The Father, The Son, The Broken Chair

The Father, The Son, The Broken Chair

So listen, dad, to what I say
Allow me to be perfectly clear
Lean in close and kiss my lips
And I will whisper in your ear
Can you hear the pain behind my teeth
Can you feel the heat between my legs
Can you touch the place you bruised and beat
Can you kiss the spot you never left
Can you heal the bruise you left inside
On a bed with the curtains closed real tight
In a room entirely made of white
In a memory that still beats in this light

Where are your convenient excuses
Where are your threats when you need them
Let me rape you the way you raped me
Ask me later if you’re forgiven
Kill this monster you left inside me
Growing from your seed within
The man who made me found a haven
But I’ve been in the wild since then
It’s time, at last, to get revenge
It’s time we made this even
Do you hear the church bells chiming, dad?
I’m outside and I’m listening
He comes into your room at night
He stays and never goes away
And still he lies inside your mind
If you listen you can hear him say

Alone, alone, abandoned boys
Embrace the man you made me
And listen for my little voice
“It tastes like raisins, daddy.”
So come, come in, let’s talk it through
The chair you left is waiting
Let’s walk back to that living room
Let’s try again and maybe
The lights will break, the boy you made
Has come now to collect you
Let’s finish this where it began
There’s no one to protect you

I’m stronger now, and you’ve gone old
But I have lived and you have not
And you’ve been sitting in that chair
And I have loved and you’ve been lost
And I will light a candle here
And set this chair on fire
And I will breathe you in the air
And let you float on higher
I’ll walk down to the river side
I’ll skip the glass along the way
I’ll sit there in the water, dad
And live to love another day
And as your ashes float above me
I will cry my tears for you
I cannot be the man you made me
I have better things to do

It hurts too much to keep on hating
It’s only killing me too soon
I’d rather be the son you lost
Than the nightmare you left in that room
And I don’t need your reasons, dad
I don’t care if you have found them
I have to live despite your efforts
I have to find a way around them

The father, the son, the broken chair
The night the devil found me
It’s more than I can ever bare
But still I cross the boundary
You watched a baby sound asleep
And said you wanted to hurt him
The way your father held your feet
The way your father burned them

It’s not my job to heal the burns
It’s not my place to touch your bruises
A son is not a bandage
And a father should not make excuses
I don’t want a kiss goodbye
I don’t want to kiss your bruises
The son you murdered did not die
And he can love the way he chooses

 

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God Is An Abusive Boyfriend

god-by-perin-del-vaga

(After finishing the God Delusion by Richard Dawkins for the third time in the span of about a year, and having also read Hitchens’ God is Not Great a few times as well, I found that my many opinions about Christianity finally started to take some coherent form. I could write an entire book [and I hope to at some point] about my feelings on Christianity, as well as religion in general. In an effort to work toward that, I’ve started taking notes. The following is more less copied and pasted from my notepad so it isn’t entirely fleshed out or well-organized, but it is a good place to start. I wanted to point out that these are notes for myself so that it’s clear that this isn’t the final product, just the early stages of something I’m working on.)

Christianity is a system of cyclical emotional abuse that inculcates and indoctrinates new members (almost always as emotionally vulnerable and mentally impressionable children) to believe that they fundamentally disordered in such a way that they are evil and worthy of eternal torment from the moment they are born. Not only this, but they are taught to believe that they CANNOT be anything other than evil and worthy of the most horrific kind of torture and punishment, because the only way to be truly good, moral, and decent, is to allow Christ to take on your own sin (whether you’ve committed any sin or not), and Christianity takes care to institute such rigorous regulations that most normal, healthy, biologically necessary actions are considered sinful, and thought crime is preached by the central deity, so that absolutely any moment of anything other than complete lobotomized silence is viewed as sinful and in need of correction or forgiveness. To be naked is a sin, to experience physical arousal is a sin, to desire to be close and to express love is a sin, to even think about exercising a completely healthy biological function like masturbation is a sin, even unavoidable biological functions like menstruation are sinful and “unclean,” in short: everything that any normal human being might do is considered a sin, so that no matter how hard you try, you cannot escape God’s righteous indignation.

This tactic is sometimes employed by the military, during basic training, in which a drill Sargeant will emotionally abuse his pupils by setting such absurd regulations on behavior that it becomes literally impossible for the rules to be followed, and so the entire unit is punished when one pupil slips up. Drill Sargeant will also give conflicting orders and punish a cadet no matter their actions, regardless of if they obeyed or not, simply to torture them. The reason for this barbaric method of training is to purposely bring the unit together in their utter contempt of the drill Sargeant, and yet also to fear and obey him, regardless of his orders, because it is the only way to avoid punishment, even if avoiding it is futile. Soldiers are placed under such extreme mental and emotional stress in an attempt to completely break their spirit, and then rebuild their demolished psyche into that of a ruthless killing machine whose only goal and joy comes from following orders and serving the military.

This kind of barbaric treatment is contemptible, but when it’s done in the military, people recognize it for what it is. Even those who justify this cruelty say that it’s done for a purpose. No one pretends that this medieval method of training is done out of love and compassion. But when God does the same things, and worse, people will make any excuse to justify his contemptible behavior, and most sickeningly of all: that God abuses and tortures his creations because he LOVES us. God is the ultimate abusive boyfriend. Countless times throughout the Bible he presses into service those same excuses we know abusers use: “You brought this on yourself,” “Look what you made me do,” “I’m only doing this because I love you.” If any man were on trial for doing a fraction of the things god does to his children, he would most certainly be sentenced to prison or worse. Yet his actions are excused and justified by his victims, who trip over themselves to believe that 2+2=5 if God says it does.

God

Fairy Tale: Lucas’ Origin Story

Elliot sat across the wooden table from Lucas, the setting sun peeking through the high window. “It’s time we had a talk, Lucas,” he said calmly, his hands folded in his lap.
Lucas sat quietly in the chair opposite Elliot. “You apprehended me,” he said, “You stole me away from my companions, and God only knows what you did to them.”
“They’re all being held in custody, for now,” said Elliot, “And their identities haven’t been released. I haven’t yet decided what to do with them. I suppose it depends on your actions now.”
“And what does that mean?” asked Lucas.
“Well,” said Elliot, “You’ve had your little adventure, running all about the continent in an attempt to cause me an unending amount of trouble, but that’s over now. And I think it’s time you took up your role as Prince and started doing some work around here.”
“I’m not a Prince,” said Lucas, “I’m the son of a traitorous liar who impregnated the queen and refused to claim his own son.”
Elliot chuckled, “I suppose it isn’t surprising that you’re misinformed. You’ve never been told the story of how you were born.”
“I’m sure I know well enough what happened,” said Lucas.
“You’d be surprised, actually,” replied Elliot, “But before we get to that, we need to talk about your friends.”
“Let them go, they aren’t part of what’s happening between you and I,” said Lucas.
“But they are, actually,” said Elliot, “And I could have them all executed for conspiring against me, and by proxy the Alexandrian government, but that depends on what you do next.”
“You want me to stay quiet,” said Lucas, “Like I did before. Never revealing your little secrets. And you’re going to use them to bargain with me.”
“Actually not so simple, not this time,” said Elliot, “I’m going to ask you to take a seat as my right hand on the Council, and you’re going to be so close that I can see what you’re doing at all times, and you personally will carry out my edicts that will diffuse this little situation you’ve created. In exchange for agreeing to this, I’ll let them go free, and I won’t pursue them, as long as they never cross back into my territory.”
Lucas was silent. “You’re a monster, a coward, and you deserve to die,” he spat.
“But I wasn’t always like this,” replied Elliot, and he laid his folded hands on the table, “Once I was respectable. I was a Councilman and I fell in love with a woman, I was young and foolish and all I wanted was to reform this country, to make real change, to bring Alexandria to greatness.”
“A woman,” repeated Lucas.
“Yes,” said Elliot, “Your mother, the Queen. She and I spoke several times in Court, and we began to spend time together, she would invite me to the castle to paint, to sing for her, to play instruments in the conservatory. She would invite me in groups, so it was never suspicious, and I was clueless that she shared the affection that was growing within me for her.
And then of course I discovered that she cared for me, because back then I was just a normal man who wanted nothing more than to be happy, and to help my country, and I was not a monster. It was late one night when she asked to stay after the other guests had left, and having been left alone by her servants, she revealed her affections to me, and we stole away to her bedchamber, silently, and when it was done she showed me a way out over the balcony, which was low to the ground and right above the palace gardens. She’d crawled out this way herself, before, to walk around the gardens unsupervised at night, adventurous thing that she was.”
Lucas said nothing, only listened. He’d never heard any detail about his mother before.
Elliot continued, “Of course, things immediately became complicated. Your mother had a weak body, she was prone to sickness ever since she was a child, and after three years of marriage to the king, who you never knew, but who was a gluttonous sloth of a man, a wretched king who did nothing but dine and throw parties and who took no interest in the running of his country, even without any power in it’s rule, after three years of marriage to this indolent slug, she had not produced a child, and it was assumed that she barren. But soon we learned that she was not, because she had become pregnant, and only she and I knew that it was my child.
“Well of course something had to be done. I couldn’t very well allow the child to be born, and I told her that it was within my power to find a doctor, to spirit her away in the night and to have the procedure done, the child removed, and the pregnancy averted. She wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Why did you want her to stop the pregnancy?” asked Lucas. He felt himself nearing tears, feeling so isolated, so neglected, so unwanted, “Weren’t you happy to have a child?”
“No,” came Elliot’s swift reply, “I was not. I wasn’t against the idea of having a child, but I wanted to have a child on my own terms. This baby would be raised by the king, not me, and would never know it’s true father. It would be born in an Alexandria where poverty and squalor were commonplace, not the lofty grandeur of the Alexandria I wished to create. It wasn’t time yet, not for either of us. I spent months trying to convince her, but she wouldn’t listen, and I was so desperately and foolishly young, and in love with her. I couldn’t bare to fight with her. Our arguments turned into passion so quickly, we were so eager to be in love with one another, she who was wed to a pig and I who had pent up my passion my whole life, and never known a woman as my lover.
“But even then, I was determined. I knew I couldn’t convince her to have a procedure done, and by now, the whole palace, and the whole kingdom, knew she was a pregnant. It was being celebrated as a miracle, divine intervention so that the king could finally bare a son. Had the only known the intervention came at my hands. But no matter, I decided I would go for the next best thing.”
“What was that?” asked Lucas angrily.
“I found a witch,” Elliot replied coolly.
Lucas was stunned for a moment, “How did you do that?”
“Oh it wasn’t too difficult, I’m resourceful and I cultivate the proper relationships when they become necessary,” said Elliot, “It wasn’t too much of a challenge to discover an old crone living in the backwoods on the border of Alexandria and the Free Lands, and I found her little home all on my own too. I asked for what I sought: a potion that would kill an unborn child, but allow the mother to live.
“The old witch I’d found was a little hesitant, but when I told her to name a price, she agreed, and the potion was ready within a night. I paid her a king’s ransom in gold and took the potion back with me. I would administer it while the queen, my beloved little queen, slept. Finding my way into her bedchamber at night was a skill at which I was not unpracticed. I slipped into bed with her and she sleepily swallowed the potion when I gave it to her. She fell right back to sleep, and I stole out the balcony and waited.”
“What happened?” asked Lucas.
“The next morning I expected to hear news of a miscarriage, but when I saw the queen she was radiant, and she secretly confided to me that she felt a sudden surge of health, that the baby was kicking harder than ever, and that she was certain her weak system had not failed her child after all, that the baby was hardy and healthy. In fact she had herself examined by the doctors of the palace and reported to me later that night that she was found to be in excellent health herself, more than she’d ever been, and that the baby was doing better than had expected. They were even able to ascertain that it was a little boy, though the methods by which doctor’s discover the gender of a child seems as much to me now based on superstition and wives’ tales as it did then. I didn’t care that I now had a son growing strong and healthy inside her, I was furious that the potion had failed.”
“And then?” asked Lucas.
Elliot raised his eyebrows and said calmly, “Well I went back to the witch, of course. Told her I’d kill her myself for what she’d done, I paid her a small fortune in money I didn’t even have, money I’d taken extra care to have stolen from the castle treasury, not to mention the personal time and labor involved in killing the thief and disposing of the body to hide my tracks.”
Lucas shook his head sadly, “You were a monster, even then.”
“Not just yet, I wasn’t,” said Elliot, “I was still forming into one, but the transformation wasn’t complete. After all my plot had been foiled, the baby was alive and healthy as ever, and your mother had not only forgiven me, but perhaps coming so close to losing everything made her love everything in her life even more. She radiated with light during the pregnancy. The baby was nourishing her, protecting her, shielding her from me.”
“From you,” Lucas scoffed, “You who wanted to take away everything from her?”
Elliot’s face betrayed no emotion. “I wanted to give her everything, Lucas. I wanted to take the Kingdom from it’s corrupt governance and dethrone it’s fat, lecherous king, and give Alexandria a bright future, give the woman I loved a bright future.”
“By killing her unborn child, betraying her trust, and destroying her world,” sneered Lucas.
“Oh don’t be so dramatic,” Elliot flicked his hand noncommittally, “She had shown herself quite capable of producing a child, it wasn’t as though she’d never have the opportunity again, and besides, what kind of child would ever be happy raised with a sluggish oaf of a king, and whose true father was hidden from him, of whose affections he could never partake?”
Lucas said nothing, only felt anger boiling inside himself.
“Well as I said, I went back to the witch, and demanded to know what had gone wrong. This is when she told me,” Elliot adopted an expression of curiosity and bemusement, “that the only conceivable way her potion could have failed, would have been if the child was a witch.
Silence, only more silence. Lucas couldn’t speak, just listened, attention rapt, hanging on Elliot’s every word.
“I was stunned. When I told her that neither my beloved nor I came from families of witches, she refused to believe it, told me that somewhere in our mingled bloodlines was a drop of magic, and that the potion would have been fatal to an ordinary baby, but to a Magickal child, it would only make it stronger. Well, this had clearly been the case. Your mother radiated health emanated vigor and health, more so in her pregnancy than she had before.
“And this, of course, is when I truly became a monster.
You see, it was at this point, having been forgiven my offense, having found my child and my beloved to have been not only unharmed but enhanced and strengthened by the witch’s potion, knowing that the option of claiming the throne was still mine, but that I would just have to wait a little longer… it was at this point that I dove over the cliff and into a sea of anguish and regret from whence there could be no return.
I asked her for a potion that could kill an unborn witch, a Magickal baby.”
Elliot was silent for a moment. His tone was as noncommittal as ever, but his words seemed somehow sincere. Lucas said, “Well?”
Elliot took a breath and closed his eyes, then shrugged, “Well you’re here, aren’t you? You must know the potion didn’t really work.”
“I also know that my mother died in childbirth,” said Lucas with his eyes narrowed, his fists long since clenched at his sides beneath the table.
Elliot nodded, then picked up his story right where he’d left off, “Well, the witch said that it was an offense so grave to kill an unborn child of Magickal decent that she would prefer death. She knew I could have obliged her easily in this, but she didn’t know me well enough to realize I always have a contingency plan.
The woman’s house was an orphanage. How easy it was to threaten to the lives of one or all of her little ones. I honestly doubted there would be much negotiation, I didn’t even have to fetch one of the children and hold a knife to it’s throat, she knew the moment I made the threat that I was genuine.”
“So she made you the potion,” said Lucas, “To kill an unborn witch.”
“She did,” said Elliot, “But it took her three days, and I had to wait in town, far enough away that I didn’t interrupt her concentration. When I returned at the appointed time, the old woman handed me the vial with tears streaking her face, and as she pressed it into my hands, she cursed me, told me that if I were to ever use this potion, that she wished a thousand miseries upon me.
“It’s funny, isn’t it?” asked Elliot, shifting his gaze to Lucas.
“What could possibly be funny?” Lucas seethed.
“Well, the old crone had no problem killing an ordinary baby. She was happy to mix the brew for me and exchange it for gold, no problem. But when she learned that the baby was one of her own tribe, that it was a child of Magick, suddenly she was committing an unforgivable sin, slaying an innocent. She didn’t think the child so innocent before, did she?”
Lucas didn’t say anything, but couldn’t help agreeing, for once in his life, with Elliot. It seemed sinister beyond reason.
“As you can imagine, I was beside myself with guilt this entire time,” continued Elliot, “Oh I sat up all night, every night, in that little inn in town, weeping like a child, wondering what had become of me. I kept telling myself, ‘it isn’t too late to stop,’ but somehow I knew I wouldn’t. I knew I would follow through. It was in my nature. I would have Alexandria, I would have the Queen, and she would be mine, and then, when I had built a world worthy of a child, I would bring one into the world.”
Lucas was bothered by the implication that it would Elliot bringing the child into the world and not the child’s mother, but he said nothing.
“If I had a child now,” Elliot continued, “It would be discovered to be mine. I have dark hair and dark skin, the king was red-headed and pale, even though his wife was fair and blonde, it would be too easy to see, especially since we knew the child was a boy, and there were already rumours across the court about the queen having an illicit affair. Shadowy figures had been seen lurking near her dressing room balcony at night. And here I had been so careful not to be seen. No one knew it was me, but if there was a suspicion, it would be confirmed all too easily the moment the boy was born.”
Another long silence. Always a silence between them, the boy and the man. This silence seemed to contain more than any previous quiet that befell the two, in it was anger, resentment, pride, hatred, too much to ever speak, to much to ever truly understanding, from either side.
“I did as I had done before,” said Elliot, and he sighed, a sad sound, an emotional sound, a completely unexpected sound, “I slipped her the potion while she slept. I cried, and she remained asleep. I stayed by her bed all night, tucked into the shadowy corner of her chamber. In the morning I slipped into the closet and watched, expecting her to awaken that large belly deflated, I expected the tears and the blood, and knew she would never forgive me, but I also knew she wouldn’t stop loving me. I knew she would eventually move on. I was making a cut in her skin that could never heal, but in the end, we would still have our life together. I’d made my decision, I was following through.”
“And then?” asked Lucas, unable to stop himself.
Elliot was gazing down at his folded hand. His eyes flicked up to look directly into Lucas’. “And then, my son, you were born.
“She awoke to gasps of pain, as I knew she would. But when the nurses, the servants and the handmaids flooded into her room, it wasn’t what I expected. The baby hadn’t been miscarried, instead the nurses announced gleefully that a little head was poking through, with a face, that the child was not only being born, but he was coming fast. The birth happened like lightning, so fast was it all. I thought she was miscarrying. But the doctors found their way in, the baby was born, the chord was cut, and I heard the crying. Her child had been born a month and a half early, tiny but resilient, and his cry was loud and strong. He was placed into his mother’s arms.
“She wasn’t dead, she’d survived the birth. I saw her, through the slit the open wardrobe door, the morning light falling in beams on her and her child in the bed, she cooed to him softly, whispered things I will never know to him. And then she did a curious thing, she looked directly at me.
“No one in the room noticed. They were all too busy fussing in the corners with fresh clothes, bedding, setting up a makeshift bed for the baby who had not been expected yet. But she looked directly into the wardrobe, and right at me, I could see her pale blue eyes reflected in the sunlight. Her expression was something between pity and sadness. In the days and years since, I’ve often pretended that it was an expression of forgiveness. I’ll never know. Because at that moment, her eyes rolled back, and quite suddenly her head lolled and she fell back onto her pillow, the baby still safe in her arms, and died.”
Elliot was tracing a finger nervously along the table, something he’d never done in Lucas’ presence. He was looking down at his hand with an expression that was difficult to read. His voice had not cracked, his eyes were not wet, but there was a sadness there, Lucas suddenly saw, and it was a deep and unreachable void.
“When the servants realized what had happened they shrieked in terror, they grabbed the baby and fussed about her, ran off to find the doctor, to see if there was yet some way to rouse her. But they knew. And so did I. I stood there, my legs aching from standing all night in that closet, staring at my beloved, laying dead in the bed where we had created this child, this child that had taken her life not because she was too weak to give birth, but because I had MADE her too weak to do it. The first potion strengthened the baby so much that it strengthened her as well, but the second potion, which was meant to kill the baby, only spurred him to leave her body too soon, and perhaps all the strength she’d had left was in that child within her.
“When the servants had fled, there was a moment when the room was empty, and I ran out of the wardrobe, sealed the door with a plank, and fell onto her body on the bed. I touched her face, wept loudly, not concealing myself for fear of being heard. There was banging at the door, the king was outside, demanding to know who was in the room, what had happened to his wife. But I just laid my head against her naked breast, which had not even suckled her newborn yet, and she was well and truly dead. In agony, I pulled kissed her dead lips, and pulled myself away, leapt out over the balcony and into the gardens, and no one ever knew how the door had been barred, no one ever knew it was me.
“Perhaps it’s because everyone was so caught up in grief over the loss of their queen, or perhaps it was because the baby had had the fortune to be born with his mother’s hair, eyes, and skin tone, that no one suspected me. At her funeral, I saw the king weeping, and I saw the little baby boy being held by a nursemaid. I still hadn’t seen his face, hadn’t seen the face of my son.
“It was easy enough to creep up to his bedchamber, because the king was foolishly sleeping the apartments near Court, not in his own well-guarded chambers. The mystery of the crying voice within the queen’s chamber had now been chalked up to the supernatural, they believed it was the ghost of the Queen’s father weeping for her, that he had barred the door and held his daughter in his arms as he wrenched her, tearfully, away from her child and into the next life. Such foolishness.
The king had only two guards outside his door, and the rest of the palace guard was otherwise occupied because the funeral for the Queen had taken place only hours before, and most were still seeing to guests from neighboring settlements and mayors of provincial Alexandrian towns. It was too easy to incapacitate the first guard, then the second, and to make my way silently into the king’s bedchamber, where I murdered him effortlessly in his sleep, not even waking him to tell him what a sorry swine he was, how he had stood between all of my goals, and how I would never allow him to win.
“It was a scandal beyond all scandals, of course. But now, the boy was the only member of the royal family left, and I offered to help with raising the child. I was thought selfless, but I agreed that I would help look after him and move into the castle. He would need care and love, after all,” Elliot’s tone was grave and solemn, “What he needed was supervision. But I’d already volunteered myself to be his caretaker, I couldn’t very well kill the damn child now he was alive, and besides the thing had done so much to ruin my life that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he spit fire in my face and charred me on the spot, and as you know, that is partially what happened.
“The first time I met the little child he was sleeping in a bassinet, the nurses had allowed me access, cautioning me to be quiet and let the little one rest. I stood over his cradle and looked in at the little sleeping thing on the cushions. A little wisp of hair that was so light brown it was almost blonde, and I leaned in and picked him up. My heart sank when I held this warm little creature in my arms. I’d destroyed my own future, and now I’d destroyed his. And I was now an indentured servant to this child, because I alone knew he had Magick within him, and it would be up to me to stifle it, suppress it, and hide it from everyone else. In order to keep this child from exhibiting his power, I would have to commit my every moment to making it’s existence so miserable, so devoid of familial affection, that he could never use his power. I would have to break the spirit of the baby my beloved had just died to bring into the world.
“A thousand miseries, indeed. And then you grew up, and now here we are.”
Lucas didn’t know what to say. Tears had long since began falling from his eyes, his fingers were no longer clenched, but splayed helplessly across his lap. He sobbed openly. He tried to look at Elliot through the blurry vision. “You treated me the way you did,” he sobbed, “To try and contain my power? My Magick?”
Elliot nodded, “It wasn’t so hard, I hated you anyway, even though you’d done nothing wrong. Your existence was a blight to me, and it was easy to mistreat you.”
Lucas pounded his fist onto the table helplessly, “How could do this to me? Isn’t it enough that you destroyed my mother with your scheming, that you kill everyone who comes near you, why would you torture me too? Did you think it noble of you?”
“What do you suppose the superstitious Alexandrians would do,” Elliot raised his voice, “If they had discovered that the Prince was another Daemon Child of legend, spitting fire from his fingertips when he wailed? Do you think they would have been merciful? Heavens no! They would have declared you an abomination unto the Unknown God and sacrificed you then and there.”
“You don’t know that!” shouted Lucas, “And even if they had, why would you not defend me?” He stood from his place at the table and slammed his fists down again, feeling more emboldened than ever before in his life, “Why would you not protect me, love me, treat me as a father should? Why would you not be my father?”
Elliot leapt from his position and pounded his fist into the table, “I was never a father!” he roared, “I was never meant to be your father, and you wouldn’t die when you were supposed to, and you took your mother out of the world when you came!” His eyes burned, his tone was vicious and seething with poison, “I hated you from the moment you were born, and despite feelings I couldn’t overcome when I saw you that first time, I vowed to be strong enough to protect you by letting myself hate you, it was better than killing you myself!”
“You weren’t strong at all!” cried Lucas, “You were too weak to kill me OR to be my father, so you chose to let me die a slow death from inside out, and now I’m a weakling because of it! I’m broken, I’m destroyed, and it’s because of you!” Lucas reached down under the table and in a fit of rage, toppled it to it’s side.
Elliot threw his head back and laughed, “You don’t look so broken to me, boy!”
Lucas threw himself at Elliot, but Elliot was quick, and with a deft hand he grabbed Lucas by the shoulder and plunged him into the floor, hard. “You were a mistake from the beginning! Your very existence is your crime, and as always, I am cleaning up your mess and paying for your sin! You are the encumbrance to me you’ve always been, but still I let you live, even in your tenacious defiance!”
Lucas glared up at Elliot, “I hate you,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “I hate you and I always have. You’re more of a monster than I ever knew. A thousand upon a thousand miseries will never be enough for you.”
Elliot bent down to his knee and swiftly grabbed Lucas by his collar, pulling him so close Lucas could feel his breath when he whispered to him, “You are my misery. You have always been. And I have accepted the burden of letting you live, but I may yet change my mind.” He shoved Lucas back down and stood to his full height, then continued, “Stay here and think on what I’ve told you, and decide who you want to become. If you wish to be a Prince worthy of the title, this is the beginning.
“You are an adult now, you’ve been told the story of your birth, and you can decide to pursue me to the ends of the earth on a quest for vengeance, or you can decide to follow my orders and lead your people. You can also stay right here in this room and cry for the rest of your life, I don’t care. I’ll send food to you if you like, and you can live right in this little cell, and die of misery. I stopped caring the moment I poisoned your mother, I stopped being human then, I lost the ability to love, or to feel compassion. Your tears mean as little to me now as they did when you were a squalling newborn. Die in misery for all I care, but do NOT stand in my way again.”
Elliot turned on his heel and marched down the steps and slammed the door on his way out. Lucas curled up and sobbed into the stones on the floor.

Notes: So I finally did it, I finally wrote it down. I’ve had this origin story for a while now but refused to write it down. There’s a lot in Fairy Tale I haven’t written down, but more on that later. If you notice any kind of spike in writing quality halfway through, that’s because I began this scene in the middle and wrote to the end, and by then I was a little drained but I forced myself to go back and write the beginning. Reading back over it I can tell that the beginning of the scene isn’t as eloquent (is it pretentious to refer to your own work as eloquent? Because I’m inferring that the second half is eloquent. Fuck it, we’ll call it eloquent) as the second half, but the lesson I learned? I would rather have a crappy finished draft than a wonderful unfinished draft. I can DO something with the first, and I can’t do a damn thing with the second. Again, more on these issues later.

Also I’m aware that there are some continuity errors in this story, I can only spot one and it’s not hugely important, and some other things were clearly making-it-up-as-I-go-along. That’s why it’s a draft, people. Stop judging me!

And finally, no, I’m really not comfortable with the fact that every scene between Lucas and Elliot/Varner/Braeg (yeah, his name changes a lot. I can’t frickin’ figure it out) ends with Lucas crying. I don’t need him to be a super strong protagonist, and an important part of the story is how weak he feels, but I’ve gotta stop ending every chapter with him either crying or sleeping. I get that writers project themselves onto their characters, but he’s not allowed to be THAT similar to me.