Blood and Smoke

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[Saturday 12th July, 2:12am]      

'You don't understand, Coop.' He threw my arm off and stood, pacing the limits of the space like a caged circus lion hungry for freedom. 'That's not how he died.' The look was back in his eye, that combination of fear and anger that could turn any neighbourhood citizen into an unpredictable monster. His voice had grown louder, begging to be heard, understood, and I was trying my best. Dear God, I was trying.

'But... you said—'

'The lightning didn't kill him, Coop. Although I wish it had. He should've died then and there. The sound of the crashing, the intensity of that strike would be enough to take down a goddamn ox on steroids, but it didn't. In my hurry to find his body through the smoke I tripped over my uncoordinated feet and smacked my head on the floor – hard. My hands reached blindly out to find his presumed corpse and my fingers found nothing. No body, no clothing, no nothing. I couldn't understand. It was too much to process and my head throbbed from the force of what was sure to be some kind of concussion. Tears exploded from my face as I screamed and screamed for father, for mother, for someone to help me. Eventually he came. A sharp tug on the back of my collar lifted me clean off the ground, and as he spun me to face him I froze.

'For it was my father, in most respects. He was wearing the same blue jumpsuit smothered in grease stains and frays (and an additional few scorch marks), he had his heavy-set ankle boots with the hardened toe-caps, and thick gloves. Though it wasn't him, all the same. He was... smoking. Not from any kinda cig between his teeth, but from his toes to his head a light grey vapour leaked into the atmosphere as though he was burning from the inside. And as I looked into his eyes it was confirmed, for staring straight at me I could see the familiar features of his face, emitting unfamiliar depths of fire. Where his crystal blues used to stand a blackness swallowed the space, filling even the whites of his eyes. Within the abyss a fire gently flickered. On another occasion I might've said this was comforting, reminding me of the old log fire we'd sit around in winter, were it not accompanied by the emptiness of his gaze, and that grin that I only ever used to get a peek at late at night when Father used it on Mother after he'd been drinking and she wasn't in the mood. Protruding from his lips his tongue danced, allowing a denser cloud of smoke to fog his face. He was tasting the air. I wasn't sure what for.

'I'd lash and shake and wriggle, attempting to free myself from the iron grip on my neck, noticing then how cold his fingers were to the touch, before resigning myself to his capture. He'd wait until the moment I'd given up before he spoke, in a tone unlike his own, spewing forth from barbecued lips.

'"Hold still, son. Let Daddy get a good look at you." He pulled me closer to his face and I could feel the pressure intensify from the heat as the smell of charred flesh invaded my nostrils. His nails dug into the back of my neck, piercing the skin and I felt the warm blood trail down my spine. "You've been a naughty boy, haven't you?"

'I'd shake my head. I'd always been a good kid, a mummy's boy for the most part.

'"Lies!" He'd scream at me before throwing me to the floor, advancing with slow, deliberate steps. I'd kick my legs to push backwards as quickly as I could, slipping occasionally on the grease-stained floor, stopping only once the cold metal of the workshop walls met my back and blocked my escape.

'My younger self would scream at the fiery figure as he approached with that hungry look in his eye. I'd feel my throat restrict as my voice grew harsher as the smoke found its way inside me, denying my lungs of oxygen. I'd wonder where Mother was as my vision would start to blur and I'd become light-headed, watching the ashy silhouette of my father expand and grow until all I knew was darkness.

'I never know how long I go out for, or what truly happened after that. But I would awake to the gentle voice of my mother shaking my shoulder as she tried to fight back tears. Behind her the Sheriff would stand next to the figure of my father, hunched over his knees, no longer accompanied by the thick trail of smoke and looking as dazed and confused as can be.

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