"Semi-Short Stories" [ Story Collection ]

Father Issues [] 1/11 []

"A boyfriend is nice and all, but you really need to get yourself a lady."

Matthew regrets his decision already. He didn't really need to visit his father, did he? Samson had texted to inform him that he'd discovered some toys that may belong to Matt's dog Clementine. He didn't think the visit would do any harm. He's doing great on his medication, after all -  what's there to worry about, really?

Besides.

Some part of him wanted to go. To see his Father.

"How about your friend? Max? Can they bear children?"

Matthew is watching Samson run a brush through his long, golden hair. The ends of his hair glint red, but it could just be a trick of the light. Nearly every light in the house has been fixed to cast an odd, red glow.

"Why do you want me to have children? I'm not even eighteen yet." He's dodging the question. It's none of his business.

"Because it is now your calling. Your fate. Destiny. Whatever you prefer."

"Says who?"

Samson places the brush onto his dresser with delicate yet menacing movements. He smiles and his hands pull apart in a gesture. "Him. Your Lord. Our Lord."

"Right." Matthew nods, running a hand through his short hair, which matches the color of his father's. He doesn't want to argue. He wants to leave. "You said you found some of Clementine's toys."

"That's what I said."

Matthew bites back a sigh. "But it isn't what you meant."

"I had no other way of getting you over here, save for kidnap, which," he makes eye contact, "is well within the realm of possibility."

"Is that a threat? Father, are you threatening me?"

The silence between them is cold.

"Because I will-"

Samson cuts him off. "You'll...what? Go to the police? I'll have you know, my dear boy, the Chief of police is in my bedroom at this very moment. What good will it do you to go to the authorities? Half of them are wrapped around my finger. Tightly. Besides..." he's begun to circle him like prey. "Even if you were to turn them against me, the investigation would do just as much harm to you. What do you think they'd say when they discover that you've been spending money that dear daddy stole?"

"I'd say that I didn't know—"

"Shh..." From behind, Samson rests his arms on Matthew's shoulders. "You knew."

"Not if I convince them that I didn't. You're the one who's been in an asylum. Who do you think they'd believe?" His mouth is dry. He's terrified. The weight on his shoulders decreases momentarily as Samson places his hands there instead. His fingers dig into his skin.

"I have my ways, Belial. Don't test me."

Matthew doesn't move. He isn't sure that he's breathing. "Yessir."

"Good boy." Samson pats his shoulder, stepping away to stand in front of him. Matthew thinks the silence is worse than conversation. So he speaks.

"Do you really sleep with so many people? Do you keep a list?"

"Oh, certainly not." His smile is proud and satisfied. "I keep a book."

Without much thought, Matthew blurts, "So you're a slut." He still doesn't move, but he wants to cover his mouth.

Samson gives a single nod. "Yes! And I've heard that it's genetic, so you'll have a child in no time."

"I don't...I don't want kids right now, Father."

"You need one. It's necessary."

"But I don't understand—"

"Because you're not good enough, Belial. You've already strayed too far. You should have been properly trained since birth, but alas...that simply wasn't the case." He's begun pacing, back and forth, back and forth. Matthew's eyes track him.

"Not good enough."

"Indeed. You were meant to be the antichrist, you know. But you're nearly an adult now and there's just not enough time to convert you." He stops in his tracks, turns to Matthew, and places his hands on his shoulders once again. "I know you don't believe. It saddens me. But there's still hope. Perhaps not for you...but for the antichrist. It's why you must have a child! You must!"

"Why not have another child? I'm sure you have several." His tone is like ice.

"Because what He says must be done. And what He's said is that you must be the child's father. Not me." Samson lets out a sigh. He looks upset. "I've already failed Him. But you...you have not."

"You said it yourself. I've strayed, so how am I meant to raise this hypothetical child the way they're meant to be raised?"

"You give the child to me, of course. I'll raise Them."

"You just said—"

"I know what I said. I can raise Them, but I do not get the honor of being Their Father."

"And why do I get the honor? Why me? I've strayed."

"It isn't about you...it's about me. You having the honor as the antichrist's Father is my punishment for having failed Him." Matthew looks on as Samson grows angry. The man slams his fist against the wall, shaking the picture frames. "Which should rightfully be my honor!" And he becomes quiet. He listens. Soon, he's ushering Matthew to the door. "You must leave now. He is angry with me. I must speak with Him, but alone."

"Glady. I'm gladly leaving. Have a nice conversation." Matthew slips from the reach of his father's hands and rushes down the stairs. He's never left a house so quickly.