By Julia Skinner
Royal walked through the granite street of Beryl City thinking of how he would kill his father. Elegant buildings towered on each side of the wide road, testaments of just how full of life this city was compared to the middle-of-nowhere hole he grew up in. Every few houses, his father’s flag flew, purple banners flapping in the wind.
He glanced back as he reached Lord Berilo’s palace. Den, the grizzled old man who had rescued him as a child from his abusive father, followed. He hunched his broad shoulders, scowling at everything in sight.
I ain’t gonna let you go alone, Den had said. Even though it meant facing Royal’s monster of a father.
He fingered the hard lump of the stolen pistol in his jacket pocket. “Hey, Den. When you were younger, who did you want to be like when you grew up?”
“I didn’t think I’d live long enough to grow up.” He grunted. “You?”
“Haven’t decided yet.”
Murderer, his mind hissed. You are going to be a murderer.
Clenching his jaw, Royal ran up the palace steps two at a time. Sure, the bruises had all healed from his skin, but they’d changed something inside. And that hadn’t healed. It felt like it burned deeper and deeper every day, sometimes pummeling his chest until he struggled for breath.
As two guards escorted them into the great hall, a servant rushed out of a side door. He was clothed in robes the deep purple of bruises. He stared at the ground. “Lord Berilo will see you now, just down the hall and to the right. But, just his son.”
Royal nodded and turned toward the looming hallway.
“Roy!” Den yelled.
Royal jumped, green wisps sparking around his fingers by reflex. Den limped forward and shoved a folded piece of paper into his hands. “Just… read that sometime.” He cleared his throat and looked away.
When Royal reached the end of the hall, he stopped. A sudden dizziness whirled around him. Leaning against the wall, he waited for his fluttering heart to settle. What was wrong with him? He’d dreamed of this moment for years! Taking a slow breath, he smoothed out the note.
Uneven odds. It read in Den’s clumsy scrawl. That’s what we are, kid. I was supposed to die in those gangs. Your daddy would yell at me, y’know? Go out and find me and drag me home every time. Tell me I was better than that.
I didn’t believe ’im.
I watched him cry as he talked about your mother.
And now, I guess we just got each other.
By all odds, boy, we shouldn’t end up right.
But one thing I promise ya?
You’re worth so much more. Don’t matter where you come from or what was done to ya. You can be better.
Don’t let the darkness fill you up. Let it bring out your light.
– Den
It was dated eleven years ago. The day Den had kicked down his dad’s apartment door and carried him away.
I ain’t gonna let you go alone.
Royal’s hand trembled as he stared at the yellow note. He slid to the floor, knees pressed against his aching chest. “I can’t…” he whispered. “I’m not better.”
He could feel the bruises and scars, like phantom chains, binding him to his past. Pinning him to the darkness.
You can be better.
You’re worth so much more.
And in the darkness of Royal’s memories stood Den. His strong arms holding Royal close as he carried him away from his living nightmare. The small smirk that peeked through every rough mutter.
How many times have I thrown myself to the wolves, only to have Den grab me by my scruff and haul me out?
Black boots clicked toward him, and he jerked up. Lord Berilo’s purple cape fluttered behind him. “Are you going to keep sniveling on the ground, or are you coming to learn to be useful?” He strode past.
Eleven years gone, and that’s the first thing the man says to him? Royal’s hand crept to the pistol. That voice brought back storms of terror and pain.
“How could you…?” he whispered, although it came out as more of a hiss than a real question.
Berilo froze in the middle of the hall and whirled around. “How could I what?”
Royal clutched the pistol. The cold metal burned into his trembling hand. “Hurt me.”
Berilo snorted. “Hurt you? Do I need a reason, boy? Get up and stop wasting my time.”
Just one shot. One little pull of the trigger, that’s all it would take. He shoved himself to his feet and met the tyrant’s eyes.
I watched him cry as he talked about your mother. Royal could almost hear Den’s voice.
Now his dad’s eyes were so empty, so hard.
Don’t let the darkness fill you up. Let it bring out your light.
“I hate you,” Royal whispered.
“Good.”
Clenching his jaw, Royal let the pistol slip back into his pocket. “But…” His voice wobbled, the invisible chains around his heart tightening as he ground the words out. “But I… forgive you.”
Something flickered across his father’s face, wrenching loose his snarl. Royal held his gaze a moment more before walking away.
He found Den sitting on the floor where he’d left him, head resting in his tattooed hands.
“Den?”
The man looked up, and then, eyes wide, scrambled to his feet. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Royal said and smiled. “I’ve just decided who I want to be when I get older.”
Den’s shoulders stiffened. “Oh… an’ who’s that?”
“My father.” Royal pressed the note into Den’s hand. “My real Father.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Roy has a compelling character arc in a very short story. Well done!
wow, i get it!!
Powerful story. Well done!
Den obviously did a good job of raising Roy. Maybe the biological dad will realize that one day?
Aah! These two again!! Love ’em! *hug*
Well done! I’m all warm and fuzzy inside now. A great intro that made me curious and wonder what would happen.
*sniffles* I love how powerful an influence Den has had on Roy. A beautiful story of the love of a father for his son! 💜
Oh wow so much emotion in this story! I really like how you handled the resolution :) very beautiful.
Gahhh! Very cool. Love its continuation of the “Father” story.