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Lyon Yule: Part 1

YULE

44th Avenue, Hunters Point, Queens, NY
December 24
00:14

"Saluto Figlio,

Today I heard from your uncle, over the phone with Zal, that you are spending your Holidays working in a liquor store there in New York. How beyond the pale are you reaching for?
I am writing this letter to make amends to you for something that I have done in the past. I want you to come home and support our family. This is not the best for you."

There were just three things that I knew for certain. I'm a son full of cowering dice. I despise my bloodline. I want to aim at normalcy. I did my best to pull out all the stops to live the life that I envisioned, but I guess I'm too ahead as these shackle of the past keeps bringing me back to the place I don't want to be: home.

Sniffles come out of my nostrils, as I crumple the postal letter from my father. I didn't even try to finish the last paragraph. And there was no reason to keep pondering on it, so, I trashed the written message on a chit, hovering over it to continue my remaining shift for the night. I and my father were never on good terms, at least before my mother died.

For all I remember, there was a day when I humbly sat at my desk, tranquil at its best; just me and my books alone. When a knock on the door edge out the loudness of the silence in my room. I would never think that the knock meant I'll have to move out of the house, and never return, with barely any knowledge of the happening. It was an order from my Papa, as expected. Worse, he never did explain the reason nor faced me to confer what is happening.

The same day I packed my things; only taking in clothes and some personal journals and belongings, mostly gifts from my mother, and was quickly escorted out to our family mobile. The rest goes on like how history goes.

A few more minutes passed, and I never imagined that I'm still here draping on my stool, facing the counter as I wait for my shift mate, Aly, to come before I clock out.

The bell rings, indicating that a customer has entered the store. I restored myself to a normal position.

With my working shirt, I immediately wiped off the tears and snot on my face grabbing another box of Kleenex tissue, to wipe off the dried drops of tears on the counter. Erasing the evidence of me being oblivious for weeping.

Shoving the box aggressively behind the counter, right before the customer's arrival. The customer is just a local in the area. Mr. Chen, an old Chinese guy, runs a small business shop across the block selling traditional Chinese moon cakes.

"Oh! You again the young man. It's a holiday, why are you still working, boy?" Mr. Chen says, after grabbing a Rosé wine and setting it down on the marbled counter. With an utterly, thick eastern Asian accent.

"What can I say? Dave loves making me work late." I responded, running through the cashier for exchange. "Hmm, young man. Do you want to join me and my wife? Are you sure, you not lonely?" Mr. Chen asked sincerely to which I respectfully declined.

I simply smiled. Grabbing the scanner, running it through the bottle's bar code. The computer beeps and payment is confirmed. I handed off Mr. Chen's purchase, giving him his card. In all action, Mr. Chen simply agreed with me and left the store with a satisfied face, with nothing left to stay.
A few more moments have passed, and cleaning and organizing the branded alcohol can't any longer get to the bottom of my patience. The probability of running away from work is high at stake if I lost all the bars that abrupt me from making me do it.

I rolled the television on to watch something, making it the only thing being earshot inside the store. The NBC's flash report came into the panel; Massacre in LIC Pier an hour ago.

This raised my curiosity on the matter, so I revisited the visual report publicized by the forensics on the crime scene, and one thing confirmed my suspicion. It might be created by a professional slaughterer. Not just any other work of a normal slaughter, a trademark of a mob organization which is visible to the corpse carried out by a possible mob member.

What can I expect, syndicate is like a trend nowadays. Long before I was born. Long before my parents are born. It is the main rooted cause of crime, looming in this city, and sadly the authorities can't hold such control over these people in power.

I turned off the television, rest my elbow on the counter, chin pressed down my hand, and looked at the outside of the store. Watching some people still walking, evidently shows that New York is a lively city even during this time of the year.

Pity is a disease on my behalf, seeing these residents doing the barest normal thing in the world to stay alive while their rights are slowly being taken by the wealthiest, is a thing that's hard to get rid of.

What a sad Christmas it is to celebrate.
Ah, fuck. It's a holiday. The finals are near, I should be able to finish the requirements earlier than due and start preparing for the new bunch of school load. Before circumstances happen.

The bell over the door tinkled again, indicating a customer had entered the store. I faced the counter after a moment. Never in my life, I would have imagined that right at this point, my life would turn upside down.

Not upside down, rather, let's call it hell.

.

Author's Note:

Hello, my lovelies! I would like to foremost thank you guys for having the time to read this book. It means a lot to me.

I have been considering posting this work since last year but I do not think it was going to be liked so, I kept it hidden in my drafts.

And yeah. It is also my first book in years of being inactive on this account. Some might recall, I have written a story before but I never did get to finish it. Because of life and all but whatever.

If this got a total of 100+ views I'll upload but if Nah. The next few chapters will have to spend another year in my draft note. JK.

Hope y'all enjoy the first part, thank you again for reading!!