I:

Contempt of Death

His life flashed, a reel of images to which he held no control.

“Cas!” his mother’s voice called out. “Where, where, where are you~” his mother hummed, sing-song.

The boy, little older than three years, giggled. Heavy breaths loud in the cabinet, he opened it a bit, sneaking a peek. His mother’s face looked back.

“Gotcha!” his mother yelled, laughing as she snatched him out.

“No!” he mewled, stubby little hands pushing her away.

She spun him around, giggling at his dismay. Once, twice, thrice. The world spun, and she stopped spinning him, joyfully bracing him against her chest.

“I win,” she said with a cheeky grin.

Casimir giggled back; fat cheeks flushed red.

“Hungy little Cas?” mother hummed.

He nodded his head.

She carried him to the living room, his developing eyes and catching on the decorations and furniture. A large, square table fit for three to the side of the room, a couch, with a TV right before it.

His father, swirling milk in a wine glass. Sharp eyes, like daggers.

Casimir snuggled closer to his mother, averting his gaze.

“Hun, can you put on the kid’s channel?” his mother asked.

Father let out an aggravated breath. “It’s going to be football in a few, I don’t want to miss the match.”

“You can over to Richard’s?” his mother suggested.

Father pursed his lips. “I wanted to watch it with you.”

Mother glanced at Casimir, playfully rubbing his nose, smiling softly at him. “How about we all watch a nice movie instead? Something fun.”

“But… football…” Father muttered. “My football.” He reiterated.

“Oh, don’t be a baby about it,” Mother chuckled. “Come on.”

Father threw his hands in the air. “Fine!” He handed over the remote to her.

The reel of memories moves on.

The boy, now six, swished his legs back and forth. The car speeding across the city, shop signs blurring by, its engine rumbling loud.

“Papa.”

Father exhaled loudly. “Yes?”

“I want to watch movies with mama,” he said, again.

There’s a pause, a breath. Before Father replies. “We can’t, not until she leaves the hospital. It’s just me and you until then.”

“I don’t like it,” he replied instantly.

Father raised an eyebrow. “Thank you for the insightful comment.”

“Papa,” Casimir started. “Don’t be mean.”

Father bursts out in laughter. “Okay, okay. Alright, how about this, we spend the day over at the amusement park? Hmm? You like that?”

Casimir jumped in his seat. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

So they do, they head right for the park. They park their car outside the lot, Casimir bouncing and hopping in place. Father pays, and they play together, a shooter game with an all too large toy gun.

Racing cars, roller-coaster ride that leaves father dazed and nauseous. Even a Broadway play they happened to catch onto at the right time. All present, they spend as long as they can around.

Until the sun goes down, and Casimir yawned.

Father ruffles his hair. “Sleepy yet?”

Casimir vehemently shook his head. “No!”

“You sure, champ?” Father playfully pushed him, Casimir almost fell, yawning even louder. “Come on, you need your sleep to get as tall as me.”

“Don’t want to.”

Father laughed, picking him and putting on his shoulders. Casimir all but deflated in place, head laid against his father’s.

“Come on,” Father said. “You need to sleep, you’re going to be the man of the house one day. Can’t do that if you’re too short.”

Casimir mumbled something.

They made their way back home.

The reel of memories moves on.

The boy, now ten cried. “Stop crying!” the teacher yells at him. He cried harder.

“It was your fault,” the teacher growled. “You hit them, you threw the pencil at them, you cut his hand! And now you’re crying? Man up, and take responsibility for your actions!”

“They made fun of me!” he said between tears.

“And you hurt them!” the teacher replied instantly. “You. Hurt. Them. And you get punished for that, it’s that simple.”

“It’s not my fault!”

“It is!” the teacher yelled back.

The teacher sighed hard. “Why do I always get the problematic ones?”

By the time his father arrived, he’d ceased crying. Instead, hugging his school bag as he sniffled. His father saw him, and his sharp eyes softened.

“What happened here?” Father asked, looking right at him.

The teacher smiled. “Mr. Voreband, your child has been a ceaseless problem since day one, but now, he’s an even greater issue. He’s outright attacked another child. With your permission, I’d like to move him to specialized classes, to deal with his issues.”

Father turns his head, steel in his eyes. “That question was not addressed to you.”

He turned back to Casimir. “What happened here, little champ?”

“They didn’t stop making fun of me when I told them to stop,” he mumbled. “I made them stop. They stopped making fun of me.”

His father smiled, ruffling his hair. “Good, you shouldn’t let others belittle you.”

Casimir looked up.

“When others attack you, you attack back,” Father said, standing up and offering his hand. Casimir took it. They headed outside the school.

“Mr. Voreband! That is grossly inappropriate conduct for a child his age, you shouldn’t support it! He hurt them!” the teacher said, keeping pace with them.

“Yes, thank you,” Father said, not looking at her.

“The other parents will be summoned for this!” she said, quickly. “If his behaviour is not addressed, then other parents will need to be informed of your support of it. I’d recommend, as I stated before, transitioning him to the specialized needs classes.”

“Yes, thank you,” Father repeated, holding the school door open for Casimir.

“Mr. Voreba-“

Father closed the door.

Casimir shuffled in place. “I’m sorry.”

“You keep trying, champ,” Father ruffled his hair. “Just don’t make the same mistake twice.”

“I was angry.”

“And when you’re a grown up, you can’t be angry. You have to be calm, and clever.”

Casimir nodded dimly.

“Good,” Father said. “Now, how about some ice-cream?”

“Papa.”

“Yes?”

Casimir leaned against his father’s legs. “I miss mom.”

“She’ll wake up from that hospital bed one day,” Father said, resolute. “We just need to wait for it. Patience, that’s all.”

Casimir tried to open his eyes, to force his body to move. He couldn’t. The memories marched on.

The boy, now thirteen, frowned at the boy besides him.

They were alone in the park, only Casimir and the other boy, and an older woman. Her hair grey.

“I’m Jeff,” the boy said. “I like cats, dogs, video games, and that’s it. I also don’t have friends. I’m not good at this people thing, mama told me to talk to you and ask you if want to be a friend.”

Casimir ignored him, already, he didn’t like Jeff.

The boy was dressed in an expensive blazer, dress shirt, and pants. His shoes looked tailor made, and a fountain pen was in his breast pocket. His hair was a golden blond, and his eyes a deep blue.

And he had a mother.

Jeff hopped onto the swing besides him. “I think you like me; can I talk to you?”

“No.”

Jeff tilted his head. “Is that a no on liking me, or a no on talking to me?”

“Go away,” Casimir told him.

Jeff took jumped off of the swing, and took a step back. “I was going to ask you if you played Legends of the League of the Heroic Champions, I love that game, mama tells me I play too much, and that it’s bad to stay inside all the time to play games, and that I should make friends. Online friends don’t count.”

Casimir’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Ah, okay, so I’ll explain,” Jeff started, and then went on a long, convoluted, detailed, break down of every item, statistic, hero, and stratagem employed by high level players in that game.

With lots of math.

Lots, and lots of math.

“I..uh…you,” Casimir blinked, feeling his brain short circuit. “Yes?”

“I like you,” Jeff said quietly, idly pushing on his swing. “Nobody else listens to me when I talk. They all move away. I don’t think anyone except mother likes me. I think they sometimes pretend to like me, because of mother.”

An idea struck Casimir, he jumped off of his swing. Scrabbled into his backpack, and took out his math notebook. He flicked through the pages, and all but thrust the page into Jeff’s face.

“Math homework?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah,” Casimir started. “I don’t understand anything, and the teacher doesn’t like me, and dad has to work all day. Can you…”

“Okay,” Jeff hopped off, taking out his pen.

Then he explained it to Casimir.

“You understand it now?” Jeff asked.

Casimir bit his lips.

“Okay,” Jeff said, and explained it again.

And again.

And again.

And he still didn’t understand it.

“Why are you helping me so much?” Casimir asked.

Jeff furrowed his brows. “I don’t understand.”

“I…I’m too stupid to understand this, you’re wasting your time.”

“Mama says nobody is stupid,” Jeff replied absently, playing with the page. “Just that everyone understands things differently. She tells me I understand things differently too. I think you also understand things differently. So, you just need someone to help.”

Casimir sniffled, biting his lips to stop the tears from coming out.

“Did I say something wrong?” Jeff panicked, patting his pockets left and right, and taking out a tiny notepad. “I followed all my social interaction notes! I should have got-“

“Thank you,” Casimir said after a moment.

“…You’re happy?” Jeff asked.

Casimir nodded, sniffling. “Casimir, Casimir Voreband.”

Jeff smiled. “Hi, I’m Jeff. Jeff Dunstein.”

Breathe, Casimir demanded of his body. Breathe damn you! He could not. The reel of memories moved on.

The boys, both fifteen, were in detention. The room had only a single lamp, and the teacher who was supposed to watch over them, was long asleep.

“I should have aimed for the head,” Casimir grunted. “That prick has it out for me, and he’s not going to stop until I put him in place.”

Jeff thought on it for a moment. “I’ve noticed he always goes after you when you spend time with Irina. I think he’s jealous and has a crush on her. Or you.”

Casimir snorted. “Steve, a crush on me?”

“According to this anime I watched-“

“Jeff, anime isn’t real,” he replied.

“It’s not?” Jeff frowned.

Casimir stared at him.

Jeff stared back.

“Are you…for real?”

Jeff looked away.

“Do you…do you know how babies are made?” Casimir questioned, his heart drumming in terror.

“Mama said babies happen when a man and woman get married,” Jeff replied. “I’ve calculated it, based on how many days they’re married, and the spawn chance is-“

Casimir, for a moment, couldn’t believe it. Jeff was always surrounded by girls giggling , making jokes, and asking him what hair lotion he used. He’d assumed Jeff simply didn’t care.

But this explained it. It explained it all.

“Jeff,” Casimir swallowed. “Your mother skipped out a lot.”

“She does that sometimes when she thinks its not important,” Jeff replied. “Also, I think we can just skip detention.”

“That door is too damn…creaky…” Casimir paused, looking at the long string which Jeff had used to slowly open the door.

“I don’t want to spend time here,” Jeff stated, standing up quietly. “Do you want to come on over? Mama’s making pasta.”

“Have I ever told you that I love you?” Casimir chuckled, following suite.

Quietly, without the invigilator noticing, they left the detention room. As if they had done nothing wrong, they headed for school exist. The school day having long ended.

They found Irina at the door.

Her fiery red hair was curly, green eyes and soft features inviting, and her red lips in a frown terror inducing.

“Hi Irina,” Jeff waved at her, unperturbed. “We’ve just escaped from detention unlawfully, and we’re going over to my house. Mom is making pasta, and Casimir is coming. Would you also like to come?”

Irina played with a lock of hair. “You can’t bribe me like that.” She glared at the two of them.

Casimir put his hands in the air. “In my defence, Steve Gannon is a little shit.”

“He did the punching and violence,” Jeff said. “All I did was push him into the wall.”

“You punched him first,” Irina tutted.

Jeff waved his arms. “My house? Pasta? Legends of the League of the Heroic Champions?”

“I’d love to have you around, ‘Rina,” Casimir said, waving her along.

“I don’t,” Jeff said. “You’re always scary.”

Irina glared at him.

“Yes, like that.”

The reel of memories stuttered.

Casimr’s teeth grit, a gasping breath left out, he struggled to keep his eyes open. Not here, not now, I refuse. His eyes closed.

The reel of memories continued.

The hospital bed was the same as ever. His mother’s face, closed in sleep, was the same as ever. Nothing had changed.

The boy was sixteen now.

“Hey Casimir,” Jeff’s voice said from behind him.

Casimir glanced around, annoyed. “Why are you here?”

“You haven’t gone to school for a week, so I asked mom to help me find you,” Jeff said, taking a seat besides him. “I had to triple check records, and ask mom really nicely, but she did it in the end.”

“Jeff,” Casimir growled.

“I didn’t really realize how expensive caring for coma patients was,” he said. “But I never really had to worry about money. Which is why I think medical care should be government subsidized and tax funded. Not everyone is rich.”

“Jeff!”

Jeff blinked. “Right, so you don’t have to unplug the life support anymore, there’s this famous doctor from Turkey coming here. Best brain surgeon around, he’ll do the job.”

Casimir’s anger drained in an instance. “You. You.”

“Mom made sure to publicise it, make it a big deal in academia. If he fails, she’ll ruin his career, she paid a lot for him, too. I don’t think she was happy with it. Mom doesn’t like charity work; she thinks it helps lazy people stay lazy.”

“Jeff…”

“I think mom just doesn’t like poor people,” Jeff told him. “But I like you, and you’re not rich. So she’s wrong.”

Casimir laughed out hysterically. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Historically or philosophically?” Jeff asked.

He jumped out of his seat, grabbing Jeff in a bear hug.

“Please don’t squeeze,” Jeff said.

Casimir squeezed him until a bone popped.

The reel of memories continued.

Jeff and Casimir stood side by side, dressed in the most expensive clothing they could find. Before them, was jewellery store. Their target was inside.

Casimir swallowed. “You have the gear?”

Jeff nodded, patting his pocket.

“You memorized the plan?” Casimir asked.

“No, I didn’t,” Jeff admitted.

Casimir stared.

“That was a joke, I read this book that explained how humans make jokes, and it says that-“

Casimir raised a hand. “One, you don’t describe other people as ‘humans’ it sounds so wrong. Two, never, ever, make a joke again.”

“Never?” Jeff asked.

Casimir paused. “Not until I teach you how normal humans make jokes.”

Jeff raised a finger. “You just described other people as ‘humans’ why can’t I?”

His palm met his face. “Just. Go along, okay?”

Jeff shrugged.

They went in, swaggering into the store like they owned it. Casimir raised his hand, and the store owner personally greeted them.

“Ah, hello gentlemen, how may I help?”

“I’m looking to order two bespoke pairs of wedding rings,” Casimir said, gesturing for Jeff. “Small gems, and intricate designs.”

“I’m afraid we typically, don’t do custom works,” the man replied, greed in his eyes. “But, in your case, well, I’m certain we can come to a wonderous agreement. What kind of designs are you looking for?”

Jeff drew the plans from his pocket, placing them on the table, the man humming as he looked them over.

“Yes, yes, this is certainly, a task and a half,” the man drummed his fingers on the table. “Hmm. I’ll have to forward it over to an associate of mine, a Swiss gentleman. I trust him explicitly.”

“How long?” Casimir asked.

“Two months, given my associate’s current que,” the man replied. “If you want them earlier than that, I know a few who can do an admirable rush job. But, for quality, I would go to no other than him.”

The two of them grinned like wolves.

“Two months it is,” Casimir said, rising a fist.

Jeff bumped it.

The man smiled at them. “Excellent decision, I’ll get the papers.”

The reel of memories continued.

Their desks were large and imposing, side by side as they were. Their company had been on an upward rise, no longer a start-up, now they were competitors of worth.

Which meant they’d get offers.

Unusual ones.

He looked at the girl before him, and her work. Casimir played with his pen, she nervously shuffled.

“What do you think, Jeff?” Casimir asked. “Not too shoddy, I think.”

“No, it’s excellent,” Jeff replied, absently minded. “What did you call this, again?”

The girl stuttered. “An I-Phone.”

“Shitty name,” Casimir grunted.

Jeff raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure people look for names when they plan to buy electronics, the focus group-“

“Jeff, not now,” he looked down at the girl, resting his chin on a fist. “The touch screen idea I’m not too fond of, seems needlessly complicated. We’ll need to get a special manufacturing deal for it. Expensive.”

The girl shuffled.

Jeff frowned. “It makes the interface far more adaptive, less complicated; the reliance would be entirely software side.”

Casimir thought on it.

What’s the worst that could happen?

“Okay, you’re on,” Casimir said. “Consider a deal done, the boys in legal will finalize the terms and conditions, word of warning, don’t expect a cut bigger than fifteen percent, max.”

She beamed. “ThankYouSoMuchThankYouYouWontRegretThis.” She blabbered incoherently.

Casimir smiled at her. “Don’t get too excited, this is the easy bit. Jeff?”

“I’ll handle the tech side,” Jeff replied, standing. “How soon can you handle the rest?”

“No idea,” Casimir replied, motioning for the girl to follow him. As he stood up, he buttoned up his jacket.

“You’ll have to forgive me, but I’ve lost your name, mind reminding me?” he asked her.

“Elizabeth,” she said nervously. “Elizabeth Jobs.”

He nodded. “If this works, I think Peach has a great history for it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Speaking of great history,” Casimir paused. “How would you like to attending a wedding?”

The reel of memories continued.

So cold. Cold. Breathe. He had to breathe.

The two of them stood atop a three story building’s rooftop, opposite to which, Irina and her friends were chatting at a café.

Two of them who were dressed in the most gaudy, expensive, suits they could find. Casimir fiddled with the box in his hand.

Jeff had the set of binocular in hand, idly jotting down on his notebook.

“So, okay, listen, listen, right?” Casimir started, pacing. “I just. I walk, okay, I. I walk, right to her, and I ask, right?”

Jeff nodded. “I’ve estimated her emotional state to be eighty percent positive, twenty percent bored, and a hundred percent female.”

“So, I walk up to her, and then I ask her, and then I, I wait. Since she then has to reply. She replies, okay? She replies, then I say yes. No, wait,” Casimir whirled around. “She says yes, I don’t say yes. She does. I ask. She replies. Right?”

Jeff nodded again, then frowned. “What if she gets a heart attack from the surprise?”

Casimir froze still. “Fuck, what if I get a heart attack?”

“Possibility is high,” Jeff blurted out, dropping his binoculars and taking out his calculator. “Age. Height. Weight. Diet. Blood type…. We may have a problem.”

“Oh God, I can feel my heart,” Casimir paced. Left and right. “No, no. Ignore me, I’m okay. This is okay. We’re okay. We’re fucking okay.”

He whirled around, grabbing Jeff by the collar, and screamed. “We’re okay!”

Jeff grabbed him back, screaming. “We are in peak haemostatic condition!”

“I can do this!” Casimir yelled.

“You possess the operation capacity to undertake this task!” Jeff yelled back.

Casimir rolled his shoulders, breathing in and out. Steeling himself.

“Jeff,” he said. “I’m going to propose, and she’ll reply yes. I can do this.”

“Unless she says no,” Jeff said, picking up and aiming the zipline gun. “Chances are one-in-three for that.”

Casimir stared at him.

Jeff stared back.

“I hate you,” Casimir gasped feeling his body freeze. “I hate you so much.”

His friend blinked. “I wasn’t supposed to say that, was I.”

“No!”

“We can just cancel it?” Jeff suggested.

His heart was drumming hard. The beat of it choking the breath out of him. The electric dread of what maybe dancing in his guts, and the question of failure nearly freezing his legs.

But what if he succeeded?

But what if she said yes?

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck it all!” Casimir moaned, burying his face in his hands. “Dammit, just. Fire the fucking gun.”

“Okay,” Jeff replied. Firing the zipline, it impacted right beside the Irina.

Casimir roared, jumping up, grabbing the zipline, and sliding down. In one, smooth, motion, he rolled, sprang to his knees, and drew the box out. He was right next to her surprised, confused face.

Eight weeks of solid practice and stalking, manifested in a singular moment.

His suit, purple, black and red, shone in the sunlight.

He opened the box.

Casimir tried to open his mouth, to say the words. He couldn’t. Sheer, gripping, dread clogged his throat.

The moment lasted an eternity.

“Oh my gosh,” Irina gasped.

Her friends hollered and cheered.

“Yes!” she yelled hauling him bodily.

“…Yes?” he whispered, fedora sliding off of his head.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh I need a dress and a photographer and and and a…” she paused, grabbed him, and kissed him. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“Yes,” he said quietly.

The world faded in that moment.

Yes. The word rang in his skull, as he cried and laughed at once.

The reel of memories continued.

The three of them stood in his room.

“No!” Father yelled. “A purple suit? What is wrong with you? You need something more manly than that!”

Mother hummed along, from her wheelchair. Long surgery scars across her foreheard. “I don’t know dear; a the suit design is quite striking.”

Casimir stood there, in his underwear, trying his best to look unashamed. It did not work.

“But purple? How about red! Or green! Or for the love of god, black, like normal people!”

“I like him in purple,” Mother muttered. “And think about how dashing he’d look? Hmmm?”

The window to his room opened, and in climbed Jeff.

Everyone screamed.

“Hi Ms. Voreband. Hi Mr. Voreband. Hi Casimir,” Jeff said, strolling in and brushing the dirt aside. Politely, he closed the window behind him.

“The fuck, Jeff!” Casimir yelled.

“You didn’t answer the bell, or the phone,” Jeff replied. “The ride to the wedding is going to be here in thirty minutes. I wanted to check on what you chose to wear.”

Jeff paused. “Is underwear acceptable wedding wear?”

“No!”

All three of them yelled at Jeff.

“Then why is he?” Jeff gestured.

“We may have taken a slight wee too long, dear. I say purple,” Mother said.

“Red!” Father said.

Jeff thought on it. “Blue.”

“Isn’t purple just a mix of red and bl-“ Mother started, pausing. “Ah. I get it.”

Father groaned. “Really?”

“Jeff, I love you,” Casimir said, taking out the purple suit. “Also, please, everyone, out of my room.”

The reel of memories continued.

The alarm bell rang out, Casimir woke up with a long, exhausted sigh. He rolled off of the bed. Went to the bathroom. Teeth? Brushed. Body? Showered. Hair? Combed. Clothes? Worn. Keys, wallet and phone? Gotten.

Like the undead, he shambled down the stairs.

He found all three of his children glued to the TV screen. Irina was humming as she fixed him a lunch, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek, as he sat down on his table.

“Morning dad!” Stacy blurted, cheery grin on face.

“Morning,” Lillie said after a pause.

Mitty said nothing, just giving him a stoic nod. Sprawled out like a cat across the couch.

“You know, Mitty,” Casimir started. “You’re supposed say hi to your dad when he wakes up.”

“Hi,” she said without any life in her.

He took his cup of coffee from Irina. “Wasn’t today a school day?” he asked his wife.

“Not anymore!” Stacy opined. “It’s a new holiday!”

Casimir raised an eyebrow.

Mitty groaned. “School had a black mold infestation, should be fixed by the end of this week.”

“Hehe,” Stacy blurted with smugness.

“Doesn’t mean I’ll let you get on without work, little misses,” Irina chided, sitting besides him.

Casimir snorted.

“Mom, you always say that, then you forget,” Mitty grumbled. “Then I have to catch these two on everything they missed.”

Irina rolled her eyes. “You’re the older daughter, that’s your job.”

Mitty groaned harder. “Unpaid labour is unlawful!” She raised a fist alongside her proclamation.

“Is it?” Casimir asked. “Personally, I think unpaid labour is beneficial for the markets. Helps increase profits like you would not believe.”

Lillie furrowed her brows. “Dad. That’s evil.”

He raised his cup of coffee. “Honey, that’s what I have public relations for. Also, we don’t use the word evil,” he gestured with his cup of coffee. “We call it alternative morality, see?”

“Love, that’s still evil,” Irina said, lips curled in a smile. “And I don’t think PR would like to hear you describe them that way.”

Casimir raised a finger. “Aha! But what is evil?”

“Hurting people,” Stacy replied.

“Your existence, sweetie, hurts my nightly prospects with your mother,” Casimir said, sipping from his mug. “Does that make you evil?”

Stacy looked around. “I don’t get it.”

“Dad,” Mitty groaned.

Irina glared at him. “Hun, please, the kids. It’s still six years too early for all of them.”

“I’m sixteen,” Mitty mumbled.

“Six years too early,” Irina said, narrowing her eyes at her daughter. Mitty winced.

Lillie raised a hand.

“Yeees?” Casimir drawled out the word.

“So, what is evil?” Lillie asked, wonder and curiosity twinkling in her eyes.

Casimir thought on it, for a long, hard, moment. “It’s the answer to the question of what you should do. Should you feed the poor? Should you help the weak? Should you do your best? Should you be honest? Should you be kind? Should you be harsh?”

He smiled at his daughter, at all of his family.

“Not all acts of good are wise, and not all acts of evil are malicious,” Casimir said, looking at his watch. Time to go. “But all of us should strive to be the image of the best we can, that’s what it means to be good.”

Lillie frowned. “I’m confused.”

“Evil is when you fall short of the goal,” he said, ruffling her hair as he headed for the door.

“Dad,” Lillie said, quietly. “What happens if I…if I always fall short?”

He hugged her, putting a hand on Stacy’s head, dragging Mitty grumbling into the hug.

“You keep trying, champ,” Casimir said. “Even if you fall, you have to stand up and do it all again. You’ll not always win. Sometimes, even if you do your best, you’ll lose.”

Irina smiled at him. “You’re late now, hun. Don’t let the girls lure you in.”

Casimir laughed, heading for the door. “Listen to your mother, girls.”

“Bye dad!” Stacy said.

“Bye,” Lillie said.

He paused at the door, glancing towards Mitty.

She winced. “Bye dad.”

He headed off to work.

The reel of memories continued.

“Hey dad,” Casimir said, pulling a chair to sit beside the hospital bed. The heart beat monitor continued beating. The IV drip ran long, straight into Father’s forearm.

Father, weakly, craned his head. “Hey, champ. How’re the kids?”

“Good, good. Yeah. They’re…they’re good.”

“And your mother?” Father asked.

“She moved in, with us. I’m…I’m taking care of all of them,” Casimir said, slowly. “She misses you, keeps asking for me check up on you.”

“And you?”

“I’m…” Casimir couldn’t say it.

“I know,” Father said simply. “I seemed so tall and so big, like it would never come to it. The idea is strange, like the sight of a mountain falling down. Or a damn breaking apart before your eyes.”

Father pulled his hand, Casimir wrapped it around his. His throat felt heavy, it hurt, his vision blurred, and he didn’t know what to say.

“I’m so proud of you,” Father said at last. “You’re everything I wanted to see you as. You have your place to belong to, you don’t need me anymore, I need you. I don’t have to worry about you, you have to worry about me.”

Casimir could feel Father’s heartbeat through his hand. It was weak, dim. Soft and fragile.

“I need you,” Casimir whispered.

“No, you don’t,” Father replied with a chuckle. “I know how it feels, I’ve felt it with my own father. It’s happening, champ, and not even all the world could stop it. All of us, will be in the grave. But you shouldn’t be too sad, you’ll join me.”

Casimir laughed bitterly. “I hate your sense of humour.”

“Your mother loved it,” Father said. “She was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. Me, dirty and cover in scars from the war. And her, like a lamp in the room. I always knew she’d come back, always knew.”

Casimir swallowed. “Don’t talk like that, you’ll be out of here. It’s just…it’s just a hiccup in your health.”

“The war,” Father continued on. “Ah, I can still hear it. The sound of machineguns. The crack of rifles. I killed six men, and they killed all four of my friends. And neither of us wanted to. Us, young idiots, died for the folly of old idiots.”

“You’re a hero,” Casimir let out. “You faught for us.”

“I faught for our country,” Father replied back evenly. “I killed others, for our leaders. There’s nothing heroic there. I wish there was, this great, hideous evil, to defend from. But they weren’t evil. Just fighting us because old man had dreams of more land, and more wealth, and more power, barely tempered by ideals.”

Casimir pursed his lips.

“Monsters and true evil, is so rare, most evil is mundane, insidiously normal,” Father mused, pulling his hand back, and rolling over to his side. “Most of the time, we’re just men. Brothers from different mothers, who would have played football and laughed like idiots.”

Father closed his eyes, snuggling into pillow. “We shouldn’t hesitate in fighting to defend ourselves, Casimir. But I’d rather meet my enemy at the table, and make him into a friend. There’s plenty of room for all of us, even those we hate.”

Casimir pulled the bed’s blanket over him. “You’ll be out in a few days, I’m sure. Mother will complain if you take any longer.”

“Champ,” Father said, putting his head on his hand. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“When it’s my funeral, don’t cry. Hold your head high. When everyone is weak, you should be strong,” Father said smiling wide.

“Yeah,” Casimir said, gritting his teeth to keep from crying.

His father died a week later.

Casimir did not cry at the funeral.

The reel of memories slowed down.

The sun fell over the horizon, night crawling in at its own, uncaring, pace. The wind blew harshly, and Casimir’s winter coat barely warmed him. His breath came out misty, his skin flushed, and his smile wide.

Today was a good day.

A big day.

“Sir,” the man at the entrance said, shivering. “You’re a bit late, Ms. Jobs is almost going to be on stage. They’ll call your name in a few minutes.”

Casimir laughed, patting the man on the shoulder. “Thank you, now, please, the damned door. The cold is killing me.”

With a nod, the man opened the door to the auditorium building. He walked in, in the same suit he used to wear back when Elizabeth worked for him. Now the little miss had her own enterprise.

Good, she deserved it.

He hung his coat on a rack, feeling the warmth of the building wash over him. His eyes caught pleasant sight.

“Jeff!” he called out.

Jeff, surrounded by a gaggle of women in low cut dresses, and far too showy v-necks, smiled back at him. “Hi.”

He pushed through the women, ignoring their cries of annoyance, and hugged his friend. Jeff hugged him back.

“It’s been a while,” Casimir said, walking side by side with his friend.

Jeff waved the women off with dry pleasantries. “Six years four months and three days and six hours and thirty-two minutes.”

Casimir snorted. “You haven’t changed a thing.”

“You did,” Jeff looked down. “Bigger.”

Casimir’s lips curled up. “Irina’s cooking, I’m afraid.”

“I’ll send her a complaint message about the calorie count,” Jeff said, as they entered the back stage. “Would you like a chef? A few maids? Maybe a gym instructor.”

“I’d rather have you around,” Casimir said, watching as Elizabeth got on stage. “Irina misses you, and the kids would love you. A small get together.”

“Sure,” Jeff turned around to a woman at his side. “Cancel all my meetings for -“

“Wednesday,” Casimir supplied.

“Sir, the director of the NSA-“

Jeff shrugged. “I don’t care. Cancel it. I have something more valuable to do. Will you stay around after the medal?”

“No,” Casimir said. “Mitty’s twenty-third birthday is today, I’ll have to do this quick, and get back.” He checked his watch.

“I would have liked you to stay,” Jeff muttered.

“We’ll get our time, plenty of it,” Casimir said, waiting to step into the light.

The stage assistant nodded towards him.

“Please, everyone, welcome a man very dear to me! Without whom, I’d have never made it half as far, please, clap aloud for Casimir Voreband!”

So he stepped into the light to the thunder of clapping and rage of cheering. He waved his hand, smiling wide. His hair, segments of it turned white, glinting under the stage light. He spoke loud and proud of his protégé.

It was a moment under the spotlight, the hot-lights, the grandness of thanks given from one generation to the next, it was magnificent.

Magnificent.

Elizabeth gave him a medal, and trophy of thanks.

The crowds cheered him as he walked out.

He drove back home, warm in his car, humming and singing. It was late, few were out, the roads were clear.

The sky was darkened, rain fell. Thunder rang.

The intersection loomed ahead, only he and a single driver. The lights turned red, Casimir slowed to a stop, and the driver started slowing down.

The world flashed white.

Sound and clamour.

Lighting ripped the air asunder, striking the driver. Glass exploded, and the car accelerated out of control. Right towards Casimir.

Casimir’s life flashed before his eyes. A reel of memories.

Impact.

Force set the car spinning head over heel. Glass shattered, fragments impaling his face and forearms. The door snapped to pieces, shrapnel cutting into his guts and thighs.

Blackness, pain, confusion. The world spinning in sounds, his head ringing in pain.

Then it all stops.

Casimir’s eyes flutter open, he’s hanging upside down.

Mitty. Birthday.

He had to move.

He realesed his safety belt, slamming into the ground. He crawled out of his car, he was wet. Wet with something warm beyond measure.

Red?

He smelled it. Iron.

Blood.

His blood.

Outside of his car, he tried to stand up. Instead, he simply fell back down, back slamming against his car.

It was cold.

Hard to breathe.

His blood gathered in a crimson pool around him, thick tide from his guts, and chest, and thigh. So cold. Cold and numb.

He could see his open guts, hanging out, his white bone, inside of his thigh.

Mitty.

Irina.

The birthday.

His phone was still in his pocket, he could still, if barely, breathe. He took it out, blood-soaked fingers smudging across the screen.

It rang for a few seconds.

Casimir steeled himself.

“Honey, you’re late!” Irina’s voice was music.

His vision grew wet. Tears or blood or both.

“I’ll be too late,” he said. “Start without me.”

“Are you sure? The girls really want you to cut the cake.”

No reply.

“Hun?”

No sound.

“Okay, okay, my gosh, the silent treatment. Just don’t be too late, m'kay?”

The phone slips from a now dead hand.