The Possibilities...
As father and I sat inside the dimmed light of the castle-like mansion's spacious and smoke-filled foyer, we had our daily round of insincere small talk. "How was school?" said Father, "Have you gotten your Christian Studies grade up yet?"
"From what?" I asked incredulously, "the A-?"
Father asked, "You do realize there is a minus after the A correct?"
"Of course I do, but we have spoken about this before. I'm not..."
Father cut in, "I'm afraid your destiny is not up to dispute."
"Don't be naive," I snarled "There is no destiny, we live, we die, and that's it."
"You know better than this Abaddon, why else would this subject upset you so?" He calmly replied, while refilling his mahogany pipe.
I raised myself to my feet and made my way towards the exit . "If you don't know me now, how can you presume to know my future?" I sharply retorted. I pulled the heavy oak door of the granite post-Gothic mansion open and shut it behind me as I cast myself out into the frigid Alpine air. The cold stung like thousands of needles prodding my extremities; I pulled my gray cable-knit scarf tightly around my neck and hastily pulled up the collar of my black pea coat. However uninviting the atmosphere of the Italian Alps is during the winter months, My father's words are exponentially more harmful. First of all He called me Abaddon- the name that led me through torment through school- the name I asked him repeatedly to not address me by. I could still feel him patronizing me beneath his wrinkled forehead and furrowed brow, and through his thin horn-rimmed bifocals. I let my anxiety dissipate into the environment and my eyes wander upon the naked trees which adorned the border of the mossy stone pathway I followed to the nearest city sidewalk, and upon the leaves of those trees covered by a thin sheet of iridescent snow which covered the ground, and upon the lichen-dappled stone fence I leaned on upon reaching my destination. Shortly thereafter, a sky-gray sub-compact car pulled to the side of the road which I was standing, and the familiar silhouette motioned for me to enter his automobile, I complied and the red leatherette upholstery squeaked as my expectations were confirmed, the figure was Ryan, my favorite cohort from the American School of Italy-Turin.
"New car?" I asked.
"Well," he faux-gingerly placed his equally 'new' fedora atop his head of spiked blond hair,and stated "as new as I can afford on my own."
I adjusted myself to face him, and hesitated"Your mother would be more than happy to buy you a brand new car."
His face contorted in anger and frustration "How can you even propose that I accept her help? You know why she does that! Gifts do not make up for her negligence"
Deafening silence followed, it was the sound of us not speaking, but also, of Ryan's 'new' car dying. I did -in fact- know why she doted on him so profusely. His father beat Ryan before he died, and his mother, was trying to make up for not protecting Ryan by buying him elaborate gifts, of which he would not accept and promptly returned to her.
"Shit." said Ryan as he stopped the smoking car at a conveniently placed petrol station.
I quietly wondered how his car could overheat in such freezing weather as we exited the piece of scrap metal. Ryan pressed the hood latch... Nothing happened I hit the car near the faded BMW symbol, and pulled on the hood, still to no avail.
A police car seemed to appear from nowhere with its orange lights flashing. The men clothed in snow white garb- one wearing the standard police uniform- seemed to jump from the car and back me up against Ryan's. The tallest of the three asked me "Are you Abaddon Estabrook?"
I hesitate, "yes... Why?"
"Sir, I'm afraid you are under arrest" said the officer as he closed the cold handcuffs tightly around my wrists,
The Tall Officer said "Mr. Schlessenger, escort this boy to the car."
"Abaddon Estabrook? I need you to come with me." Schlessenger said as he guided me into the back seat.Familiar monochromatic streets passed as I peered through the reflection of my eyes into the still overcast sky, and I started to wish that I was living with my mother in Virgina. Suddenly I noticed a figure in the sky that seemed to be producing light, but at the same time, depressed upon the clouds. The figure was a ring with five spikes jutting from it, and inside the ring, there was a mariner's star. I studied the foggy figure and thought it was perhaps a spot light for an auto dealership. I sighed and shifted focus back to my face, and noticed that that shape wasn't in the sky at all. It was reflecting off of the inside of the window.
A sharp bump jostled me awake from what was apparently a dream, not long after, I knocked on the bulletproof barrier, "What time is it?"
"We've been driving for oh, no more than 10 er 15 minutes," said Mr. Schlessenger, "but the time is 16:37," I noticed his mustache, trimmed thin and short, and his deep-set eyes, but mostly I noticed his voice, Friendly, but but with enough resonance to intimidate another man of his size.
"Wait, you aren't," I stopped, "Mr Schlessenger, you work with my father."
"Er, I'm afraid not sir, why would you ask this?"
He lied. How could he lie to me? He even seemed to know the way back to my house. The other men glanced at me and whispered to each other quietly.
As we pulled up the afore mentioned stone path I noticed my father standing outside. The tall officer removed the cuffs and stood by the car. I looked at my wrists and studied the impressions made by the cuffs. Mr Slessenger Brushed off his police uniform nervously. We entered the -constantly- smoky foyer and my father thanked Mr. Schlessenger.
"I don't see why the cuffs were needed if you were just taking me back here," I ruminated.
"what do you mean cuffs?" asked Mr. Schlessenger.
"You know, handcuffs? The other officer put them on, in fact, look at my wrists." I exposed the dents on my skin to the men, and they both looked closely.
Schlessenger, broke the silence. "Er, other?" my father cut in.
"Thank you Mr. Schlessenger." Father said, "I'll show you out."
When my father returned, his face was contorted as to portray the exact amount of rage contained in all of his tensed muscles, but surprisingly my father relaxed and said in a quiet voice, "I wish very much that you don't make me worry like that again."
"Make you worry? I wouldn't leave like that if you wouldn't try to control me. Now you're even sending your little stooges to find me for you."
"What do you mean my 'stooges'?"
"Mr. Schlessenger and his friends, they used to work for you!" I was yelling at this point, but I was so hot with anger I didn't notice.
"J-just slow down James (he calls me James when he wants me to calm down.), I have never even talked to this Mr. Schlessenger before today, he just so happens to work at your school. As for his friends, I don't believe I saw anybody with him except you."
"What do you mean? You saw the taller man take off the handcuffs... Right?... Right?"
"Oh, stop it Abaddon, Just... stop with the histrionics, thats why I stopped loving your mother. Don't make me stop loving you" He spoke slowly and coolly.
I evacuated the room made toxic by the words he spoke and the secondhand smoke, and stomped down the bare dark hallway where the toxins seemed to follow me. I was soon near the refuge that is my room, I reached to pull open the door and bathe in my captive freedom, but I was distracted by the light shining through the keyhole casting its trademark shape onto my door. As far as I had known, nobody has even been inside the... Well I wasn't sure what it was , but I also wasn't aware of anyone having been in there. I was frankly too pissed to worry about that now, so I entered my spacious room embellished with photos of my parents and I proudly exposing our teeth shown by our plastered plastic smiles framed with gold leaf wooden frames. These were the kinds of photos one would send to relatives folded inside a sappy christmas cards as if to brag about how happy your branch of the family tree is. I landed on the crimson and cornflower argyle duvet and stared at the matching canopy. How could he say that he no longer loved my mother? How could he threaten to not love me? How... did Ryan get home? I rolled off of my ridiculously high materess, fell to my feet and walked to my fatigued dresser. I utilized the black enamel rotary phone to call Ryan and explain what happened. He answered and I explained what happened and he understood of course, until I asked about the men who were there. He only saw Mr. Schlessenger. I was dumbfounded. I crashed on my bed again studying the canopy until I heard a dripping noise, which I traced to the center of my room. I looked up and had a moment of great disillusionment. The ominous figure from my dream was impressed upon my ceiling in the form of gray paint contrasting the rest of the white ceiling. At first this comforted me. Perhaps it was engraved on my subconscious, but my sudden realization of it after seven years of living in this room raised more questions than answers. I shirked my homework off as I mulled over this turn of events, I fell asleep.
I awoke to a pounding headache -not uncommon for me- but this was one of the worst. I reached to the bottom of my bedside drawer, and fumbled in search of the magic pills that kill the bass drummer in my head, but with each throb of pain I got more impatient. Before I knew, I leaped to my feet, the drawer was across the room shattered on the floor. Promptly, I found my medicine and kneeled to pick up the shrapnel that was strewn about the corner of my room. Something golden glistened in the corner of my eye. It was a skeleton key with the figure engraved on the handle. I picked it up as if it were dangerous or fragile, and studied it in a similar manner. I decided to delay my investigation until after my Christian Studies homework. The truth is, I needed to keep all of my grades up so I may keep my options open when it comes to colleges; I want to get as far from here as possible. Opening the door of my room, the light from the keyhole of the parallel room had gotten brighter, even to the point that I winced at the throb in caused in my already pounding head. I bent down, then kneeled as I looked through the keyhole. Nothing. Only light. I moved back from the keyhole- only to see the figure engraved directly above it.
[To be continued?...]
"From what?" I asked incredulously, "the A-?"
Father asked, "You do realize there is a minus after the A correct?"
"Of course I do, but we have spoken about this before. I'm not..."
Father cut in, "I'm afraid your destiny is not up to dispute."
"Don't be naive," I snarled "There is no destiny, we live, we die, and that's it."
"You know better than this Abaddon, why else would this subject upset you so?" He calmly replied, while refilling his mahogany pipe.
I raised myself to my feet and made my way towards the exit . "If you don't know me now, how can you presume to know my future?" I sharply retorted. I pulled the heavy oak door of the granite post-Gothic mansion open and shut it behind me as I cast myself out into the frigid Alpine air. The cold stung like thousands of needles prodding my extremities; I pulled my gray cable-knit scarf tightly around my neck and hastily pulled up the collar of my black pea coat. However uninviting the atmosphere of the Italian Alps is during the winter months, My father's words are exponentially more harmful. First of all He called me Abaddon- the name that led me through torment through school- the name I asked him repeatedly to not address me by. I could still feel him patronizing me beneath his wrinkled forehead and furrowed brow, and through his thin horn-rimmed bifocals. I let my anxiety dissipate into the environment and my eyes wander upon the naked trees which adorned the border of the mossy stone pathway I followed to the nearest city sidewalk, and upon the leaves of those trees covered by a thin sheet of iridescent snow which covered the ground, and upon the lichen-dappled stone fence I leaned on upon reaching my destination. Shortly thereafter, a sky-gray sub-compact car pulled to the side of the road which I was standing, and the familiar silhouette motioned for me to enter his automobile, I complied and the red leatherette upholstery squeaked as my expectations were confirmed, the figure was Ryan, my favorite cohort from the American School of Italy-Turin.
"New car?" I asked.
"Well," he faux-gingerly placed his equally 'new' fedora atop his head of spiked blond hair,and stated "as new as I can afford on my own."
I adjusted myself to face him, and hesitated"Your mother would be more than happy to buy you a brand new car."
His face contorted in anger and frustration "How can you even propose that I accept her help? You know why she does that! Gifts do not make up for her negligence"
Deafening silence followed, it was the sound of us not speaking, but also, of Ryan's 'new' car dying. I did -in fact- know why she doted on him so profusely. His father beat Ryan before he died, and his mother, was trying to make up for not protecting Ryan by buying him elaborate gifts, of which he would not accept and promptly returned to her.
"Shit." said Ryan as he stopped the smoking car at a conveniently placed petrol station.
I quietly wondered how his car could overheat in such freezing weather as we exited the piece of scrap metal. Ryan pressed the hood latch... Nothing happened I hit the car near the faded BMW symbol, and pulled on the hood, still to no avail.
A police car seemed to appear from nowhere with its orange lights flashing. The men clothed in snow white garb- one wearing the standard police uniform- seemed to jump from the car and back me up against Ryan's. The tallest of the three asked me "Are you Abaddon Estabrook?"
I hesitate, "yes... Why?"
"Sir, I'm afraid you are under arrest" said the officer as he closed the cold handcuffs tightly around my wrists,
The Tall Officer said "Mr. Schlessenger, escort this boy to the car."
"Abaddon Estabrook? I need you to come with me." Schlessenger said as he guided me into the back seat.Familiar monochromatic streets passed as I peered through the reflection of my eyes into the still overcast sky, and I started to wish that I was living with my mother in Virgina. Suddenly I noticed a figure in the sky that seemed to be producing light, but at the same time, depressed upon the clouds. The figure was a ring with five spikes jutting from it, and inside the ring, there was a mariner's star. I studied the foggy figure and thought it was perhaps a spot light for an auto dealership. I sighed and shifted focus back to my face, and noticed that that shape wasn't in the sky at all. It was reflecting off of the inside of the window.
A sharp bump jostled me awake from what was apparently a dream, not long after, I knocked on the bulletproof barrier, "What time is it?"
"We've been driving for oh, no more than 10 er 15 minutes," said Mr. Schlessenger, "but the time is 16:37," I noticed his mustache, trimmed thin and short, and his deep-set eyes, but mostly I noticed his voice, Friendly, but but with enough resonance to intimidate another man of his size.
"Wait, you aren't," I stopped, "Mr Schlessenger, you work with my father."
"Er, I'm afraid not sir, why would you ask this?"
He lied. How could he lie to me? He even seemed to know the way back to my house. The other men glanced at me and whispered to each other quietly.
As we pulled up the afore mentioned stone path I noticed my father standing outside. The tall officer removed the cuffs and stood by the car. I looked at my wrists and studied the impressions made by the cuffs. Mr Slessenger Brushed off his police uniform nervously. We entered the -constantly- smoky foyer and my father thanked Mr. Schlessenger.
"I don't see why the cuffs were needed if you were just taking me back here," I ruminated.
"what do you mean cuffs?" asked Mr. Schlessenger.
"You know, handcuffs? The other officer put them on, in fact, look at my wrists." I exposed the dents on my skin to the men, and they both looked closely.
Schlessenger, broke the silence. "Er, other?" my father cut in.
"Thank you Mr. Schlessenger." Father said, "I'll show you out."
When my father returned, his face was contorted as to portray the exact amount of rage contained in all of his tensed muscles, but surprisingly my father relaxed and said in a quiet voice, "I wish very much that you don't make me worry like that again."
"Make you worry? I wouldn't leave like that if you wouldn't try to control me. Now you're even sending your little stooges to find me for you."
"What do you mean my 'stooges'?"
"Mr. Schlessenger and his friends, they used to work for you!" I was yelling at this point, but I was so hot with anger I didn't notice.
"J-just slow down James (he calls me James when he wants me to calm down.), I have never even talked to this Mr. Schlessenger before today, he just so happens to work at your school. As for his friends, I don't believe I saw anybody with him except you."
"What do you mean? You saw the taller man take off the handcuffs... Right?... Right?"
"Oh, stop it Abaddon, Just... stop with the histrionics, thats why I stopped loving your mother. Don't make me stop loving you" He spoke slowly and coolly.
I evacuated the room made toxic by the words he spoke and the secondhand smoke, and stomped down the bare dark hallway where the toxins seemed to follow me. I was soon near the refuge that is my room, I reached to pull open the door and bathe in my captive freedom, but I was distracted by the light shining through the keyhole casting its trademark shape onto my door. As far as I had known, nobody has even been inside the... Well I wasn't sure what it was , but I also wasn't aware of anyone having been in there. I was frankly too pissed to worry about that now, so I entered my spacious room embellished with photos of my parents and I proudly exposing our teeth shown by our plastered plastic smiles framed with gold leaf wooden frames. These were the kinds of photos one would send to relatives folded inside a sappy christmas cards as if to brag about how happy your branch of the family tree is. I landed on the crimson and cornflower argyle duvet and stared at the matching canopy. How could he say that he no longer loved my mother? How could he threaten to not love me? How... did Ryan get home? I rolled off of my ridiculously high materess, fell to my feet and walked to my fatigued dresser. I utilized the black enamel rotary phone to call Ryan and explain what happened. He answered and I explained what happened and he understood of course, until I asked about the men who were there. He only saw Mr. Schlessenger. I was dumbfounded. I crashed on my bed again studying the canopy until I heard a dripping noise, which I traced to the center of my room. I looked up and had a moment of great disillusionment. The ominous figure from my dream was impressed upon my ceiling in the form of gray paint contrasting the rest of the white ceiling. At first this comforted me. Perhaps it was engraved on my subconscious, but my sudden realization of it after seven years of living in this room raised more questions than answers. I shirked my homework off as I mulled over this turn of events, I fell asleep.
I awoke to a pounding headache -not uncommon for me- but this was one of the worst. I reached to the bottom of my bedside drawer, and fumbled in search of the magic pills that kill the bass drummer in my head, but with each throb of pain I got more impatient. Before I knew, I leaped to my feet, the drawer was across the room shattered on the floor. Promptly, I found my medicine and kneeled to pick up the shrapnel that was strewn about the corner of my room. Something golden glistened in the corner of my eye. It was a skeleton key with the figure engraved on the handle. I picked it up as if it were dangerous or fragile, and studied it in a similar manner. I decided to delay my investigation until after my Christian Studies homework. The truth is, I needed to keep all of my grades up so I may keep my options open when it comes to colleges; I want to get as far from here as possible. Opening the door of my room, the light from the keyhole of the parallel room had gotten brighter, even to the point that I winced at the throb in caused in my already pounding head. I bent down, then kneeled as I looked through the keyhole. Nothing. Only light. I moved back from the keyhole- only to see the figure engraved directly above it.
[To be continued?...]