rembrandt :: seven (fin) . cbd2

Bubblegum bubblegum pop

"I'm sorry about your father."

He pushes the gum to the back of his mouth, casting a glance to the person who spoke up behind him. Black suits drenched in grief, he surveys the small crowd that's shown up to pay whatever respects his father never deserved. The man behind him is Lenny, some self-entitled poker aficionado  that rode a high horse taller than anything he'd ever seen. He narrows his eyes, looking the man up and down before turning his attention back to the casket. 


"Yeah, everyone is apparently." 


The man pushes forward, diving into personal space that was never his to have, playing his cards carefully. It takes every nerve he has not to roll his eyes, instead listening to the rustling of the leaves in the forest, blowing a bubble and letting it deflate, tongue licking off the remnants of what's left on his lips. He looks down, taking in every feature of his father's face. They did a good job with making him look human.

Makeup can cover anything, even the face of a monster. 

But all monsters are human, he realizes.

"You shouldn't be chewing that at a funeral. It's rude."

He swears his father's corpse cracks a smile as his son is humiliated, turning towards the man and staring him down, fire in his eyes hot enough to burn the forest around them. He cocks his head, trying to figure out on what grounds a Tuesday night poker buddy had in telling him what to do or who to be.

How to live, how to be what he wanted. He'd thought that had ended when his father's heart took him out.


"You're right." 

He lets the words hang in the air, before gathering up all the spit in his mouth and spraying the gum straight into the man's face, bubbles of split splattering against the wrinkles in his skin, dripping down his cheeks. 

And then, his fist goes straight into the man's jaw. The crowd screams, a Peacekeeper rushes forward.

Everything goes black.

And maybe it's better like that.