Robin's Song

I Never Liked the Back to School Season

Robin

I open the door to my father's office and I'm immediately greeted with a puddle of blood. Great. Silently, I curse myself for wearing white shoes.

Stepping over the rest of the blood that seems to be leaking out of a mysterious-looking black bag on the floor, I look over to the other side of the darkroom to see my Father sitting at his desk with his arms folded on top of it. The glare he is giving me is not promising. Shadows darken his sharp features. I can barely see his face due to the poor lighting in his office but I can feel his cold stare.

I stand awkwardly in front of his desk. My hands find a nearby pencil. I pick it up and mindlessly fidget with it. Twirling it back and forth, I try to ignore eye contact. "So," I start the conversation, "What did you call me in for?"

His annoyed gaze jumps from his pencil in my hands to my face. "Sit down, Son." My father orders in a strict tone. His hand reaches out and motions for me to pull up a chair.

The squeaking noise of dragging the chair across the wood floor fills the silent room. I place it opposite of my father and plop down into it. He glances around the room and raises his eyebrows. I can tell I'm testing his patience, but just to provoke him a bit, I take my sweet time adjusting the chair height. He can't be mad at me for getting comfortable. He wants something out of me after all. I try and resist the urge to put my feet up on the desk, but that would push his limits.

His back straightens and he sits up taller in his own chair. Opposite of my slumped and relaxed position. Under the desk, I twist my rings around my fingers. Mentally, I prepare myself for what he has to say.

I feel as though I'm a little kid about to be lectured. Bad energy radiates throughout the room. The man across from me is not in a good mood. That is probably why there is a bloody body bag in the corner.

"Robin," My father says giving me a weird look. My name sounds wrong coming from his lips.

It's hard to pay attention to what he is saying when the blood on my shoes is rather concerning so I reply with a lazy: "Hmm?"

"I just canceled some summer plans."

I turn back to my father, "Ah, was it that work trip? I know you were looking forward to it-"

"No Robin, I canceled your summer plans."

My face freezes in confusion and shock. My Father ignores me and shifts his body to rummage through the desk drawers. Multiple papers are put onto the desk. He flips through them. I watch him closely while my jaw hangs open.

My mouth is dry and I desperately try not to cough. No noise would come out of me anyway. Not only am I frozen, but so is my mouth. My intuition is telling me he has no good surprises in store, while my flight instinct is convincing me to run out the back door and never come back. I cross my arms over my chest to prevent my hands from picking at my skin. The longer he takes to find what he's looking for, the more worried I become.

My Father lets out a breath when he finally finds the right paper. He reaches out to move the "Mr. Kedron" desk plate to the side. The paper then slides, face down, towards me. I glance up briefly and I take it in my hands. My lungs scream at me for holding my breath.

All of this tension melts and dissolves when I flip the paper over and see a school crest at the top. The symbol is big and bold. The words written on it indicate this is a royal school. I scoff. He must have grabbed the wrong paper because I'm not a royal. There is not an ounce of royal blood in me, I'm certain.

"Hm?" I hum at him in confusion. I toss the paper back onto the desk. The lines of his scowl deepen and I'm not so sure I should feel relieved just yet.