A Twisted Fable of Life and Death, Creation and Destruction

Playing the role of a typical father, Brandon sat sprawled out on the luxurious leather sofa, a beer in one hand and the remote for the lavish 50" high-definition television in the other. The program was on a commercial break. Although there was nothing particularly interesting to watch, the over-sized screen somehow commanded Brandon's full attention. 

"Hey, we're back!" a young woman's voice called from the direction of the front door. It was Brandon's spouse, Emily, bringing their 4 year old son Victor home from preschool. 

Brandon nestled Victor under his right arm while taking a quick sip of the alcoholic drink. "How was school today, bud?" Brandon asked, messing up his first-born son's hair.

"We make clay-clay!" Victor squealed in delight, proudly showing his father the clay sculpture of his own creation. 

Brandon glanced over at the disproportionate, malformed clay figure and chuckled. The figure itself was horrendous, and looked as though someone had taped a penguin onto a beetle's back and then poured a vat of nuclear waste over the both of them. Nevertheless, Victor was only four. "You did a very good job, Victor," his father praised, "Now, off you go, daddy has work to do."

Victor ran off, placing his demented clay creation on the kitchen counter. "You call that work?" Emily giggled, her arms crossed.

"Well technically, work is equal to force times distance. Therefore, if I were to change the channel by walking six feet up to the TV and pressing the buttons instead of using the remote, I would be doing work, wouldn't I?"

Emily giggled, shaking her head. "I'll give you another thirty minutes, then you have to prepare for your presentation tomorrow, okay, honey?" she decided. 

Brandon groaned in disapproval after Emily walked upstairs. Brandon downed the last drops from the beer can. and placed the empty can down on the glass coffee table in front of him. 

"Kill me..."

Brandon gasped. Standing up from the sofa for the first time in an hour, he glanced in all directions, searching for the source of the mysterious sound. "Please... Kill me..."

Eventually, the father's gaze rested on the repulsive, 5" tall clay figure on the kitchen counter a few feet away. Horrified, Brandon took a few steps back, almost falling onto the coffee table. 

"Kill me now..."

The End

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