The Façade of Quad in Nimrod ✓ | Satire, family drama, dark society

I

In the country of Lwendolen lay the once grand city of Nimrod that was the birthplace of King Knimrod II, but only the deteriorating lip-gumming old folk remembered the truly grand days. 

Today, egotistical rich men and painted ladies were the upper crust, the cream of society, and a true snob mob that sat atop their imaginary thrones. Below them lurked the designated poor and, further down, those unofficially classified as Failures crawled at the feet of everyone. These Failures were at most from the middle class but never the upper class.

It was fine if such Failures learned—somehow—to stand up on their own two feet like a newborn colt standing on wobbling legs, but not always was the case. Such deadbeat, incompetent, good-for-nothings—as the rest of society saw them—often ended up in a strange old city commonly referred to, by both Nimrod citizens and the denizens that resided in this god-forbidden place, as Mourning.

No one, absolutely no one, wanted to wake up to find themselves in Mourning which was rumored to house cannibalistic beings. 

So, beyond the Gwen Forest, through the abysmal trees that lost its leaves before the end of summer, Mourning residents kept to themselves and the rest of society averted their eyes. As to this day, no one from the top of the hierarchical pyramid ever ventured to this part of Lwendolen.

As to this day.

A man of twenty, lumbered on towards the Gwen Forest as he had nowhere else to go. He wasn't trying to get to Mourning and all Mourning residents will tell the same story; no one ever tries to get to Mourning, they just all end up there because life has now found them at the grave of the hierarchical pyramid.

Our story begins four days ago at the grandest mansion in Nimrod City—the Quad mansion, home to the Quads, a family of the upper crust and cream. It was a dark, Thursday evening just before the chill of winter set in. 

Mordecai Quad, the king of his own house, stood at the top of the stairs looking down onto the living room where the entrance door could be seen. He had heard the door open and close quietly and had come out of his study. 

Mordecai had just been fuming about the fact that his trading company was being threatened yet again by a rival that he thought he shut up last week and was not in the mood for anything else.

"Henry!" he bellowed and switched on the lights. There froze his son dressed in party attire and wearing a masquerade mask on his head. Mordecai huffed his stomach out in annoyance to see that his good-for-nothing son had once again been out playing instead of looking for a job.

Henry just stood there, frozen, unable to move out of shock from being discovered although it was inevitable with all the noise his shoes were making. 

There was nothing more intimidating to Henry than the sight of his father. Mordecai was a big man with a belly, but not morbidly obese. A thick mustache adorned his face which he combed every morning that at the end of the day lay flat as if someone had stuck fur on his lip. His mustache twitched as he glared down at his son thinking how pathetic of a boy he was. 

Mordecai could not understand why his son broke every rule while knowing there were painful, unavoidable consequences.

"Henry, get up here," Mordecai yelled, his throat still sore from yelling all yesterday in an angry outburst when Henry came to ask for more money for food. With hunched shoulders Henry sauntered upstairs. Then he obediently knelt on the floor in his father's study knowing what was expected of him.

Mordecai grimaced at the sight of his son. That pimple-ridden face, those tired little eyes, and that mouth that always hooked up in a little half-smile, disturbed him. Mordecai glowered.