Breath: A Tale of Revenge

A son and father conflict.

I practice my kendo in the garage of my house and let out a breath to warm the cold air caused by the winter weather. My teeth chatter and I decide to go back inside before I bruise my gums. In the living room I find my sullied old dad drinking booze and watching movies.

I ask him, “What’s this one?”

He responds, “Hevah two poin’ oh.”

I say, “Looks pretty.” Then the credits roll, “Oh.”

He stands up, hugs me, and says, “I lurv ya son. Don’ ged derpresset.”

He looks at me and breathes into my face. It’s like injecting a sour candy into my nostrils. He then walks up the stairs to his bedroom.

I say, “Uh, the T.V.?”

He looks back and says, “You,” laughs, and goes up to his room.

I turn off the T.V. and follow upstairs to see him already laying face down on his bed. I walk over to his side, think for a bit, then clench my kendo blade. 

I then close my eyes, nod, kneel down next to his ear, and utter, “Do you smell p***y on ma breath? Smell, smell p***y on ma breath, breath?”