“There is nothing here for me,” he muttered to house, and turned away.

The wall of darkness was cold, greasy and wet. He forced his way forward, but closed his eyes. Like surfacing after submerging in a warm bath, Kayden broke through into a bone deep chill.

Burned, rotted meat clotted the air. Kayden opened his eyes to billow of smoke. It hung over the room as a ground fog, and everything was covered in a thin film of grease. Sizzle of the flesh hissed, though insect-like clicks hid within. He closed his mouth, but the air tasted like a burn victim’s decayed carcass. He coughed, bile rose, but he swallowed it down. Again, the world wavered about him, as gray around his vision had veins of black. All felt a facade, a comfortable lie over an uncomfortable truth. Absently, he wiped at his skin, but oil clung to it. Things skittered away into dark corners.

“Sit down, BOY,” Isaac commanded. Kayden’s lip drew up, but for a moment, he felt the urge to do as bidden.

A teenage Kayden trudged, sullen, into the room. He looked at his younger self, wiped away a tear. I forgot how happiness felt, he recalled, until I met Jillian. She was the first spot o light in my life. But, she is, he shook away the thought.

Before Jillian could return, sallow skin the color of cheap candles. Isaac was the man of his heart’s truth. Eyes gone, they were gored out holes that seeped a dark liquid that stunk like fried piss. Each drop hissed on the table. His father chewed, jaw worked. Broken teeth sliced rotted food. Living briars of rusted iron crawled up through his gullet to creep through holes in his cheeks. They wound about his body, barbs tore more blood free. Isaac’s arms and legs had withered down to bone, muscle now stringy cords. A bulbous gut hung over stained underwear. Root of the rusty creeper, skin of his belly writhed with the vines inside.

Kayden stared. The world was gray. Black veins pulsed around his vision, and he felt bile rise at the cloud of stink about his father. Just a nightmare, he assured himself, but his head grew lighter. He coughed, legs wobbled. He rested a hand on the able, and a spoon toppled to the floor. Rattle in his chest deepened, and he coughed. Galaxies of bruised purple light waited for him in the darkness, where reality was unbound. I must be strong, he thought; I need to be strong. I might throw up, my God.

“Don’t you even have the guts to look at me?” Isaac laughed out a nasty bark.

“I’m going to school…I have to leave,” teenage Kayden looked at his plate.

His father drank from a mason jar, liquid clear, but the alcohol stung the young man’s eyes. “Do you think it’ll make a difference?” he chuckled, shook his head. “You’re the SON of a KILLER,” he grinned, empty sockets bled onto the floor.

“I do well,” he countered though meekly.

“My GOD you’re so smart, you’re useless,” he sneered. “You’ll end up in the factory too, smartest man on the assembly line.” Isaac leered at his son. A vine of iron, covered in rusty barbs, rose into the air, before it slashed at teenage Kayden. So delicate was the cut, no blood escaped the scratch.

He looked at his father, but his gaze fell. “I’ll never be you,” he said, tried for defiance but was little more than a whisper.

Isaac brought both fists down, and everything on the table jumped. Empty sockets glared, “Do you think you’ll get a scholarship, BOY?” A nasty laugh escaped his rotted meat filled maw, and fell to the table. Another vine slashed twice at young Kayden to leave angry red lines.

“No,” he shifted, maybe, I could earn one.”

Isaac laughed, and then slapped the table, “Hope is for the rich!” He shook his head, “Brains but no sense!”

Young Kayden’s eyes darkened and older Kayden recalled the first instance of hate in his heart.

“I’ll leave here,” teenage Kayden swore.

“You’ll die in the gutter,” Isaac chuffed.

“Not before I see you die first,” he hissed, eyes darkened.

Isaac sneered, but beneath the bluster, he quivered at his son’s eyes. His face hardened, “Do you think you can kill me?”

Kayden looked down, face flushed, “No.”

He jumped to his feet, snatched up the knife, and jerked his head back by the hair. “I could cut our throat!” he swore, licked his lips.

The young man stared up into is father’s baleful gaze, but a frown creased his unsullied brow. “You’re…you’re a coward,” he breathed, revelation resounded to his core.

Isaac growled. He held the knife to his son’s throat, but the young man only stared back in confused disgust. The blade pressed against his throat, but strange eyes, like beech wood though the edges appeared charred, judged. He shook his head, vines with rusted barbs trembled. The metal creeper slashed at him, left bloody cuts; yet, his disgust only grew. “You better shut up,” he warned, “or you’ll end up in Blackberry Bog!”

“No,” the young man blinked.

“What,” Isaac stammered.

Teenage Kayden stood, chair fell back, and he tried to push his father away. His hand bounced off Isaac’s chest to slap him across the face. Both stared at the other. “I have to go to school,” he stammered, blinked at his father’s tremor. He bolted out the door.

Isaac stared, lip trembled, but he looked at the knife in his hand. Knuckles turned white, and he bared teeth. His son looked own, refused to look back. He rushed onto the porch, “Come back here.” The young man walked faster, but cast a disgusted look back. Isaac screamed at the distaste. “Just like your MOTHER!” he dashed after him.

“Get away from me,” teenage Kayden broke into a run, but tripped over his feet. His hand snatched at the old well’s lip.