Short stories

Just like his son…

Dark clouds blanketed the sky covering the wraith-silver moon behind them. The whistling sound of wind was breaking the night’s dead silence, and the trees were shaking their leaves in a very angry, yet harmonic range. He ran his wrinkled hand through his smoky grey hair as his milky eyes scanned the place; overgrown tree roots were growing over the neglected tombstones as though they were giving them company in such a painful dreadful night. With all the noises around him, from the hooting of the owls and the squawking of the birds to the rustling of the leaves; he wondered, how could a place be so lifeless, yet so full of life at the same time?

As he was passing with unsteady steps through the graveyard, he literally felt a sudden drop in his body temperature as if death was welcoming him every step of the way. Years of misery were engraved by every wrinkle of his brown time-ravaged skin. He was wearing a dusty shirt that was obviously way too big for him, and pants that looked like they were moth eaten. Anyone who looked at him would assume that even the slightest whiff of air would cause him to flip over.

He remembered his youth; he was the greatest father and the most loving husband anyone could ever wish for. His wife was one of the most gorgeous women he has ever seen. She had coral-black hair that always plunged over her shoulders, cerulean- green eyed that were covered with velvety eye lashes, and pounding lips that always stretched to show the most angelic smile there is.

He also had a son, Malcom, who look very much like his mother except for the eyes. Malcom’s eyes were galaxy-blue with a little twinkling sparkle in them. Sadly, Malcom was nothing like his mother in personality like he was in looks. He seemed like he was still trying to figure out himself. Even though his father has always tried to explain to him that being who he truly is, is more important than being what other expect him to be, Malcom always seemed to disbelieve it. What people think and say about him was the only thing that mattered to him, nothing else. He wanted to be the one on the top, and he would do anything, no matter how cheap and vile it was, to make it to his destination. He wanted to be the one everyone needed and looked up to, not in a good way though. It was like he was suffering from paranoia.

Because of the major differences in their personalities, he and his father never got along. There was not a day that didn’t end up in a fight. The father was angry because he was afraid that his son would do something stupid, and the son was angry because his father never trusted him to make the right decisions.

On day, the father caught Malcom bribing a police man. In an action of anger and disappointment, he slapped his son.
“Was this how I raised you?” he asked while tears were going down his cheek, he has never felt so broken before. Yes, Malcom has done a lot of things in the past but nothing was as disappointing as this!

Malcom raised his head and in the most sarcastic tone, he answered, “If I lived the way you raised me, I would be at the end of line dad. I am no chicken; I will do it my own way. I will be on the top in my own way, not yours. Yours will never take me anywhere. I mean, look at you. The last thing I ever want to be is you.”

At that moment, and although he knew what he heard, he wanted desperately for it not to be true. His eyes filled up with tears, and one aching tear ran down his cheek. “Get out of my house Malcom.” he replied calmly trying to hide all the hurt and pain Malcom’s words caused.

Even though Malcom was 100% sure what he was doing was a mistake, instead of apologizing to his father and promising him he would never do it again, he took what he said seriously went out of the house and promised he would never come back again.
He did not listen to his mother’s begging, nor did he care about her tears. 17 years passed after that incident and they did not hear a thing about him. He was too stubborn to even give them a call, and they were too clueless to go out and look for him. There were days when they truly believed that he was dead, and there were others, when they felt that he was closer to them than he ever was.

His mother wilted, she was never the one with the joyous personality again. His father was blaming himself for the disappearance all day long every day. Their relationship went down the hell; they rarely ever spoke, and when they did, it was always a fight.
They could not stop blaming each other for what happened. She said it was his mistake because he told him to get out of the house, and he said it was hers because she did not raise him right. Their lives turned into hell. None of them could take the pressure anymore. They weren’t able to continue, and instead of sticking together, they gave up, and got divorced.

They seemed to be so in love years ago that no one ever believed that was going to happen. The news took the whole neighborhood with complete shock.

“This is not how it was supposed to end” he whispered to himself in a deep rugged, yet very fragile voice as he wiped dust off the half-broken tombstone with an exhausted cloth. Shadows were casting over the gravestone making the place even creepier than it has ever been. Silence and tension took over the air as his memory took him back to the 1969’s civil war.
Their neighborhood was one of the most beautiful ones in the city; it was simply just full of life. Colorful flowers were decorating the houses and the sun was striking its way into people’s souls giving them hope of a new bright day. Kids were always playing outside, and everyone knew each other. Each day felt like a dream; a flowing bubble of joy.

But all of that changed as the war destructed the area.

The beautiful neighborhood turned into a hollow, quiet one. If it wasn’t for the continuous shooting and the aimless bombing, no one would ever believe that that part of the city has ever been inhabited.

He was hiding behind a damaged car shooting a sniper from the other side of the neighborhood. All kinds of junk and debris were surrounding him, dust was flowing everywhere; he could barely see a thing. As he was shooting, he noticed that the other sniper had a very precise sharp skill, and believed that he was some kind of army taught man. If it wasn’t the car he was hiding behind, he would have died long time ago.
45 minutes has passed and the shooting did not even come near a stop. The more it continued, the more he was impressed of his opponent’s skills, and the more he did not want it to stop. Children’s shouts and cries of fear were clearly heard and the mothers felt their pulses beating in their ears blocking all sounds out. How cruel and selfish it was from the snipers to play their games without caring about the damage they are causing.

Nothing mattered to him; all he wanted was to kill that sniper and proof to himself that he was the strongest.

And so he did.
After about 15 minutes, the shooting stopped. The street suddenly became very still, dust was arousing the air and the windows and doors of the houses around were staring at him like eyes begging for life and freedom.

He finally got him. A smile of victory was drawn on his face as he watched his enemy’s body lay very still on the ground. Driven by curiosity, he went closer to see who that skilled sniper was.

The dead man’s eyes were soulless just like the body they belonged to. Blood was dripping out of his body, but his heart was not beating. How could all that blood come from only one body, he wondered. His hands were very still and somehow cold, and his face was pale; too pale for a man who died minutes ago.

He took two steps back in shock, his heart wrenched as he took a look at the dead man’s face. It took him some time to realize that it was not an army taught man he killed, but his own son.

He shook the thoughts out of his irritated mind. Oh how unbearable it was for him to think that he was the reason behind his son’s death. He started aimlessly at the tombstone. The cemetery looked even darker as the scene replayed in his head.

“I killed my own son.” He repeated as he took out a six shooter from his jacket pocket and aimed it to his own head…

He closed his eyes for a minute…
atrs

3
2
1

He counted, before he pulled the trigger.

His body fell lifelessly on the ground.

It laid there very still…

Just like his son’s once did.

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