A Violent Encounter

    It wasn’t until two days before his first Christmas in the mansion that Finius ever saw his father become violent. It had been a particularly busy day: after discovering a family of rats gnawing on the ingredients for the Christmas roast he had been planning, he had had to chase them a whole block to make sure they wouldn’t return before buying all-new ingredients; he spent a good hour panicking after his grandpa didn’t come out for breakfast, only to find that the old man had mixed up his sleeping pills with his vitamins; and finally, he had to find a gift for his father.
    The choice was fairly obvious. For all the things his father wasn’t, punctual was one of them, as he never knew what time it was -- a simple solution? A watch. Sadly, however, he hadn’t been the only one to think of this for the holidays, and every shop he went to either had a hundred-dollar one or was sold out.
    His grandfather was an even larger mystery. He only left his room for dinner, and his tan antique suits were not much of an indicator of his personality. Finius was getting quite nervous, and he prayed fervently that his father or grandfather didn’t get him something wonderful -- he didn’t want to feel any worse than he already did.
    It was after a particularly long goose chase in his search to find a good present for either of the two that his father informed him that he would be bringing a friend of his over for dinner that evening. Extremely pleased to meet an acquaintance of his father’s for the first time, he prepared an especially lovely meal of arrabbiata bolognese with various pastas, a favorite of his.
    Sure enough, at mealtime his father entered the kitchen with a short muscle of a man with a shiny bald head, a gruff demeanor and who spoke little. Finius was nervous that he might have put the man off, so he loaded his plate with serving after serving, as if trying to appease some vengeful god.
    “And your name is... Mr. Bunsly, am I correct?” asked Finius finally, in his most polite voice.
    The man grunted confirmation.
    “And how long have you known my father?” He looked to his father for reassurance, but to his trepidation found him equally nervous.
    The man looked to him and back to his plate, as if trying to decide which to respond to, and evidently found that he favored the plate. He scarfed down the pasta like a hungry wolf on a carcass.
    This made the rest of the meal quite strained and nerve-wracking for Finius, and when the blessed end finally did arrive his father quickly escorted Mr. Bunsly from the kitchen. However, Finius had but a moment to relax in his seat; his father had begun shouting in the entry room.
    He opened the kitchen door but a peep, but hadn’t time to hear the shouts exchanged before his father had bashed the man upside the head with an impressively strong punch. Holding his bleeding face and shaking and sweating profusely, the man had evidently admitted defeat, and was quickly ushered outside.
    Finius couldn’t put his finger on the reason for it, but he felt guilty -- and a little ashamed of his father.

The End

2 comments about this story Feed