Beagles Don’t Fly [Writing Warm-Up #2]

BEAGLES DON’T FLY

By T.A. Saunders

“He was found on top of a garbage truck. He’s lucky, really. That jump could’ve killed him.”

“Lucky? He’s an idiot. What’s that he’s muttering?”

“Something about beagles. Been going on about it, since being brought to the E.R.”

“Idiot.”

Doctor Chaise Michaels really didn’t know what to make of her patient. After pumping his stomach free of the mixed cocktail of prescription drugs, then having his broken arm and broken shin set, as well as the numerous abrasions, she couldn’t help but to feel he’d just be back here in a few more months, as the result of something very similar. Some people just couldn’t be fixed, unless they truly desired change. Or could they?

“With your permission, I’d like to have him ‘evaluated,’ perhaps find some means to help Aaron.” Chaise was being vague with her patient’s grandfather. Aaron really was the best subject for her research, but explaining it to the angry old coot was going to take longer than she really cared to entertain.

“Evaluated?” Aaron’s grandfather, Henry Thorpe repeated, with a raise in the timber of his sandpaper-rough voice. “What do you need to evaluate him for? He’s an idiot. You know, the other day, I caught him soaking tampons in vodka? Who does that? An idiot does that, that’s who. There’s your evaluation.”

“Mister Thorpe, “ Chaise replied, a bit flustered with the prospect of just how to explain the motivation of soaking tampons in vodka, tactfully attempted to switch the subject matter to a more clinical topic. “I believe Aaron needs a deep psychological evaluation, to determine what’s driving him to make these clearly poor decisions.”

“Eh.” Henry didn’t have much use for doctors, or evaluations. Surviving the Korean War and Vietnam had been quite enough of an education on doctors and their evaluations, for him to have no taste whatsoever for the process, or its details. Still, he eyed the woman, his hardened ice blue gaze critical of any signs of hidden meaning or, more importantly…”How much is this going to cost? If it’s between this putz and the new Ford truck I’m eyeing, it’ll be the Ford!”

The doctor couldn’t help to find a sardonic smile for the old fellow’s commentary. It was this sort of thinking she reasoned, that probably put Aaron where he is now; the sense of worthlessness that drives somebody to taking drugs, jumping off buildings, and worse. This is why her research into memory alteration was so important. Making people see themselves and past events differently could take a broken person, like Aaron, and perhaps allow him a chance to be a productive person. Somebody he could be proud of, somebody even his cantankerous grandfather could be proud of.

“The treatment will be free of cost,” Chaise replied while brushing back a stray lock of chocolate brown hair from her glasses. “This sort of thing is covered under my research grant. He will have to be transferred, of course, once he’s well enough to be moved. As his legal guardian, you would have to sign all the necessary paperwork.”

“Fine, fine.” Henry responded, with a dismissive flick of his thin hand. “Give me whatever paperwork you need me to sign. I’m missing ‘The Price is Right,’ on account of the idiot here.”

“Yes of course,” Chaise replied, while opening the door for Mister Thorpe to exit Aaron’s room. Once the old man had departed, the dark-haired doctor turned back to her patient, with a soft, nurturing smile forming on her petal pink lips, as she touched his brow, with her thumb.

“How you will see the world differently, once I’ve finished with you.” She whispered, before leaving the room herself. Doctor Michaels was pleased, indeed.

Where I am and Where I’m Going

I’ve taken to a more relaxed blogging schedule. As this is a lightly-traveled blog I don’t feel particularly bad about cutting down the time I spend on it to address other projects I have waiting for me. I’ve decided to let this blog sit for a little while to get those other projects off the ground and running.

I’ve had The World of Imarel hanging on my back on and off for 25 years now.  For those familiar with the archaic free form/semi-free form role-playing that takes place on IRC (Internet Relay Chat), it has dwindled down into a small, fractured but resilient community. My own channel, #imarel (yes, it’s hash-tagged, because that’s how channels were designated before the advent of Twitter) is growing in popularity despite the overall decline in people who wish to RP via a textual interface, but the rules, lore and other information isn’t complete. For the first time however, I can honestly say I’m pretty close to being done with it. So, while this blog sits idle for awhile, that will be one of the things I work on. It’s honestly a labor of love and nothing more, a labor of love I need to finally get off my plate.

More importantly I also need to put more time and effort into writing. I feel I’m growing as a writer that I now need to give just putting the words down to the proverbial paper a lot more time than I have been. I’ve been spending a few months doing character studies, writing down story ideas and generally researching how to flesh out my characters better. “Traveler” was a step in that direction.  I will eventually write Story Two for “Traveler” but for now that will sit until I feel I’ve given my writing the focus it deserves. I have the story idea already shaped out for the second series but like I said, I need to start looking at the bigger picture.

Till next time!

TRAVELER — PART VII, An Unexpected Answer

TRAVELER — PART VII

An Unexpected Answer

Mars had declared its independence from the governments of the Earth something like thirty years ago. There had been a concern about history’s first interplanetary war, but it didn’t go down like that. The colonies of Mars were self sufficient and simply wanted their autonomy from their respective governments (in this case, the United States and China) to exist how they wished.

Donna had been working as a US Ambassador to Mars at the time and she had been back and forth between Earth and the Red Planet more times than I’d like to recall. We had just gotten married and it put a strain on things, but we managed. It helped knowing she was doing something important for not only Earth but for Mars as well. When it was finally done, I remember the marathon sex and her unending need to eat real food, instead of that stuff they make with the food replicators.

I think of this now as Earl and I touch down on Mars, because right now we’re looking at the very colony Donna had gone to in order to do her work. The Armstrong Colony was situated in the Valles Marineris and had been the site for many of the negotiations between the US, China and the United Colonies of Mars. They didn’t have much of a military back then, but what they did have was enough to make taking the colonies back by force more expensive than either nation was willing to pay. In the end, it always comes down to money. As we look at the massive anti-starship batteries and the milling of troops coming in and out of the large, domed complex I see a lot has changed in those thirty years.

“Shit,” Earl began, “Look at all that hardware. Those are M-76D hover-tanks!”

“Yeah, US military hardware, but how did they get those? Any of this stuff?”

“Dunno. But this doesn’t look like a colony anymore than my mother-in-law looks like a woman. Suppose we have a look around and see what’s goin’ on here?”

“Probably a good idea. Let’s go.”

My first inclination was that they were on high alert because the Earth was basically obliterated. Without the Earth, Mars’ own orbit would be effected, though it’s impossible to say how. Could it be the result of an alien invader? We’ve not exactly scored well diplomatically with the Alpha Centarians or the Skull Nebula Confederacy but neither has been war-like. Not like this. Even as advanced as the Skull Nebula Confederacy is, they were more interested in hustling us their old technology for mining rights on the Moon than blowing us up. The implications of what could have happened were staggering.

Earl and I floated past the myriad of soldiers and military equipment towards the colony proper. It was a huge, domed complex that was built around a giant terra-forming tower. Because the fusion reactor within it gave off so much heat, a thermal dome was built around it to help create a habitable environment for humans while the atmosphere composition was being changed. It would likely be another fifty or so years before people will be able to live outside these domes, but the change will be a leap for Mankind.

It was amusing to me that Earl and I could simply cross the threshold and move about the busy colony complex without being detected, detained or questioned. We drifted through bustling crowds and the botanical garden stations that made up the majority of the colony dome’s interior, until we came to the center pavilion. What I saw there struck me dumbfounded.

“T-That’s Donna.” I managed to stammer. “Why is she kneeling before that Alpha Centurian?”

 

 End of Story One

TRAVELER — PART VI, To Mars!

 TRAVELER — PART VI

To Mars!

I’ve traveled a few times through space via solar sail but to travel through space as a ghost, as living energy was an experience that I couldn’t possibly been prepared for. The solar sail takes a month to make the voyage and you have all the creature comforts of a cruise ship but it’s sterile. You really don’t have a concept of traveling because its so comfortable, so smooth. But as a ghost I’m naked to the space around me. Distant stars streak by and I can move as fast as I want to. I can see Earl next to me and we like a pair of translucent comets streaking across the great expanse of space with no limits to how fast we can go and where we can go.

I don’t know if I still exist because of the unresolved issues with Donna or if I’m simply going to always be this way, but since nobody throws a manual at your head and says, ‘This is how to be a spirit!’ I’m sort of learning it as I go. Earl, between fart jokes, stories of his sexual escapades and his lamenting that he’ll never see the Tennessee Titans play football again, has actually been some help with the week or so he has on me in ghost time. Also assuring (and terrifying) is that a spirit seems to be able to survive the destruction of a planet. It makes sense though, being incorporeal. I suppose I always assumed the destruction of a place a ghost haunts would mean the release of the ghost. Maybe there is still some truth to that, but not in Earl’s case.

I’m distracted from my random thoughts as Mars rushes up on us. As we crest over Deimos, the Red Planet rises to greet us. While not nearly as populated as the Earth was, the small Terra-forming colonies and scientific laboratories the United States and China have peppered the surface with have given it a sense of newness. Like life can go on despite the horror that I’ve witnessed not terribly long ago.

“Always thought Mars looked like a big, round sky turd. Like a Space Rabbit took a dump and hopped off to Jupiter.” I could always count on Earl to offer deep though-breaking commentary.

“That’s really…I really don’t know what to say to that Earl.” I muttered

He was giving me that satisfied smile, like he said something profound and stumped me. I begin to wonder if my new spectral powers include the ability to steal that stupid hat of his and hit him with it every time he gives me that look.

“Well, we’re here. Now what?” he asks.

“They must have had some sort of news on it.” I explained. We’re going to have to just start looking until we find out what people there know. It’s weak, but it’s a start, right?”

“Hey, maybe while you’re doin’ that I can go possess a woman and have me some alone time!”

“Earl will you shut up? I—wait a second. Yo know how to possess people?

“Sure. It’s not that hard. You just have to be real smooth about it.”

“You’re going to have to show me that trick later. Might come in handy.”

“Man you have no idea! Woo!”

“Let’s go back to, shut up Earl.”

I could almost feel him flipping me off as I flew ahead of him and allowed myself to plummet through the thin atmosphere. There was a certain rush knowing that I could free-fall like this and be in no danger of dying, since I’m already dead. It’s strange how we always think of death as something horrible and initially it is. But if it weren’t for the grievous circumstances of my death and that of eight billion others, I might actually enjoy being dead.

TRAVELER — PART V, Donna

TRAVELER — PART V

Donna

I closed my eyes and attempted to focus. Earl’s dialog about having the urge to scratch his privates as a ghost, despite having no reason to itch them was distracting to say the least. Rather than the less than savory image he presented, I filled my mind with visions of my wife, my Donna.

She was wearing a pale yellow sundress last night at our BBQ, it brought out the gentle tanning of her skin and brought out the straw color of her hair. I could almost smell the chicken and bratwurst I had been grilling while she laughed and carried on with our friends, Peggy and Kevin. The light from the stupid tiki lanterns she had insisted on filled the area around the pool in a pleasant glow. I remember looking up at the stars as I grilled, thinking that the night had been especially clear. Certainly not the sort of night that you’d expect the Earth to just end like it had.

I’m floating in those stars now, not unlike the debris that marks the remains of my home, my world. I reach out with my conscious and attempt to feel her presence somewhere in the vast, drifting wasteland of Once-Earth, but I find nothing. I’m greeted with a sense of great emptiness, speckled with pinpoints of passing energy, possibly other spirits that are doing what I’m doing. Maybe they’re looking for loved ones or just a stranger in the void. Somebody to assure them that they’re not alone in the world. Should I ever encounter one of those lost souls, I’ll give them Earl.

“You know what I really miss? Pork rinds! Mmm! Dip those bad boys in hot sauce and watch your eyes tear up and your pants burn off!” Earl is supposed to be not distracting me and his answer to that task is to distract himself by babbling.

I don’t bother dignifying his prattle with an answer. I reach out with my mind once more, further this time. Beyond the scope of the debris field, beyond the space I can see. I feel as though I’m attempting to fill a jug of water with just enough pinholes in the bottom that water never quite fills it but never quite runs out either. I’m at a mental stalemate with the Universe, as I allow my mind to extend out as far as it will go. Besides a momentary itch at the edge of my perception, there’s nothing. No sign of Donna and for that I’m pleased and sad. I can’t remember my last words to her because I was so drunk I’m sure I stammered them. I remember her laughter as light and amused. She was happy. I’ll have to be satisfied with that and the fact she won’t be caught in this Purgatory like I am.

“Think we’re done here.” I announce. “I can’t sense her.”

“Probably for the best. Means she probably died painlessly.”

I stared at Earl for a long and uncomfortable moment, long enough to make my burly ghost companion slightly self-conscious. But it’s not anger at him, it’s befuddlement at myself for not even considering why the Earth exploded or broke apart or whatever the hell it did. I had done the same thing with Donna; it was as if, as a spirit I’m designed to have a measure of apathy for living matters. Earl displays the same thing in his own crude way. What ghost tries to make fart noises with his armpit, while somebody’s looking for their loved ones? Perhaps its a coping mechanism for those who pass on, so they can finally leave this world. A depletion of one’s humanity to forget and to fade away. Except I wasn’t ready to fade yet. I was ready for some answers.

“So now what?” Earl looked like he was eager to explore the girl ghost possibility again.

“We’re going to Mars. I want to know how this happened.” Maybe then I could fade away. Maybe then I could be with Donna again, once the questions in my mind were answered.

TRAVELER — PART III, Adrift With the Space Cowboy

TRAVELER — PART III

Adrift With the Space Cowboy

“Sensi—no you idiot, I’m just grasping what’s before me and not thinking with my pecker in the Afterlife!” I couldn’t handle it anymore. If he wasn’t already dead, I might’ve strangled him.

“Whoa easy there, Tommy. It’s cool. We’ll worry about women later. What do you want to do?” He asked while turning his baseball hat backwards.

I had to stop and think about that because I rightly didn’t know what I wanted to do. I didn’t even know what my existence was now, aside of the obvious fact that I was dead and everything I’ve ever known was obliterated. It was a lot to process for anybody…except Earl. We’re dead and the first thing he can think of is girls. That of course drew me to my next question.

“Wait a minute. How would you even know where to find other people? I mean, ghosts?” I asked while looking down at my feet and baffling at the fact that I could see thousands of stars beneath them. If it weren’t for the fact that the situation was so hopeless, I’d be awestruck right now.

“Well, I found you didn’t I?” He stated with a matter-of-fact tone. “I dunno rightly, I think I sensed you. You know, like one of those Jedi!”

The thought of Earl wearing that Tennessee Titans hat with Jedi robes and a lightsaber made out of a beer can and a flashlight suddenly snapped my gloom in a burst of laughter. “I…you know that feels right.” I said finally.

“Sure does!” Earl offered with his usual ability to state the obvious.

If we could sense other ghosts, we might be able to find others and perhaps find some answers. The most predominant issue I was grappling with was, since the Earth was destroyed and ghosts usually haunt a particular area, did that mean I was damned to haunt the remains of the planet like some sort of galactic graveyard or could we roam?

Wordlessly I tried pushing myself forward with a swimming motion and unsurprisingly, I managed to only make it look like I was imitating a swimmer and in doing so, only mount further confusion with Earl. Further attempts seemed to fall flat, which spurred my new companion to comment.

“No, you just have to think about the direction you want to go. You’re dead, dummy! You don’t move like a person no more!” Earl stated with some authority.

I looked at him skeptically before quieting my mind and trying it. I think it was with the immediacy by which I shot forward that I was surprised; it was entirely effortless. I remember reading some time ago about how ghosts were thought to be electromagnetic shadows of ourselves. Echoes of energy imprinted on the world. If I was essentially sentient electromagnetic energy, that meant with some limitations, there was literally nowhere I couldn’t go.

“We can go wherever we want, as fast as we want…” I stated to Earl for confirmation.

“Reckon so.”

“Except I have no idea where to go.” I stated in muted frustration. Perhaps that’s why ghosts haunt places, they can’t think of anywhere else to go. The very thought of it sickened me.

TRAVELER — PART II, Earl

TRAVELER — PART II

Earl

“This had better be a dream, or I’m completely fucked.” I said aloud, which I found interesting that I heard, since I was in the vacuum of space.

“Yep,” a voice that had startled me agreed, “You ‘n me both brother.”

I turned around to find another person floating amid the wreckage. He was donning a beat up Tennessee Titans hat, with a dark t-shirt with enough different sorts of muted stains on it that it could almost be considered camouflage. Along with this already winning ensemble he wore a pair of worn acid washed jeans that screamed to be returned to the nearest washing machine in the 90’s and a pair of spotless, gleaming snakeskin boots. This had to be a dream, because only would my mind manufacture such a stereotypical hillbilly to menace me.

“Who are you?” I asked not because I was really all that curious but it seemed the appropriate thing to do, since he was floating next to me. With any luck he may just explode into confetti or something.

“Name’s Earl. Earl Fontane and friend, I’m about the best person you could’ve run into!” he announced with a confidence that did nothing but convince me otherwise.

“I’m Thomas.” I didn’t feel any particular need to fill in my last name; it wasn’t as though I’d be dating Earl or anything. Besides which, I was beginning to feel a little unnerved about how vivid this dream was becoming.

“Well Tommy, here’s to me, you and the destruction of Earth! Wooo!” Most people aren’t this pleased about the destruction of a planet, let alone our own, unless they’re Melvin the Martian. But Earl seems to think it’s another tailgate party.

“I…why are you happy?” I asked, though immediately regretted it. “This is the end of civilization as we know it! And while I’m at it, how are we talking, let alone breathing in space?”

“Well, Tommy I reckon we’re dead.” he offered with a tip of his baseball cap. “We’re ghosts! As to why I’m happy, well…hadda happen sometime right? Better it’s a big ass BOOM than some slow, zombie apocalypse bullshit. Though, had me a fine arsenal for that to happen!”

It wasn’t hard to believe Earl had possibly more weapons than the Taliban, but as I watched a slowly burning fire hydrant lazily drift over our heads, I began to accept the possibility that this wasn’t a dream and I had died. We all died. How many of us, residents of the former planet Earth were now ghosts adrift in the lonely black of space? We, as a people would survive thanks to the Mars colonies and some of the deep space exploration missions going on, but that still didn’t bring me much comfort. Who we are as a people, everything that was sacred and everything that explained our origins was gone. Donna was gone. Everything was gone.

“Well Tommy, since you ‘n me are travelin’ partners, I suggest we star figurin’ out where it is we’re going to travel.” Earl announced with his usual take-control tone that made me wish I could hit him with something heavy.

“I…I just need a minute to take this all in,” I murmured. “I feel like I should be crying or screaming or something. But I can’t. I just feel empty.”

“Ah you’re one of those sensitive types.” Earl dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry buddy. Earl Fontane’s got the answer. Ghost women! Woo!”

TRAVELER — PART 1

TRAVELER — PART 1

By T.A. Saunders

I was cold, but I had no idea why. It had been a balmy summer night and I had fallen asleep with just the top sheet of my covers on me. Maybe Donna turned the air conditioning on full blast again. She can’t sleep unless it’s like a refrigerator in our bedroom. I didn’t want to get out of bed or stop sleeping but the cold was biting at me. I could feel it in the core of my being.

When I opened my eyes I smiled a bit at what I imagined must have been a dream. I was floating free in space, with all the stars gleaming in the heavens. I was adrift amongst them, swimming in them. No matter which way I turned my head, I could see some part of the cosmos shining there for me. The whole galaxy lain out before me, only limited by my will to reach any certain point gleaming in the eternal dark of space.

My reverie was disrupted by a bright, orange-white light. Rapidly flailing aside, I narrowly missed a hunk of burning rock that flew right by me. An asteroid perhaps? I floated in a circle to get a better vantage of where it came from. As I turned, I was greeted by a blossom of flame that spanned in every direction for as nearly as far as I could see. More slabs of spinning, molten rock were sailing from this impossibly large explosion, one flew over my head and I could see the rivulets of what I surmised was liquid iron scattering outwards like fireflies in August.

Yet, despite all this heat, I wasn’t hot, or even really warm. I was still fiercely cold and stranger still, I also wasn’t shivering. I found it peculiar, but no less odd than the rest of this dream about being in space and fiery rocks. Of course the wildly spinning tail end of a Buick that just passed through me while I was pondering my dream-state brought the truth of it to the forefront.

“Holy shit! Is that the Earth?”

I was dreaming about the destruction of the Earth? I felt a little let down to be honest. There have been enough bad sci-fi movies about aliens blowing up the Earth, or asteroids smashing it into a pulp to fill a library. But to actually see it was breathtaking. Everything we know, everything we are as a people, obliterated in flame. Wonder was replaced by fear that welled up in my stomach and settled there like an angry little shrike poised impale my hope. This had to be a dream. This had to be, because I ‘m floating here in the vacuum of space and a piece of a damned Buick just sailed through me.

The worst part was that I couldn’t force myself awake either.

Second Publication Announcement

A story I wrote at the end of last year called “Regrets” will appear in an upcoming issue of EFiction in their ESciFi magazine. I’m grateful for another opportunity to appear in print and as soon as I know, I’ll post the issue that my story will appear in. “Regrets” is a futuristic story about the moral implications a son faces about letting his father use a device called the ‘Crown of Selective Memory,’ a device that can erase one memory from somebody’s mind, once in their life. I really like the science fiction genre, but I’ve always been apprehensive about writing for it. I was always worried that it would be over-analyzed for scientific validity rather than being a good story.

Over the next week, I’ll be adding the Faerie Tale/Fable stories to the ‘Stories’ section of the site. I’ve also elected to disable the ‘Like’ feature on the site, regardless how much traffic it may cost me. I want people to leave comments and give me feedback on stories, not leave a link to their own blog and nothing else. This is a blog about writing and even if I can’t get worthwhile feedback from it, it still serves as a place to exercise my creativity.

Till next week!

The Little Boy and the Shadow — Part II

 THE LITTLE BOY AND THE SHADOW

PART II

By T.A. Saunders

The little boy wasn’t sure what to make of his new spectral protector but the prospect of never having his father yell and beat him again took away much of what made the Shadow scary. Despite the sinister manner in which the Shadow spoke, his father, when angry was much, much more terrifying. He knew when his face turned red and the vein on his forehead bulged, that he was going to be struck soon. Every night there was always something wrong; toys were somehow not where he wanted them, the bed was not made exactly so or the little boy hadn’t eaten every scrap of food on his plate. There was always a reason to be hit and made to feel worthless.

Tonight, that was all going to end.

The little boy did his very best to make sure everything was as it should be, as to not risk his father’s wrath yet again. His bed was made, his toys were picked up and all his homework was done. He even forced himself to eat brussel sprouts which he didn’t like at all, just to make sure his father’s ire was not raised. He thought that if he was very good, the Shadow would have an easier time convincing his father that yelling at him and hitting him wasn’t right.

But there was always something not right. Right before bed, his father discovered the little boy’s sneakers, the right of which had gotten a tear in them from playing in the woods near their home. Having spent good money on those sneakers, his father came into the little boy’s room, with the angry red face and the bulging vein on his forehead. He yelled and stuck the little boy with such ferocity, he was forced to curl into a tiny ball to protect his face and his torso from the onslaught of blows.

When it was done, his father muttered some very bad words, shut off the lights and slammed the door behind him. Alone in the dark, the little boy wept. Hugging his Pooh Bear tightly, the little boy’s sobbing echoed in the otherwise quiet room. When his tears went dry the little boy had noticed just how silent his room was. When he lifted his head from his head, he found the Shadow standing at the foot of his bed, motionless and in defiant existence of the moonlight that poured through his window. It was as if the light feared to touch his spectral protector.

“I have come.” It said in grim in its usual grim tone. “It is time. Do you wish to see?”

“N-No,” the little boy stammered with just the prospect of it. “I better stay here.”

There was no acknowledgment from the umbrous creature other than movement. It was very strange to the little boy that in a room with moonlight and shadows of its own, the Shadow seemed to be somehow darker, yet just as insubstantial as the surrounding darkness of the room. As he watched it simply pass through his door as a drop of rain passes into a pond. The shadows rippled briefly and it was gone. The unsettling silence that followed left the little boy wondering if his spectral protector had simply left or found itself afraid of his father too. It made his heart sink with the thought that his hopes had been dashed and fierce punishments would continue.

The screams that erupted on the other side of the house told quite a different tale.

The little boy had never heard his father sound like that before. The shrieks and the gurgling sounds were the worst however and prompted the little boy to hide under his bed covers, for all the good it did to block out the awful, pitiful sounds his father was making. The abrupt silence that followed was more disturbing however. The quiet that followed the wails of agony clawed at the little boy’s fears and compelled him to peek out from under the covers. As before, the shadowy protector was lurking in complete stillness at the foot of his bed.

“It is done.” It said with no hint of pleasure or satisfaction.

“Is he…” The little boy asked, but could not bring himself to complete the whole sentence.

“He was executed for his crimes upon you.”

“But I didn’t want him to die!” The little boy howled. “I wanted him to be nice!”

“Your wished punishment. Punishment has been delivered.”

It was true. The little boy had felt so angry in his heart that the desire to have his father punished was incredibly intense. But death? He wasn’t expecting his shadowy protector to murder his father. He couldn’t even bear the thought of going into his father’s room to see the corpse. Just hearing the screams would haunt him for the rest of his many days.

“I…guess I’ll have to go live with mommy now. They got divorced last year. I better call 911.”

“There is another matter.” The Shadow stated while moving alongside the bed.

“W-what?”

“Your father’s last wish. He wanted you to grow up to be a good boy.”

His father hadn’t wished revenge, or more punishment for him. He just wanted him to be good. That was all. The little boy always tried to be good, even if he was forgetful or careless at times. His response was a rapid nod of agreement.

“I’ll be good. I promise!”

“Yes, you will. I will make sure that you are good.” The Shadow stated while looming over the little boy’s bed.

And for all his days, the little boy did everything he was supposed to. He ate all his dinner, he cleaned his room and obeyed everything his mother said, except for one little thing that followed him into his adulthood and into the twilight of his final years.

He always slept with a night light on.

END