Honeycombs and Bittersweets

Chapter Eight ~ A Dedication to a Dreamer - Part Two

Throughout the night both father and son talked for hours on end all the way through the night, till they lost track of time as Widget began to yawn constantly where his father persuaded him to retire and go to bed promising him that they would continue their discussion on the morrow where they bid each other a goodnight.

Over a week been and had passed and everything seemed fine and well and throughout the week Frederick seemed to be his normal perky self and recovering well from his injuries. It was as if he was not fighting to sustain his life for longer it was as if he was merely recovering from a stubborn cold as he was full of energy and life.

It had only been a couple of hours since speaking with his father as he arrived late to bed once again as he immensely enjoyed and delightfully indulge in their unique conversations. He had found that he had overslept due to the late night talks but he felt even more excited as he wondered what they would discuss next, what silly thing would his father amuse him with and what ideas he had next for next new sweet? It was a little over ten in the morning and he had rushed to get dressed wanting to see his father as he journeyed to his father’s chambers.

There was no formality with his father which both of them liked; he simply opened the door to his father’s chambers finding it the same way he had left it when he had retired to his room. It was dark, quiet and desolate as always when he and his Grandfather were not present in the room to lighten up the atmosphere.

He had noticed that his father had turned off the side lamp beside his bed, which was usually left on throughout the day and through the night. He didn’t think too much on it as he walked over to the bed eager to speak with him as always, “father” he spoke as he walked over to the bed awaiting his father to wake up and turn his head and smile at him as he prop himself up against his pillows. But he didn’t, perhaps he had been overly exhausted from last night he thought as he ventured closer, “father” he spoke as he stood foot at the edge of the bed looking down at his father as he smiled full heartedly.

His father was facing away from him looking peaceful as he lay on his back covered by the waist down by his bronze and beige duvet, wearing his white crisp nightshirt, his arm lying over his waist with his other arm lying down at his side. Widget sat at the edge of the bed smiled down at him as he never once saw his father look so peaceful before, and put his hand on his slumbering shoulder giving him a light shake as he spoke once more “father.”

Still he did not even wake, not even stir or groan he just stayed perfectly still and tried once more shaking him slightly more harsher “father? Father? Father!” he cried with each and every shake as he voice grew more worrisome and louder as he tried and hoped for his father to wake up. But with every second he tried he began noticing the signs of pale deathly skin, the coldness and that he when he knew as he screamed his name which echoing furiously down the corridors and halls. He had died early hours of the morning, and by the very thing he said he would die of. Not of a broken heart, not of disappointment, but the lack of breath.

Nothing was how it once was, the life of enjoyment had died along with him alongside everything that was him had been dismissed, destroyed and replaced by something more tacky and normal. He was nowhere in sight even his presence, his smell was taken care of until there was no trace but a photograph to remember how he once was.

Not long after he was taken away to be prepared for his own funeral did his vile mother bombard his room that was full of his things, belongings and clothes she destroyed, gave away and threw aside as if his own existence meant nothing to her. She was joyous from his death she had all the control and knew she would soon be well endowed not only sympatric attention by his money. She wanted nothing of him to keep nothing at all; he was just a thing in her eyes, watching his monster of a mother do her worst and yet he knew he could do nothing but watch and scavenge some of his father’s clothes and belongings and hide them out of her reach.