Writing Assignment #1: The teacher showed us pictures of four men. The assignment was to craft a story where one or more of them die (not necessarily killed). And stories go where they will go. Let it be noted that I actually got along with my father (after I moved out).
Josh licked the blood off his knife. A metallic salty sensation filled his mouth and a sweet scent permeated his nose. After wiping the knife off on his pants, he drove it into his father’s chest, twisted and pulled it out slowly. Scraping off the bits of lung tissue, he licked the blade. Same tang. Blood from distinct parts of the body tasted the same. That was important.
In the kitchen, Josh used a dishcloth to clean his hands. He didn’t approve of paper towels. They’re wicked for the environment. His father never understood no matter how many times he told him to use the dish cloth. It’s so simple, why couldn’t he understand? Josh thought his father flaunted using paper towels to spite him. “You’re only 18, what the hell do you know?” Fuck him.
He slid the Yanagiba knife back in its black velvet case with the other Japanese cutlery. So many blades, each carefully designed to cut something specific. Did they expect him to use each one? Would the other knives be disappointed if he had a favorite? They were yelling at him. Josh needed to calm his mind. Refocus. Only five hours ago his father had him locked away upstate in the ‘sanctuary’, as his father called it. Josh preferred to call it a penal colony because the guards were dicks. That’s when he needed some blades. That’s when he needed help. Thoughts coming too fast. Catching a raindrop in a thunderstorm. Josh shoved the screwdriver into the electrical socket. Electricity is clean. Unlike his father.
The pain brought peace. Now he could reflect. The guards pushed him around every day, but the orderly didn’t hassle him. He was nice and gave him extra jello on special days. But it was dumb of him to bring a metal steak knife. Josh had no regrets about killing the orderly. His father taught him bad decisions beget bad consequences. Basic social Darwinism. Best, he got to test Hispanic blood.
Dr. Abrams wasn’t as nice as the orderly. He asked annoying questions and never gave him jello. Josh couldn’t understand why he had to be so irritating since he was so smart. He sounded like Morgan Freeman. Black doctors sounded like Morgan Freeman or Samuel L. Jackson. Or maybe James Earl Jones if they’re going to perform a scary operation. A black doctor with a Kevin Hart voice would be silly. As intelligent as he was, Dr. Abrams didn’t taste any smarter than the orderly.
After Josh had tested Dr. Abrams blood, he rearranged the papers on his desk. The doctor kept his office organized and it was only polite to respect the deceased’s wishes. Even if the person was mean.
His father’s blood was the same as the doctor and the orderly. Black, White, Hispanic. Different on the outside but the same on the inside. Fuck those dumb Nazi posers, there isn’t any difference. Josh figured he’d solved the whole racial thing. He knew not to get too far ahead of himself but once he worked out how to scale up, blood tasting would stop all this racism bullshit.
Time to celebrate. Josh felt guilty breaking into the liquor cabinet, he’d be in big trouble if he got caught. But today was special. Ignoring the Johnnie Walker, he picked up the decanter with Glenfiddich. Josh sat in his father’s chair and sipped the whiskey with a Monster chaser. He’d show them, he would amount to something. Change the world. But an unsettling thought intruded. He’d only tested men. He put down the Glenfiddich and stole the keys to the Porsche.
Josh had to go see Mom.