Shorties: Number 8

Death has a way of ripping away what is superfluous. It always exposes what isn't real. Paul sat, full of emotion and unaware of those around him on the shuttle bus to the airport terminal. He only knew the demons he once believed vanquished were merely dormant. Now they were alive and well.

The street lights, cars and sidewalks that passed were invisible to him. Paul only saw his angry father as he left to join the army. He felt anew the rage that filled him much of his childhood. He knew his father hated the idea of his son going into the service. That was why he did it.

An alcoholic, Paul's father, Richard, repeatedly caused deep wounds. Frustration and anger built for 18 years until Paul could make his own decisions. Then he wanted to get as far away as possible.

His mother and sister wept bitterly at his departure. That was the only guilt he felt. He left them to that crazy man but he would be back a bigger and stronger man than his father.

Boot camp broke Paul more than he imagined but it also remade him. He was a bigger and stronger man. He took out his frustrations in the service. Paul used every hurt he endured to propel him forward. His pains were his crutches. After three and a half years he looked forward to returning home and extracting his mother, his sister was in college, from that man.

Instead, Richard got in the final blow. Paul's mother found Richard in the bathtub with a self inflicted bullet hole in the temple. Paul felt rage, anguish, regret and too many other emotions that couldn't be categorized. The bastard had hurt them again as a parting shot.

Like a zombie, Paul stood when the shuttle bus reached the airport terminal stop. He didn't remember checking in for the flight or clearing security.

Reality slapped him when he finally saw his mother. She cried as she ran to him. Suddenly, Paul was a six year old boy who skinned his knee. Tears burst forth as he hugged his mother.

They hugged, rocking back and forth. Over and over, Paul repeated, "I'm sorry, mommy."