Herman Bistecky was a quiet man, very much like his mother. Most felt it was because his father was anything but, so much so that they had to make up for his loud behavior by being demure. His father, Brunner, was a philanderer as much as he was a philanthropist and had a photographic eye that could charm even the Greek goddesses into posing for him. He made good money, though, that allowed his wife to live without a care so she put up with his wandering ways. Brunner, getting up in years, often drank to excess and his mind was not as well honed as it once was. In fact, he would often forget who his own son was and make Herman pose in the oddest outfits. Herman loved his father, though, so he would oblige him and looked on each encounter as an adventure.
     What will he have me be today I wonder, visions of embroidered fabrics and soft, exotic linens running through his mind. Though he loved to read, he often found that he did not need to as he could live out most of his adventures in his father’s studio with his vast array of costumes and props. He had been an Indian, a cruise ship captain, a pirate, a sheik, even the back end of a camel once. Though, admittedly, his father’s antics that day had gotten a little out of hand as the front end of the camel was, in fact, an elephant.
     Today, Herman would not be going on an adventure though. His father still completely smashed from his evening out the night before, Brunner sat quietly staring at his stage, already set. A chair, an ornately carved table, a book and what appeared to be the plumage from a dead ostrich sat in the middle of the room.
     “Father?”
     “Put it on.” Bruner looked up, his eyes still glazed over, smiling wryly as the madness seeped into his eyes. Herman hesitated. “You heard me Cecile. Shut up and put it on.”
     Herman walked over to the chair and picked up what he realized to be a very fanciful hat, possibly from an ostrich, and looked back at his father before letting out a long sigh. Lighting a cigarette, Herman stood calmly between the chair and table, hand resting on the book atop it, appropriately a bible, and silently plotted to kill his father.
     The final straw? His mother’s name was Eunice.

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Reprinted with permission from it’s original post.
All content is copyright 2010 Ana Maria Seaton. Duplication in whole or in part by digital or non-digital means is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

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