Birthright: A Phoenix is Born

Family Lies

Hello peps, feel free to critique. Like and praise comments appreciated.

Catch you in my stories,
GaisceKid.

John Mercer - One Week Later - Dublin Airport

Eyes flickered towards my wrist for the third that minute. I caught myself, distorted in the face of the timepiece.

"12.45 pm."

At least I look better than its last owner.

But even that remark rang untrue. Through the silver mirror of the Rolex Daytona, I noted heavy bags parked under my eyes. A slight spasm traversed my left thigh every so often. For an entire week, I've been like this. Sleep coming and going in fleeting of moments only to be interrupted by his chilling laugh.

I stood outside the airport's arrival gate. And almost, seemed to fit in. Dressed in a chequered grey suit and black derby shoes, I resembled any other businessman ready to board the next flight. First-class of course, travelling business or heaven forbid, Ryanair was beneath me.

Yet the stark differences kept creeping in. My almond-shaped eyes, light brows and warm-golden complexion. Bringing to mind a lesson Kerry taught me a long time ago. I didn't belong.

Transfixed in thought, an unruly discomfort tightened my back. After losing a good few scraps in my life, I grew a skill for noticing when watched. And though many people hated me. Only one did so with that level of intensity.

"All that staring will make you go cross-eyed." I shouted over the hussle and bussle, cranks of passing luggage carts, crying babies and whatever nonsense filled an airport on a day to day basis.

The herd around skirmished to separate themselves. I grinned, finally able to fold my arms, never taking my gaze off the swarms of travellers who exited the arrival gate.

"You sure love making a spectacle, don't you Seán?" Muttered a stout pale woman at my side, covered in a large auburn shawl with mosaic design, plain white sundress and modest school girl shoes. The yellow pencil looped around her hair was a trip down memory lane.

"I don't answer to that name, Aisling." The ice in my tone tangible, contracting my throat with an acute chill.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry John. It simply confuses me why you don't answer to the name your parents gave you." She added.

"You mean your parents."

"I mean our parents."

We both stared at the incoming groups of people. This close Aisling's aroma was potent. Wafts of early morning dew, clean country air and the slight tang of manure marked my nostril. The combination of scents transported me back to the farm on the far outskirts of Tralee. Saudade of simpler times bubbled to the surface. Emotions that I long thought of as dead and buried.

"I presume you didn't come here to lecture me, so why are you here Ash?"

"Your right, I'm not here for you. In fact, I came here to pick up your so called non-parents. They are returning from the trip to Paris."

I nodded.

"Ok fine." She exasperated. "The trip you paid for. We both know I could never afford it, considering the shite salary teachers are expected to live on."

"As long as Soarise and Peadar are enjoying themselves."

"Is that concern I hear? And you used my nickname. I fear the mighty John Mercer may be human after all."