Taming The Mighty Empire

~ . . . 2 . . . ~

THE FATHER . . .

A YOUNG MAN was woken up early, earlier than usual. He groaned with a tired and annoyed tone as he rolled onto his side, looking at his door. He began to hear what had woken him from his much needed sleep.

»Is that, talking?«

His voice was quiet, below a whisper only slightly. As he listened more carefully, he could hear it was his Son that was speaking, speaking in a hushed voice. So, as quietly as he could, he got up from his bed as it creaked softly and walked groggily over to his door. He was reaching his left hand out to grab the doorknob, but he stopped, hesitating.

Uncertain if he should say or do anything, he closed his eyes, lowering his head slightly, sighing quietly as he slowly lowered his hand. As he was about to turn around and immerse himself into the inviting warmpth and comfort of his bed, he heard his Son talking again, slightly louder this time.

Since his Son's bedroom was directly across from his and the house being near silent, he could hear the words. They were muffled by the barriers, but clear enough to understand. Soon, something his Son said made him stop in his tracks and his ears perked up.

Such a nice little one . . . I want to know you better. Perhaps I can even keep you!

Sweat began to bead on his forehead, thinking of the horrifying possibility of—

The young man stood directly outside His door, and his mind instantly went almost blank as he siddenly desired to rip His door open, but was too afraid to. But, as he heard his Son continue to speak in a cooing and hushed voice, he heard more and more, becoming more worried, scared, and tense.

Knock, knock, knock.

He knocked on his son's door three times, making the talking suddenly halt, leaving the cold home almost silent.

»S-son, please go to sleep. It is very early.«

He tried to watch his tone, being certain it was nothing the Man inside the dark room would find aggressive, harsh, or rude.

I was asleep.

The Man responded, only loud enough His father could hear.

»No, you were not. I heard you talking to yourself again.«

The young man shook as he heard the deep, guttural growl of his Son.

Knowing He was getting angry, or, at the very least, upset, he halted any further attempts of getting Him to sleep and walked away.

Since he was now fully awake, he knew he could not go back to sleep. So, he returned to his bedroom, throwing on a lazy pair of sweatpants and shirt that read ' Give Me My Coffee Or Fuck Off! '

It was a random pick and it was a shirt. Besides, it served its purpose to cover his upper body, especially his chest which had several large and small scars, and his back which had a large scar from his left upper shoulder blade, to his lower right-side of the back of his ribs. Shaped like backward slash with a slight curve.

There was, as well, a medium-sized burn mark of a Swastika on his right shoulder blade that he was always certain to cover. Not only in fear others would assume he is as his own father was, but out of guilt, shame, and regret. That burn was not one he wanted, but one he was forcibly given by his father when he was ruling an old Nation back from '33 to '45.

The young man's father back then was not only in such pain almost every single day, but he was ruthless, aggressive, lethal and as everyone else would say, evil. Though the young man was and is still not fond of that word, nor did he agree per say, he would not quite disagree, either. He would not agree only due to the fact he knew why his father was how he was, and why he did what he did.

He suddenly heard a giggle come from his Son's room, making him shiver.

»Why is he giggling?«

The young man asked himself, his worry and fear growing. He looked at the time, he groaned when he saw the clock read 0425. Deciding to make breakfast, he went to the kitchen and cooked some eggs and bacon with a side of a large pretzel for a special treat.

Just then, heavy footsteps descended down the stairs, making him freeze mid step on his way to the kitchen table.

He locked eyes with his Son, who, he had assumed, smelt the food and came down to investigate.

»H-hello, Son, uhh . . . a-are you hungry? I-I can make you breakfast too.«

His expression was fearful as he gazed at the tall Man who began to walk towards him, then towered over him with a simple, blank look.

Yes.

Though He only spoke one word, His deep voice rang through the smaller man's ears, making a shiver flow up his spine.

»A-alright then, uhh. W-what would like?«

The large Man's eyes flickered down at what he had on his own plate, then looking back up into His father's soft, bright blue eyes.

I can have whatever. Matters not.

The young man nodded, setting his plate down before going back to the Kitchen. While he was in the other room making some more food, he happened to glance at Him, seeing Him have a seat at the table with a small smile. Cocking an eyebrow, he turned his focus back to the food, thinking to himself who or what is He smiling over?