A random start to a tale jotted down. Comments welcome.

It was a perfect evening to be sat out on the front porch, a fresh mug of black, sweet coffee in hand. Tiny wisps of steam rose but a small distance, before being lost in the night air.

I sat upon the swing chair my daddy had made when I was but a little child. It had lasted a long time, much like most of the things my daddy built; this cabin for example. Sighted by the side of his favourite fishing lake, he felled the trees and realised his dream. It was devasting that he was taken terminally ill only months after its completion.

In a contemplating mood, I gazed at the moon’s reflection upon the water. A gentle breeze caused tiny ripples, which in turn distorted it’s image. It reminded me of my own reflection when inside the Hall of Mirrors, during the carnivals visit back in town. It had been several years since I’d been back to both.

There were too many memories that needed laying to rest here, before I could contemplate dealing with those attributed to the townsfolk. I knew they meant well with all their upfront words of sympathy and apologies, but I knew behind closed doors those words were replaced with those of relief and jubilation.

My daddy wasn’t a popular man, hell, he was practically hated by everyone that knew him, or had the misfortune to cross his path. Hand in hand that meant growing up was tough, and making friends was tougher still. That’s the reason he built this cabin, a retreat from all the hatred. It was also why I chose to stay after he past away.

You see, there are two types of evil in this world. Pure evil like my daddy. Raised to drink and fight, who embraced his inner demons to the point of becoming one. There was fire in his soul, an unholy fire that only became fueled by the alcohol he consumed as if it were air itself.
Then there’s the sinister evil, sly and vindictive. The type that festers behind closed doors and curtains, that whispers between those of like-minded affliction. Yet on the face of it, smiling masquerade masks shown to the world as if God himself had gifted them their halo. There were times when I wished it would slip around their necks and choke them whilst they slept.

I took a mouthful from the mug, the cool night air having reduced the coffee to a more easily consumable temperature, whilst rocking gently back and forth on the swing. The night was quiet and peaceful, a kind of anti climax to the storm that was brewing. I loved my daddy for many reasons, but the fact I was a demon’s daughter was by far the one top of the list.

Copyright: authorchrisbrown

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