Path of the Vampire forum

(OOC: This story is out of time sequence as he is remembering things from his past and coming into the present)





Each deep crease in the paper was a like a cut into his soul, as it spread out before him on his countertop. It was the reminder of the disappointment that he was to his father. He had tried to smooth it out from where it had been crumpled up and thrown into his face. He could still remember the look on his father’s face when he read the program and saw his son’s name written in as the leading role. His face had turned red and the vein in his neck looked as though it was going to burst.

“No son of mine is going to be some tight wearing pansy!”

“Father I am no pansy.” Beck did his best to not show the pain that he was feeling as his father continued to push the same propaganda on him since the first day he had shown interest in the arts.

“Well then why in the hell are you doing this Beck? You know. I am glad your mother is dead. I would hate for her to know that she bore me a weak and womanly son!”

“I am glad mom is dead because she no longer has to live under a tyrant such as you!” Instantly Beck stepped back, knowing that the sting of his words was going to be returned to him through the blow of his father’s fist. Just as if he had rehearsed it on the stage, the swing came and Beck moved quickly enough for him to not only miss the hit but it threw his father off balance and caused him to stumble. The look in his eyes was what Beck would have imagined one would give to someone that they had pure hatred for. Had it really come to all that? Did his father truly hate him? Beck took a couple of more steps back and reached for the counter behind him. The look did more damage than a hit ever could.

“You are going to tell them that you can’t do it.” He said with the coldness of a glacier.

“It is everything that I ever worked for…” There it was, the pleading. Now he was truly the pansy that his father had professed him to be. Anything else he said after that was going to be construed as being whiny and pathetic. Why couldn’t he just tell him to **** off and that he was going to do what he wanted to do?

Stepping up to the door that had always been his home, he noticed a small package with his name hand written on it's brown paper. Beck leaned down and picked it up. It was light in weight and after having had shaken it, he could tell that there was something inside, rattling around in the box. There couldn't be much to it, since the contents could move freely. Deciding that he would open it once inside, he pushed his key into the lock. It wouldn't go in all the way. Confused, Beck pushed it in again, this time with a wiggle. Still, it would not go all the way. "What the hell?" Beck pulled his key out and then looked at it. His hazel eyes now peered into the lock. Standing back up to his full length, he knocked on the door. No one answered.

Sitting in his car, he stared at the package. He could recognize now that it was in his father's hand. A knot developed at that moment in his throat and he slowly began to open it. His hands shook and he was as careful with the opening as one would have been had it been a bomb. Once the paper was off, he began pulling on the edges of the box. It was open and he held his breath as he looked down inside of it. A single key and an envelope stared at him.