Convincing Shae Harbor

Convincing Shae Harbor: Chapter 18

I think that I just hit the jackpot with this story line. However, the Bible says that you cannot slave for both God and for riches. My dad showers, every Sunday, and dresses up for church.

My dad is a hardcore Catholic. He believes in a godly personification of the Holy Spirit. He believes that the three of us are one: the two of us and the simple love that we have for women. 

Now, when such love becomes flesh, we don't need that many people touching us. At least, not in this world which coexists with the old serpent, Bobby Rudolph. 

There's a new religion that I summed up in opposition to my dad's old spell book. My stepfather, Bob Rudolph, and I make up these morals ourselves. The two of us have a different speculation of a Trinity that the others reject: Bob, I, and this distant love that we both have for Shae Harbor, kept in silence.

Bang! Bang!

I have taken the place of Kyle Carver, at last!

Sewn holes in my dad's pockets are a weakness of mine. Paper money is everything that I need to advance forward, but this man keeps boarding my ship, claiming to own it. 

"Are you coming with me?" my dad asked me. 

This crusader is putting on his tie for an hour or two, but he's not working. Perhaps, I should crack his back open and check out his spine. It may have gotten far worse. 

"No thank you." I said to him, furious at my own creation. 

My dad is fifty-four years old, my mother is forty-three. The hair on my dad's head is slightly fading which I think worries him a lot. Sometimes, I wonder what it feels like to be that old, but other times, I get so pissed off at each and every one of these fucking grown ups. 

Someday, Shae Harbor is bound to move far away from this little town of Snowridge, and I plan on having her beside me. The two of us will find a beautiful house in the southern half of the country, where all of the city folks love baseball instead of hockey.

The baseball glove that I buy for her will sit on a dusty shelf, close to mine. The two of us will pass a trashcan, back and forth, whenever this old man of mine gets the nerve to send us something religious in the mail. 

"Come to church with me." he kept on demanding. "My friend, Mark Sexton, is having a ceremony for his wife. I think he'll pass out invitations, today, in the church pews." 

"I don't know who that is," I said to him. "So, I'm staying home."

"And no, I'm not going to the funeral, either."

"Come on, Walter," he led me on, wisely. "You need to thank God for giving us a life to live. Each and every day, he looks over us to watch us, closely. He knows both of us, but the mercy that he gives to us is not everlasting if we do not worship him with a full heart."

I keep on commanding myself to know for a fact that my dad is on a drug for his back. His brain is swung from side to side by a cold, rusty chain, and it coils for this cause of absolutely nothing. There is nowhere to go after high school, and my father won't have a son if he continues on with this, any longer.

"Please, don't ask me, again." I was begging.

"You have to know the one who made us," he piled up answers for me. "God is giving us the chance to worship him with righteousness. That's the only way to enter into heaven. Think about it, Walter. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Bang!

His thoughts are gushing out of his head, already. Empty and hollowed out, I see a skull by the altar for those fishers to leave tips. My dad is so meek that he'll accept quite about anything that you give to him. Although, my dad won't accept any money.

He used to be an all-star basketball player in high school. Every night, he would dribble the ball in my grandparents' basement, but he always had the lights off. It's more of a mind game, so my dad is always thinking ahead.

There was another kid, who he played basketball with and passed the ball to every game, Jimmy Ferris. My dad would always steal the ball from the other team, and then chuck the ball to Jimmy for a lay-up. 

Practicing within darkness is my dad's best theory. According to him, it was hard to dribble the ball in between his legs, at first, after his hands were missing. Eventually, the dark shroud of the basement equipped to him, and it made this handshake with the devil even lighter.

Determination to give up eventually entered into him. His three-point shots began to fade away after his high school graduation. Jimmy Ferris went on to play for the Barren College Drummers, but he never made it to the pros without my dad. 

Bang!

Somebody else is stealing my crown, but my dad won't let them have it. It's a crown of hatred for the man who birthed you. Belittling the love that you once had, it latches on before sucking your brains like a shot of cheap liquor. 

I'll never give up as my dad has always wanted me to. Only a virgin becomes an angel, according to the words of my father, but then again, my dad is man of the earth. You never trust a lesser authority because that's how you falter and crash.

Sort of similar to sourly sweet lemonade that burdens a battle scar, his piss is fermenting within me. I never needed his blood or his flesh to clothe me for I am that angel, and I am ready for the gift of life.

Write all of this down.

"Shae Harbor is a priestess of another world."