Daddy's Legacy

• Tegan Van Rijn, Grade f
• Short Story
• 2010

Vince carefully watched the figure set against the bleak backdrop. The child’s sapphire eyes drove away the impending haze. But when the boy saw Vince he trembled, quickly turned and disappeared into his house. A faint chill trickled down Vince’s spine at the stark familiarity. He felt sick. He of all people should have known it was wrong. But he couldn’t help himself. The boy’s silky, ivory skin, lustrous beneath his fingertips, his divine panting. These thoughts plagued his mind. He knew it was wrong but this way of thinking was so...natural. It was like he was on a one way road straight to hell, unable to stop. But he had to. He had to go see Him. For the boys sake, for his son.

Vince was greeted by Sam’s figure; shoulders slumped forward while his head hung limply from a pastel neck. Vince swallowed and struggled to begin, breathing in, but then out again with a muted disappointed grunt.
“You are not really here,” Sam stated matter-of-factly.
“What makes you say that?” Vince replied, following Sam’s lead in the conversation in the absence of a better starting point.
“Because you’re scared of me.”
“I am not scared of you,” Vince responded levelly.
“Correct, Vince,” Sam replied without a moment’s pause, “I am shackled to the table and you are most certainly carrying a sidearm. But you are both cautious and insecure. You do not fear me for what I could do, but for what I’ve done, because you’re the only one sharp enough to see inside me and see something normal. And you know that the only difference between me and you is that you’re free. You’ve seen how similar we are inside, and that scares you”

You’re really having a good time, aren’t you old man? Vince thought. Your memory still haunts me to this day. I wonder sometimes...would you be happy knowing you left scars? Or would you finally see your wrong?
I can still hear you saying my name. It slid off your lips like it was second nature. It shouldn’t sound so natural. It’s not natural. You’re not natural. I’m not natural. Do you know I can still feel your hands? In my nightmares I’m helpless to stop them, they claw at me. A gentle caress feels like sharp nails, hatefully digging into tender flesh.
Your kisses burned like hot metal, a brand so much worse than the cigarette you held to my skin, making me swear to keep silent within a world of mindless pain. When I wake from my nightmares I swear that I can still smell my own charred flesh. Old wounds sting painfully in the aftermath. I force myself to lay back, panting, until the burning ceases. The position is comfortable. I never sleep on my front anymore. That’s how you liked me. I never sleep on my front.
Even long after you’ve left my life, I still hold dear to those things that make you angry. And I do them. Just to spite you.

Vince walked into his house and saw his son. He walked over and kissed his forehead. His lips tingled and his insides felt as though they were on fire. The past haunted him every day and night and he couldn’t escape it. He was cold in the prison of his sick mind, locked behind the bars his Daddy built for him.