Hunched and coddling his injured mind, lost within a stone forest he trembled. Never believed or allowed Mervin had been mistreated since his conception. During his early year he was battered by abuse needed by none. His father would lecture the young shadow about life and its inherent disgraces. How it was appointed and sadistic, of meaning there was little to be found. The creator bore speech of alcohol and drugs, the man a living desire to perfect, purge and produce. So livid in his intention that when he caught the aging child with a flame in hand the father cracked and snapped. Fingers abused and broken to prevent subsequent consumption. For without functional digits Mervin was a pawn to be controlled and caressed by the hand of an overseer.
For years he bowed down and released his intent upon the ashes of belief. Eroded by his broken body with no hope. No hope save for the destruction of a deity, the same deity who created and moulded this juvenile representation of morality. Truly an irreversible and poor idea destined to collapse it was, but prolonged thought bore its fruit. The father’s death had been decided, for Mervin needed escape and solitude.
Deep down under the shroud of night Mervin crept like a skink around and around ready for an unaccompanied moment of chance. The light depressed and he sensed release so up the stairs he wound. He crept and crept and crept until no ray remained, his sight was clear and intrusion began. Built upon a steady base he swelled his chest as he opened the door. Moonlight pierced through the gloom of dusk and shone upon his father’s face. Years of delirium were revealed, Mervin read and relived his past harm within each wrinkle on the old man’s face. Anger flowed profusely from the possessed revenant and up it flew onto the bed making right for the old man’s neck.
Blood had been spilled. His father’s faded life stark against the bed’s ivory attire. Now relaxed, relieved and revitalized Mervin stepped back to observe. He had collected past sins and made right the lashings he had received. Revoked was his rage, only a single audible hum remained. He laid down upon the stained wooden floor for there was no thing that need be heeded, he was care free as he had resolved and righted all. Unnecessary was worry so he laid his weary head to rest. Mervin’s flow of thought was swiftly staunched by the silent grasp of sleep.
After that singular night he had achieved little for lack of heart. He had been caught as all must and tortured within his own prison, but no act held a candle to the fright his father had bestowed upon him. Mervin was released and made way to the martyrs bay a place where spectres went to depress and recede. In this secluded morrow he was content to sit in his own filth and refuse. Splints put to his fingers, in each hand he held a cigarette lit with a scarlet flame. Free to dispose of his aging body, Mervin consumed the cigarettes as representation of the life harshly withheld from him. With his liberation the foul smelling bottom dweller achieved what he sought; the anxious retention of duty. Mervin had fled harsh obstruction by granted power and was now content to live out his few remaining days in simple solitude. He closed his weary and weathered eyes and began dreaming of nomadic retention.
Embrace the disheartened, sincerely