It is dark when I exit; night had long since fallen, and a heavy mist hung in the air that blotted out the moon and stars. The yellow glow of the halogen orbs in the light posts were barely strong enough to cast a halo on the ground. I tap my head with the staff and my vision shifts to green. I bend at my waist and pick up the money and count it before shoving it into my pocket. A little over 3000 dollars in total. I check my phone; no missed calls, no missed texts, nothing. I had been gone for over two days, but no one seemed to notice. No one seemed to care.
It was the morning of the 27th of December and I let out a sigh as I hobble home as quickly as I can. It takes me about ten minutes before I’m at the front door. I turn the knob, and the door opens. It stinks like dog piss and vodka. Trash and rotting food lined the over and the table. I sigh.
“Clio? Where are you?” I click my tongue.
Cold. Hurts.
I push the door closed and it clicks. The door to my parent’s room just as I begin to hobble for the glass sliding door.
“Where the FUCK have you been?”
My father storms out of the room. The stench of vodka stains his every word. He wears nothing but old, stained boxers as he staggers out and stomps across the room toward me.
“I’ve been out. Have a job now.” I say.
“Yeah, fucking right. Look at the fucking mess the house is in.”
“I’ve been busy. Where’s Clio?”
“Ohhhh where’s Clio.” He repeated in a mocking tone, “Shut the FUCK up and listen to me.”
Foul-smelling spittle splashes me on the face. He staggers as he stands.
“You’re going to clean this mess up, do you understand me?”
He shoves his finger in my face.
“Dad. Where’s Clio? I’m not in the mood for this.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you’re in the mood for. Clean this shit up. That’s your job.”
I shove my way past him, hobbling to the door.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Listen to me when I’m talking, god dammit.”
He picks up an empty bottle from the nearby kitchenette table and hurls it at me. I barely feel it as it hits the back of my head.
“Why the fuck did you bring a stick into the house. You trying to give us termites?”
“I hurt myself on the job. Can barely walk.” I motion to the swelling leg. “Where’s Clio?”
“Who gives a fuck? When are you going to fucking clean this GOD DAMN HOUSE?” He slams his fist through the plaster wall.
“Why don’t you do it?” I ask. “Too busy drinking?”
“Fuck you. I don’t drink.”
He staggers over to me and shoves me just as I open the door. I fall forward and catch myself
“Don’t touch me again, Michael,” I warn him with a glare as I pull myself up.
The threat seems to work as he backs off.
“Clio? Where are you?” I whisper into the darkness that shrouded my backyard.
A soft whine draws my attention to the metal shed in the corner of the yard. I approach it and slide it open. Clio lies on the carpet shaking. I kneel down and pick her up. She whines as I touch her side, and I feel a small lump beneath the skin, I flip her over onto her stomach, and she whines again. Long, red scabs dot her stomach, and I feel them all over her back. The shed smells like dog, I tap my head and the world is cast in green once more, and I see no bowl for food or water.
“Did you hit her?”
“What?”
“Did you hit Clio?”
“Yeah? So what. She pissed in the house. So what if I did?”
“What did you hit her with?”
“What?”
I set her down on the ground.
“What did you hit her with? Are you stupid? There are marks all over her.”
“I got the rake to chase her into the shed so she’d stop pissing in the house.” He speaks almost proud of himself, “Why do you care? You’re the one who abandoned h—”
I lurch forward and land a solid blow against my father’s face. He sprawls to the ground.
“You hit me?” He tries to push himself up but staggers and falls again.
I pick up the staff that I had dropped and point it at Clio.
“By the light of Yahweh, God of Gods and King of Kings.”
“Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“If you say another word I’ll hit you again.” I snap back.
A warm light envelops Clio, and soon her tense muscles loosen. I cast lesser heal again.
“You don’t live in my house and hit me.”
My father pushes himself to his feet, staggers over, and reaches out to grab me. I bat away his arms and land a solid punch on his solar plexus, and he doubles over.
“Okay. I’m leaving. With Clio.” I say.
She stands and wags her tail as the healing takes effect.
My father could only groan in response. I am the staff at him and cast lesser heal. He immediately stops groaning.
I hobble into the house, throw open the door to my old room, and dig through the closet until I find the shoe box with the rest of my savings. I shove the box into my bag and hobble out of the house as quickly as I can, as my father watched from the glass sliding door. I slam the door shut and leave the house that I had spent the last ten years in; clutching my dog and wobbling on a broken leg. Yeah, this was for the best, I tell myself. My heart beats hot. Furiously. My hands shake as I grip the staff, and I feel my stomach pull up against my throat.