Futurism is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.
How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.
How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.
To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.Show less
It started with the sound of rushing water. The window was open, you could feel the fresh air, only it was warm, it didn’t feel as refreshing as it would seem. The curtains were laced, reaching just above the height of the faucet. The sleeves of her violet blouse were rolled. Molly had just put the last dish in the rack to dry when she heard the TV click on in the other room. But only static was heard, and a cuss under a man’s breath. She wandered into the living room, seemingly unphased. She recognized the familiar voice.
“Bastard!” the man exclaimed. It was her ever so lovely son, whom she has not seen in 4 months.
“William?” She seemed more like she was trying to make him aware of her being there, rather than startled.
“I don’t have cable at my place anymore. They cut it. Apparently, you haven’t been paying your bill either I see?” He rolled his eyes while she remained standing behind him.
“I never watch anything. The only person who ever really did was you, and that was, what, 4 months ago now, if I recall correctly?” She spoke with a hint of attitude, as she pinned her hair up and decided to start back to the kitchen.
“Had to get out of this damn place. Never told me the truth about anything, why should I stay in a place that I'm obviously not welcome in?” He spoke, the corner of his lip twitched.
“I told you,” she spoke firmly, “your father left a long time ago and I did everything I could to make this a loving home for you and your sister.”
“The least you can do was tell me the truth. He was probably a sweet man until you came into his life and made it miserable with your incessant nagging and forgetfulness” he said, hinting towards the TV once again.
“Why come back? Why now?” she spoke, turning back seemingly angrier, but caution remained in the back of her voice, “And don’t tell me it’s because you missed your TLC episodes, you were never that much of a couch potato anyways.”
“I’m close to finding my father.” The words broke whatever anger there was in the air, and suddenly it felt frigid.
“H-how?” She muttered, “Why?” She seemed worried. Her pupils seemed to reach every corner of her eye, thinking back suddenly, grabbing one hand in a way that looked like she was comforting herself.
“Why do you always insist on not having him a part of my life!? He’s my father! You’re just mad I want him to be a part of my life because you want to take all the credit. You’ve always been selfish” he slurred the last couple of words.
“Are you drunk?” She stuttered.
“Who cares if I am? This is my damn house too and I can do what I damn well please” he raised his voice. “I’m an adult.”
She continued into the kitchen but quicker this time, sliding her hand along the island, looking for something. Where had she left her phone?
“Where are you off to now? Care to explain about my father?” He followed close behind her. “I need answers. I’ve gone long enough, and I’d figured you’d come to your senses when I left, but clearly, it has not even come up in your thoughts. Nice to know that you care.” He walked past her now and she shivered, he went for the glass cabinets, the ones about the stove and grabbed a sleek, freshly washed wine glass. She turned to him, but she wasn’t looking at him, she still remained lost in thought.
“Where is the wine?” he asked, insistently.
“We don’t have any.” She lied.
“So we’re lying about everything now, mother? First, where my father is from the moment I'm born, and now to alcohol we’re keeping in this house?” He smacked his hand down onto the island. The glass rim rolled against the marble counter before it settled again.
She heard Bryan Adams’ ‘Cuts like a knife’ start playing, coming from beside the microwave. That’s where she had left it.
“I’ve got to get that, it’s your sister.” Molly started to walk normally, trying to avoid the situation at hand.
He grabbed her shoulder, “Mother!” he shouted “why is everyone always before me? Can you not stand to look at me?” he shoved her aside before he slid his hand across the counter beside him, as though he was trying to keep himself up. His hand reached a wooden block. His lip twitched again. Familiarities. The sound of metal sliding from the small sliver was what frightened Molly the most.
“Can you pay attention to me now, mother?” he raised the blade. “Can you explain where father is now, mother?” he got louder, more distorted, his voice had her mind racing. Flashes of memories whisped through her mind. Darker and darker.
She was frozen. She wanted to move her entire body but felt as if it were not her own anymore. His lip twitched again as panic must have crept onto her face. Her rolled up sleeve slid down, covering a lengthy scar along her arm. Flashes again. She blinked. She came back at once for an entire 8 seconds, prepared to defend herself as she had been taught several years ago. It all happened so fast, but it all happened so slowly.
It couldn’t have been just alcohol, she knew what it was. She saw the look in his eye, she had seen it before. His lip twitched again. Disgust. Everything from her memory, everything other than that look seemed to vanish, she couldn’t think of anything else. When she felt the slice and trickle of blood reach her belly button, she couldn’t help but see this coming. She didn’t make a noise but she felt an immense amount of pain, a shock. She looked up to William, his face, the twitch of his lip, the drive he had for finding the truth. Was that it? Was he just so angry because he wanted to know the truth? How could such a seemingly small thing drive someone to do such a thing? Was he as selfish as he made her seem? Flashes again. Her ring down the shower drain along with a flow of blood. Family traits.
She lay leaning on the island, on the floor, as cold as her body would soon become. He looked down at the mess he had made, he felt as though he was overcome with this sort of power. He stared angrily at her, helplessly on the floor.
There was sadness in her face as she told him he looked just like his father.