Father’s Day

Flash Fiction by Scott Macleod

Del could feel the old voice coursing around his brain like poison, but he felt he had something important to say so he tried to keep it together.

Well missy look at you I suppose you’re one of them schoolboy smarty pants.

“You see that guy?” said Del to his 12-year-old son, nodding his head to the side towards the wastrel down a way to the left. “That’s a guy who messed around in school. Don’t forget about school.”

You don’t take no orders from anybody. You’re a Vincent. You ain’t no sucker.

“There is dignity in work,” said Del to his son.  “Do an honest job for an honest wage.”

Don’t ever take no backtalk from no woman. 

“Find yourself a good woman like your mother and treat her like gold,” said Del to his son.

There ain’t no God, that’s just a man reachin’ into your pocket.

“Be a God-fearing man and go to church regular as you can,” said Del to his son.

Get up boy or I’ll really hit you.

“Use your words and resort to your fists only if there’s no choice,” said Del to his son.

You are a piece of me, remember that. Vincent through and through.

“Do not be like me,” said Del to his son. “You can be whatever you want to be, you do not need to be another Vincent loser.”

My daddy kicked the tar out of me every day and it made me the man I am today.

“Your granddad was a hard man and I’ve tried not to make the same mistakes with you,” said Del to his son.

Don’t you cry, what kind of man are you, no I ain’t gonna kiss you goodnight like some baby girl.

“Come, let your dad give you a kiss goodbye,” said Del to his son.

Del gave a wide smile and pressed his lips to the plexiglass.  His boy did the same with his forehead on the other side. The boy’s mother sat beside him silently as with every visit. They had heard this speech many times.

“Take care of your mom, she ain’t well,” said Del to his son, as the trustee escorted Del back to gen pop. 

The next time the boy saw his father was two years later. The boy was sitting in the crowded gallery holding an urn with his mother’s ashes and watching through a large plate glass as the executioner placed the canvas hood over Del’s head and prepared the needle.

Afterwards the boy trudged back to the car he had parked in a remote section of the prison lot. He strapped each of the two urns he was now carrying into the backseat and tightened the seatbelts. As he drove away, he turned up the radio full blast to drown out the screams and kicking coming from his trunk. The sedative must have worn off.

“Should have weighed the son of a bitch and calculated the dose more carefully,” he thought.

“Measure twice, cut once,” he could hear his father say.

Don’t get caught, asshole, he sensed another voice from somewhere, although he had never met his grandpa.

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Bio: Scott MacLeod is a father of two who writes in Central Florida. His work has appeared in Punk Noir, Every Day Fiction, Bristol Noir, Coffin Bell, 10 By 10 Flash, Frontier Tales, Short-story.me and Gumshoe Review. His story “Upstaged” can be found on The Yard. He can be found at his Facebook Page.

Read more Hard Life stories on The Yard: Crime Blog

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