The Father

I could feel my feet and shins dragging across some kind of smooth floor, tile by the patter of it, the kind you find at schools or hospitals. My arms and shoulders felt numb, I could barely feel the pull of my captors. I couldn’t see at all. My eyes were gone, my throat was swollen, and all I could smell was my drying blood in my nostrils. All that damage from a few punches, by one guy no less.

Whoever was dragging me stopped. I heard a click of a button of some kind. “Yes?” asked a booming voice; it sounded scratchy like it was coming out of an old speaker.

“Father, we found him,” replied a deep voice; it was audible enough for me to know that, whoever it was, was near me.

“It’s about fucking time! Send him in.”

I heard a nearby door open, and then a sudden force launched me forward, slamming into a wooden desk, or maybe it was a wall. It sounded solid. Instantly, I noticed the room had this cigar stench that overpowered the dried blood in my nose.

“Christ how many times do I have to tell you, easy on the desk!” the booming voice screamed. “This is the 9th time this week!”

“Sorry Father,” my captors apologized.

“Just get out before you break anything else!”

“Of course, Father.” The captors left us.

“Honestly, just because you’re man-handling some faggot that has some price on his head doesn’t mean you have to use him to slam him into everything you see,” the Father said to himself.

He then started talking to himself about my current condition. He kept going on about how my face looked almost unrecognizable, yet he somehow could make out my features; about how my clothes were torn and caked with mud, and the various scrapes, scratches, and bruises; he was pointing out everything.

Just from his voice, I could tell he was the one. I could never forget his firm, yet raspy voice, and I recognized that cigar stench from his breath when I sensed that his face was near mine. Ah yes, he always liked those Gurka Black Dragons; he always claimed they are the most expensive stogies on the market.

I wanted to tell him what I wanted, but my swollen throat wouldn’t cooperate.

He then asked, “Hey faggot, why did you decide to run off like that? Ya pussy!”

I heard him spit. I could feel his saliva drip into my eyehole. I couldn’t answer his question.

“Givin’ me the silent treatment eh? I’ll ask you again, why did you run away?”
I could barely get out a wheeze. I felt a cough come up, but I only choked on it. Probably because the only thing we’re breathing is that disgusting smoke from that damn cigar.

“Well, I guess this’ll be a one-sided conversation then.” He started to sound apathetic. “I think I know why you’re here.”

My ears perked up. I still couldn’t respond, but I could feel my throat a bit more, at least.

“You came back because you wanted to finish what you’ve started. I know you, you’re one who doesn’t like leaving unfinished business…unfinished; I like that.” He was still going with that apathetic tone, much different than what I heard earlier. “If that is why you’re here, then I can get you patched up and back in perfect condition. You were one of the best; I didn’t like that you ran off on me.”

No, I wasn’t. You were just showing favoritism because I’m your son you jackass! You were so fucking proud you had an heir, and then you took her life out of jealousy! I would have told him off like this if my damn throat weren’t so swollen. I wanted to scream at him.

There was silence for a moment. “I didn’t want to do it John, but I had to,” he said sadly.

So, he knows who I am.

He continued, “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t give a shit if I wrecked her pussy like I did, but my plans changed when she pushed you out. I didn’t want to drag around a ball and chain; it’s bad business, ya know?”

Of course! It’s always about the fucking “business!” I’m what you get when you take up a whore for a girlfriend. I didn’t know you were even capable of that kind of human emotion. And what’s this bull shit about your plans changing? You didn’t even know I fucking existed until right before you killed her!

“Still, I’m not the only man that loved her; I think we both know who that other man is, don’t we John?” I could tell from his cigar breath, that he was close to my face now. “You know…I could tell you were her body is. Maybe her pussy’s still tight and juicy, ready to take a real man’s cock again.” He chuckled.

I didn’t love her the way you did, you sick fuck! To you, she was just your cock sleeve! I could feel my throat was getting better, the cigar smoke seemed to dissipate. I managed to make out some sound to test my voice before wheezing, “Fu-u-u-uck…yo-o-o-u…” I tried giving him the finger, but I could barely feel my hands, though I’m sure he got the message.

His positive tone died.

I could hear him rummaging in his desk for something while mumbling, “No…no…no…too quick…don’t want to clean up after that…ah ha! Perfect!” I heard the desk drawer slam shut. “Gotta love the classics!” He then buzzed orders to someone through the intercom. My stomach sank.

I could hear a couple large bodies stomp into the office. “You know what to do,” the monster ordered.

Just then I felt something course and thick tug hard around my neck. I knew immediately what this was, and I knew what it meant. Pointlessly struggling, I felt another force press against the back of my neck, tightening that of the front. I was dragged off somewhere, kicking and wheezing, trying to make some kind of noise.

My illegitimate father was my last source who knew where she was, or if she’s still alive. Now I don’t know if I’ll be joining her or waiting for her in the next life.


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