment, however, her pager began to buzz on the table and both turned to watch as it moved a little from the vibration.  She slowly reached for it, both of them knowing that the number on its screen was from her work, and when she looked up he was gone.  His footsteps echoed through the house as he ascended the stairs two at a time.  When he got to his room, he closed the door and leaned his head against it, gasping through tears of his own.

“Oh god, don’t be a pussy Scott.  She had it coming.”

“…shut up,” he answered weakly.

Disclaimer

The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog.  While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience.  Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections.  Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.  

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author.  Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts!

———-

“Scott honey, I’m home!  Could you come up here and help me with the groceries?”

He was in his basement den, the one place where he could go to collect his thoughts and not have to worry about being interrupted.  This room originally belonged to his father as a place to store his baseball tournament trophies, but after he ran off with his mistress, Scott claimed it as his own.  Here was the one place he could store his literature and not have to worry about the dog tearing it to shreds.  Here was the one place he could hang his posters and not have to worry about what the women of the house thought of them, and here was the place where he kept his authentic Japanese sword collection.

He was especially proud of his daisho, which he had come across in a local flea market.  At first he had thought the blades were a cheap reproduction, as most of the ones he came across were, but these were the real deal.  They were an authentic, fully functional wakazashi over a smaller tanto and fitted in simple bamboo saya, or sheathes.

“Scott?”

“I’ll be up in a sec,” he answered somewhat distractedly.

He was standing in the middle of the room at the end of a wooden workbench, upon which were scattered several lengths of wire, two pair of pliers and two well worn quarter inch dowel rods.  As he reached up to pull the chain on the light, he took one last appraising look at his work and smiled.

“…almost…” he muttered lovingly.

With a simple flick of the wrist, he plunged the room into darkness and if it wasn’t for the door being cracked, he might have taken longer to exit.  But this wasn’t the case.  And even if he hadn’t had the light from outside to see by, he could have easily negotiated his way around the obstacles between him and the door.  It WAS his room now, and he knew it well.

“Aren’t you forgetting something,” asked a voice which had been thankfully quiet over the last few days.

“Get out of my head,” he growled in response.

“You know; they say the first sign of madness is not when you talk to yourself, but when you answer.”

“Fuck you.”

He turned and pushed the door closed, only turning to leave after he had secured the simple latch and lock in its place.

“Now wouldn’t THAT be a sight!” 

The voice chuckled softly.  It was a raspy sound, one which reminded him of an old washboard, and it grated at his last nerve.

“Get the FUCK out of my–”

“SCOTT!”

His mother stood at the top of the stairs with her hands resting on her slender hips.  Her expression was a mixture of shock and anger and he knew that there would be very little chance of him explaining his way out of this one.

“Now you did it,” the unwelcome guest taunted.

“What is going ON down here?  Do you have someone down there with you?  Who were you talking to?”

Her questions rattled off, one after the other, in rapid succession.  He groaned and grabbed his head with both hands, however, when at the same time the questions were repeated in falsetto by the ‘other’.

“Scott,” she asked, suddenly worried.

He didn’t have a chance to answer her, nor would he get a chance to for several minutes, for at that exact moment, his consciousness fled him.  The last thing he saw was the ground rushing up to wrap him in its cold embrace.