Stargazer - Segregation

Chapter Seven - New Recruits

A young man in his mid-ages with blonde hair and blue clothing as a military uniform—he must be part of something, just passes through the hallway decorated with a red carpet and lots of watercolored pictures of the planets. He waits nervously at the huge golden door before entering. He sighs heavily and strolls into the office.

A deep black office table with a picture turned to the other side; a lamp covers the filing with its documents. He looks straight ahead to the man sitting in front of the seat, signing some papers.

He has dark brown, almost greasy hair, wears a black suit with a golden emblem on his collar, and a blue tie. His beard hasn't seen the shaver in a long time, same for his shoulder-length hair that didn't get a cut in ages. His eyes don't move an inch; he's focused on his work.

"Good morning, Sir," he worries. "The base in south Italy got destroyed. All of our men have fallen. And the people that we arrested, ran away," he continues to report.

The man breaths in and pull down his eyebrows. Immediately losing his temper, he slams his clenched fist against the table, shaking everything on it, spitting through his beard. "How could this happen? I thought you had everything under control!"

The blonde man inhales deeply; his voice gets shaky. "I don't know. It was probably the resistance that—"

"I don't care!" he yells back and stands up to fix his tie, then continues with a tone down voice. "Whatever. They were mere insects that I had no use for anyway. More importantly, do you happen to have any new in formations about my son?"

"No," the blonde man replies with a sad look. "It's still the same. We hadn't heard anything new since about two years ago—as you know when he ran away."

The black-haired man seats himself back into his chair. "Thanks, you can go now."

The blonde man nods and walks off the room, closing the door behind him.

He looks at his family picture.

The man sits around a campfire with two young boys, smiling.

They took the picture twenty years ago. The man never had a good relationship with his son. His mother left him when he was born—she died in an accident. Since he was very young as well, he had to know early on what responsibility really means. He didn't plan him, but he still loves him more than anything even though he wasn't.

The man is called Alphonse Antares.

Every day, he keeps on thinking about his son. There is nothing he can do. For now, he probably lost him, though giving up on him is not an option he wants to consider.

Both got into a nasty argument about how he handles all of these situations. His son was never on his side, which ultimately led him to run away. If he was honest with himself, he doesn't even know his son.

He didn't even raise him.

He let someone else raise him to do the job he was not able to do. The only contact they had was once a month on a weekend when he didn't have to work.

He just couldn't find any time for his son.

But that was just a lie.

He always had time, always.

He just didn't want to. Didn't want to be responsible for his blood because then, he would blame himself for raising him wrong.

Every single argument happened because his son never wanted to accept the way he treats people. His method is right, but his execution is beyond evil and needs a change, which his son always said to him.