An elderly man lies in a warm hospital bed. An IV steadily pumps fluids into his arm as a constant beeping rings throughout his room. Muffled footsteps and voices attempt to speak to him through a closed door. He closes his eyes and allows a reassuring smile to rest comfortably on his face. The door swings wide open as children speed toward his bed. A man and a woman, walking hand in hand comfortably, trail behind them. The children jump into the bed of the man, waking him up and happily embracing them.
“Hey, you two!” he says with glee. The children giggle as he holds them.
“How’s it goin’, pop?” the man asks as he approaches his father’s bed.
“I’m hangin’ in there, kid. How’s everything with you two?”
“We’re just fine,” the man says as the woman to his side nods. “Been goin’ to church every Sunday and teaching the little ones the good word of the Lord.”
“As you should, kiddo! Real proud of ya’!” the old man says as he releases the children from his loving hold. “How’s your older brother?”
“Which one?” the man asks through a chuckle.
“You know which one, boy!” the old man says after laughing.
“Last I heard, he was moving around somewhere.”
“What about your sisters?”
“They’re both busy with work. They wished you a speedy recovery, though.”
“I’ll be out of ‘ere soon. I’ll come visit ‘em; give ‘em a good surprise!” he says through a laugh.
All of the adults begin to laugh, and the children join them. The laughter slowly fades; the old man laughs a little longer than the others, trying to keep the feeling alive as long as possible.
“What about your other brother?...” the old man asked hesitantly. An uncomfortable silence crept into the room. Uneasiness grasps the man by the throat as he searches his mind for an answer. Free from containment, the words leap from his mouth.
“He’s…about the same since he moved.”
“Shame…” the old man said as he sighed; the same uneasiness encroached on him. He feels his face before saying, “You think he’ll come visit me?”
“I pray he won’t,” the man says as he turns to leave.
“Ya’ll gone?”
“Yeah, sorry. I’ve got somethin’ to take care of. I’ll see you later, Dad.”
“See you, kid,” the old man says as the children hug him one last time. The family waves and leaves through the door. As the door comes to a close, an odd sense overcomes the man. As he dwells on his feelings, the door creeps open. His head quickly turns to face the swing of the opening door. A man, dressed in all black, steps into the room. He eyes the man with cold, dead eyes and takes heavy steps toward him. He wears a trimmed mustache, and an impressive mane flows down his back—both as black as his clothing. His face denies any emotion from being expressed. The old man nearly turns away at the sight of him as fear engulfs his being; he wills his body to remain as it is.
“Hey, kid,” he says in a low and harsh tone. “How ya been?”
The man gives no response.
“Look,” the old man rises in his bed, placing his back against a backrest. “I’m happy you came to visit. I’m a little happy you didn’t bring him.”
The dark man takes heavier steps toward the old man and comes to a stop once he is looming over him, his eyes casting an uncaring shadow over him.
“The hell do you think you’re doin’? You think because I get a little old, I still can’t whoop ya’ ass?!”
The dark man does not respond. His eyes begin to inferiorate the man.
“You tryna scare me or somethin’? This ain’t funny, kid.” The old man says as he narrows his eyes at the dark man’s. “What, because I mentioned your little friend?”
The dark man does not respond. The old man slumps back into his bed, shamefully averting his gaze. He forces his eyes to stare at the wall ahead of his bed; the threat of the dark man’s eyes still dominates the room.
“The hell do you want, boy?” the old man says scornfully. The dark man slowly leans toward his father and whispers, “To watch you die.” His voice is harsh and cold. The old man’s eyes widen as he hears the man’s words. His head slowly turns his head to face the dark man; the dark man lingers dangerously close to the old man’s face. Rage engulfs his body, but he miraculously manages to contain his anger. He balls his wrinkled fist and grits his teeth. The dark man slowly rises and returns to his original position, in which he gazes upon the old man.
“Why?” the old man asks through his gritted teeth. The dark man does not respond. Shadows engulf his face, masking his features—except for his eyes, which seem to almost glow as they stare down at the old man.
“Why?!” the old man asks again, accidentally allowing some of his rage to escape in his tone. The shift of attitude does not affect the dark man in any meaningful way.
“Well, I’m not dyin’ any time soon. So, you can beat it.” The dark man does not respond. The old man returns his sight to the safety of the wall in front of him.
“You ran away from home once. You remember that?” the old man says as he crosses his arms. “I was worried sick. A year before that, you went to that hospital—because you said you wanted to kill me. Remember that too? Remember when I caught you and your little friend? Remember all the BULLSHIT you pulled ‘round MY house?!?!?” the old man erupts. The dark man does not respond, but his father’s yelling echoes throughout his body. The old man remembers yelling at the dark man when he was younger, more excited about everything. He remembers the punishments he gave him. He remembers his son’s look after explaining to him the values of his family. He remembers how the years eroded his son’s bright smile. He remembers the impenitence in his son’s face as he moved out of the family’s home. He shakes his head and turns away from the dark man.
“You still feel the same way?” the old man asks solemnly. The dark man does not respond. His shadow looms over the old man, forcing his body to become dangerously cold, while the room stays at its normal temperature.
“Please, go away, son,” the old man pleads, weakness infecting his voice. He coughs as the beeping he had forgotten about when his other son came in seems to accelerate.
“I’m sorry…I wasn’t the best for you,” he turns over to face his son, tears welling up in his eyes “but…I tried, didn’t I? I just thought—I wanted you to live righteously! I wanted you to live well. I wanted…the best for you…maybe I never…considered what you—” the old man coughs violently, hacking up blood and mucus. He scoffs, then chuckles.
“Maybe…I change that…will that help, kid?” the old man says as he falls into his bed. The room goes cold as the beeping slows. The dark man’s eyes narrow as the old man’s face contorts into looks of confusion, frustration, and disappointment. The beeping echoes slowly through the room as the old man closes his eyes and fixes his face with strained, furrowed brows. He closes his mouth as the dark man closes his eyes. The beeping stops as the dark man lifts his head and enjoys the sound. The room is engulfed in darkness as the sun sets.
“Hey, you two!” he says with glee. The children giggle as he holds them.
“How’s it goin’, pop?” the man asks as he approaches his father’s bed.
“I’m hangin’ in there, kid. How’s everything with you two?”
“We’re just fine,” the man says as the woman to his side nods. “Been goin’ to church every Sunday and teaching the little ones the good word of the Lord.”
“As you should, kiddo! Real proud of ya’!” the old man says as he releases the children from his loving hold. “How’s your older brother?”
“Which one?” the man asks through a chuckle.
“You know which one, boy!” the old man says after laughing.
“Last I heard, he was moving around somewhere.”
“What about your sisters?”
“They’re both busy with work. They wished you a speedy recovery, though.”
“I’ll be out of ‘ere soon. I’ll come visit ‘em; give ‘em a good surprise!” he says through a laugh.
All of the adults begin to laugh, and the children join them. The laughter slowly fades; the old man laughs a little longer than the others, trying to keep the feeling alive as long as possible.
“What about your other brother?...” the old man asked hesitantly. An uncomfortable silence crept into the room. Uneasiness grasps the man by the throat as he searches his mind for an answer. Free from containment, the words leap from his mouth.
“He’s…about the same since he moved.”
“Shame…” the old man said as he sighed; the same uneasiness encroached on him. He feels his face before saying, “You think he’ll come visit me?”
“I pray he won’t,” the man says as he turns to leave.
“Ya’ll gone?”
“Yeah, sorry. I’ve got somethin’ to take care of. I’ll see you later, Dad.”
“See you, kid,” the old man says as the children hug him one last time. The family waves and leaves through the door. As the door comes to a close, an odd sense overcomes the man. As he dwells on his feelings, the door creeps open. His head quickly turns to face the swing of the opening door. A man, dressed in all black, steps into the room. He eyes the man with cold, dead eyes and takes heavy steps toward him. He wears a trimmed mustache, and an impressive mane flows down his back—both as black as his clothing. His face denies any emotion from being expressed. The old man nearly turns away at the sight of him as fear engulfs his being; he wills his body to remain as it is.
“Hey, kid,” he says in a low and harsh tone. “How ya been?”
The man gives no response.
“Look,” the old man rises in his bed, placing his back against a backrest. “I’m happy you came to visit. I’m a little happy you didn’t bring him.”
The dark man takes heavier steps toward the old man and comes to a stop once he is looming over him, his eyes casting an uncaring shadow over him.
“The hell do you think you’re doin’? You think because I get a little old, I still can’t whoop ya’ ass?!”
The dark man does not respond. His eyes begin to inferiorate the man.
“You tryna scare me or somethin’? This ain’t funny, kid.” The old man says as he narrows his eyes at the dark man’s. “What, because I mentioned your little friend?”
The dark man does not respond. The old man slumps back into his bed, shamefully averting his gaze. He forces his eyes to stare at the wall ahead of his bed; the threat of the dark man’s eyes still dominates the room.
“The hell do you want, boy?” the old man says scornfully. The dark man slowly leans toward his father and whispers, “To watch you die.” His voice is harsh and cold. The old man’s eyes widen as he hears the man’s words. His head slowly turns his head to face the dark man; the dark man lingers dangerously close to the old man’s face. Rage engulfs his body, but he miraculously manages to contain his anger. He balls his wrinkled fist and grits his teeth. The dark man slowly rises and returns to his original position, in which he gazes upon the old man.
“Why?” the old man asks through his gritted teeth. The dark man does not respond. Shadows engulf his face, masking his features—except for his eyes, which seem to almost glow as they stare down at the old man.
“Why?!” the old man asks again, accidentally allowing some of his rage to escape in his tone. The shift of attitude does not affect the dark man in any meaningful way.
“Well, I’m not dyin’ any time soon. So, you can beat it.” The dark man does not respond. The old man returns his sight to the safety of the wall in front of him.
“You ran away from home once. You remember that?” the old man says as he crosses his arms. “I was worried sick. A year before that, you went to that hospital—because you said you wanted to kill me. Remember that too? Remember when I caught you and your little friend? Remember all the BULLSHIT you pulled ‘round MY house?!?!?” the old man erupts. The dark man does not respond, but his father’s yelling echoes throughout his body. The old man remembers yelling at the dark man when he was younger, more excited about everything. He remembers the punishments he gave him. He remembers his son’s look after explaining to him the values of his family. He remembers how the years eroded his son’s bright smile. He remembers the impenitence in his son’s face as he moved out of the family’s home. He shakes his head and turns away from the dark man.
“You still feel the same way?” the old man asks solemnly. The dark man does not respond. His shadow looms over the old man, forcing his body to become dangerously cold, while the room stays at its normal temperature.
“Please, go away, son,” the old man pleads, weakness infecting his voice. He coughs as the beeping he had forgotten about when his other son came in seems to accelerate.
“I’m sorry…I wasn’t the best for you,” he turns over to face his son, tears welling up in his eyes “but…I tried, didn’t I? I just thought—I wanted you to live righteously! I wanted you to live well. I wanted…the best for you…maybe I never…considered what you—” the old man coughs violently, hacking up blood and mucus. He scoffs, then chuckles.
“Maybe…I change that…will that help, kid?” the old man says as he falls into his bed. The room goes cold as the beeping slows. The dark man’s eyes narrow as the old man’s face contorts into looks of confusion, frustration, and disappointment. The beeping echoes slowly through the room as the old man closes his eyes and fixes his face with strained, furrowed brows. He closes his mouth as the dark man closes his eyes. The beeping stops as the dark man lifts his head and enjoys the sound. The room is engulfed in darkness as the sun sets.
