The Cane

To extract the defective malice of apathetic incompetence, from the blood of royal strain, the cub must be inured to hostile conditions, and must thus surmount the mortifying onslaught of villainous inclemencies. He must find, disinhibited, and unbridled will in the ferment of the tortured spirit and forge an invisible resolution in the face of trial. Such is the metabolism of existence, those who are unworthy, cannot sustain themselves, and are inevitably relegated. These were the ideals of my father, an eccentric man of cruel temper, and extreme hardihood. Ever since my youth, I derived my lessons, from the scorn of his tyranny, the bruise superinduced by the leather belt, and the cold unfeeling black of his eyes. He was a man of absolute volition, without the prerequisite synthesis of healthy accommodating precept, ..this was nothing but womanly fallibility to him. I believe something consumed him, and he found a panacea in debauchery, after my mother left him forlorn, when I was a babe. There was a woman every night, whom he brought to the house, and paraded with condescending aggrandizement. "You have no lover Peter, who could ever love you, you are not like your father, see I have many beautiful women" is what I remember in the vestige of his words. I believe this was part of his ideal. I grew to acknowledge him, and the necessity of his actions. In the end, the deeds unto which one must suffice himself, and the survival of the offspring remain irelivant in the grand scheme of things, sympathy and rapport are but a pitiful leisure to those who live without the coddling of dependence. Today I am a father myself to the young Jacob, but he remains a deficient candidate of vital endowment, the very dialect of his locution is obtuse, and his physical method is deplorable. His mother is patient with him, but this is only poison to gentleman of our genus. It is insufferable that since birth he has walked with a limp, and his gait lacks the efficient mastery of simple strides. He stumbles about, and smiles along like a foolish lass. No matter, I have taken matters to my own sleight. His mother knows, I have a cane that I procured in my adolescent years, by perfunctory means and I use it to thrash his leg, every night before he takes to bed. It is necessary, and it shall be done.

Tonight I have taken the cane, although he has improved, but he has ran to his mother's embrace, in the bedroom. She is not a monolithic impediment in my account, I have no care for her selfish, egregious codling.

"His teachers complain that he is apprehensive at school, please spare him this night, he is your son!" She says, tucking his head into her chest. I pace to them, and I strike her with the wooden cane, upon the shoulder, until she emancipates him from her grasp imploring that he flee. I continue thrashing her, but I tumble in my efforts to chase her, through the chamber's threshold and she grasps the cane. It is not long, before I feel in my listless incumbency a dense heaving thud upon my calva, course through my senses, with grinding venom. I feel the black of that obscure dream, that gushing lesion of the soul, shroud me with a frightening chill. Mother forgive me.