Shut Up And Write - Assignment Book

Round One

Prompt: 
8: Write a flashback without announcing it. Word count 300 words min

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My father's shadow dances across the floor to the rhythm of the flames. The light of the fire shines right through his clothing to show the straight edges of his frail frame. Though I have seen him wear these clothes for most of my life, the material now hangs from his body like decayed flesh. The current style in Humania is to wear clothing that is loose and light, with the only tight spots around the neck, shoulders, and hips so the clothing stays in place without constricting those that wear it. Because each body type is different, all the clothes must be measured and personally tailored to each person. The clothes my father is currently wearing were designed for a full-muscled man with simple taste, preferring a light brown, muted color to avoid attention. He still wears these same clothes because we can't afford anything else, but to me, the clothes are a pitiful reminder of the man he used to be.

My father was never considered much of a social man - he kept his thoughts and opinions reserved for the right setting - if needed, however, he knew how to carry himself well enough. As Grandmaster to the King's Soldiers, he spent most of his days training boys to become men that could fight with honor. His leadership was strict and effective, but the men still loved him like a father.

We both tried to continue living life as normal at first, but slowly things started to change. My father stopped playing sports with the soldiers outside of training hours, he no longer allowed me to go to the marketplace to sell crops, he pulled me out of school, and he ceased my training to become a soldier. Things in my life were changing, but I had comfort knowing that there was one thing that still remained constant. Even that, however, changed as well when he came home completely stripped of his Grandmaster title. Through what little gossip I could gather, I found that my father had not arrived at training for several days. After a while, the soldiers began to worry so they started looking for him. He was quickly found in the garden of the palace, tearing apart the flowers. Because of my father's lifelong devoted service, the King granted him a pardon rather than executing punishment. I was just a child then and though I was sad that my father had lost his profession, I was looking forward to spending more time with him. I didn't realize that even though he was home, I would still be alone. He found his company with a stool facing the fireplace. He would sit there, saying nothing and doing nothing until it was time for bed. This has been the routine ever since.

I bring myself back to the present and tear my eyes away from my father. I try to find anything that can distract my impatience, so I end up studying our home. Like my father, there's not much left. There are two stools, one in front of the fire and one next to the door. Our table, that had once always been scattered with food and plates, looks pathetically small and awkward as it tries to fill the void of the bare room. Our only pot sits in the middle of the table, still smelling of the pitifully thin soup we had somewhat consumed earlier. In the far right corner of the room, there is a door that is burned along the edges to seal it shut. Behind the door is a room that had once been mine. There is nothing left in there, but my father wanted to prevent me from hiding in my room so he sealed my room shut and moved me into his room which is in the far left corner. There's no door to my father's room so even though my father rarely moves from his stool to rest on his bed, he can still see me. In between the two rooms rests my father's favorite fireplace.

It's been so long since we've had company within these walls. It was once a home of joy that welcomed anyone that was looking for pleasant company. It wasn't my father's company that visitors would seek, but it was my mother's. My father preferred to keep his work and home life separate whereas my mother believed the two were one and the same. She accumulated friends quickly at work and then bring them to our home. I got to see a new face almost every day. I was more like my father in that I would simply sit off to the side and observe. I wasn't comfortable speaking with strangers, but I loved watching the games they played, listening to the stories they shared, and I especially loved devouring my mother's sweet fish stew that she made when company was over.

I heave a silent sigh. I'm getting caught up in the past again. Surely it's because I'm finally doing something to change all of this. I will change it back to the way things were; back when we were both happier.