Fear Factory #Wattys2017

The Arms of Sorrow (MrCrowley667)

Andrew sat at his desk; the only light in the room was the white glow of his monitor. He stared at the screen with contempt. This was his story and his world but even in this form of escapism he still found himself incorporating his 'Daddy Issues' This story was no exception. He knew that it was his mark. His signature. Still that didn't quell his self disgust.

Of course throughout his literary life he had remained somewhat wilfully blind to the fact. You can call it the psyche protecting itself or call it cowardice. It doesn't matter. Either way it was a subconscious action.

Andrew stared at his words with cold ruthless eyes and at the bottle of vodka at his side. It was unopened and had been for the past 5 hours, he had a choice to make. Open the bottle and drink himself into oblivion or embrace this revelation and continue as normal.

You may think what would one bottle really do? The answer is it wasn't the bottle that was the issue but the drive to literally drown himself in alcohol. With the total alcohol that was currently sitting in his cupboards drowning in alcohol was a very likely outcome.

He remembered his Fathers taunting words.

"You obsessed over me; it is evident in all of your works. You're pathetic Andrew..."

That was the spark required for the violence that ensued. It wasn't the bold claim that his father never thought of him. Andrew had come to terms with this a long time ago, the brain of his nine year old self had acknowledged and accepted this fact. No it was the revolting truth that was tossed so coldly at him.

He had obsessed. He was pathetic.

Any psychologist could have explained this behaviour was a result from the event of paternal abandonment and was a defined imprint in his psychological mindset. But writers are egotistical to say the least and so this form of scientific Jargon would have fallen on deaf ears to Andrew.

He stared at the bottle and sighed.

With one twist the bottle was opened and the contents were swirling down his throat.

It was then that he heard the door banging.

Andrew looked at the already quarter empty bottle and shrugged. Whoever it was could wait.

The banging was persistent to say the least.

Finally Andrew stood and walked to the door with rage. Whoever it was was in for a mouthful of abuse.

He clutched the banister and slowly descended the steps to his front door. He could already see a silhouette from the illumination of his porch light.

In a normal situation the banging should have ceased the moment the two figures saw each other through the glass however this was not a normal situation.

The banging was much louder and forceful now. Andrew pulled upon the door with rage.

The porch was missing one vital component. The knocker was absent.

Andrew stepped outside into the bitter cold wind and glared around for anyone. He strained his ears for the sound of muffled laugher, for whispers and giggles but the only sound was that of the howling wind. After several minutes of glaring into the darkness Andrew sighed and slammed the door shut behind him.

"Fucking Pricks!!!" he muttered to himself as he ascended the stairs and made his way back to the bottle of vodka that was singing to him.

He walked into the room, walked over to his monitor, sat and opened his vodka before his brain registered what he had seen.

Andrew paused and slowly turned his head to face the corner of the room.

His father was stood facing the corner of the wall.

Andrew jumped to his feet and brandished the vodka bottle as a weapon.

"What the fuck do you want!!!"

His father responded with silence.

Silence isn't usually defined as a response but in certain situations, situations like this one in particular silence is indeed a form of response.

Andrew closed the gap between him and his father, with every step gained his rage enhanced. Until Andrew's eyes were murderous.

His father laughed and turned to face him.

Andrew gasped upon seeing those white eyes and managed to speak just one word before the Impostor rushed him.

"You!!!"

Andrew screamed for a long time before finally someone moved in the dark room.

The impostor walked over to the light of the monitor and read Andrews chapter. He shook his head and sighed before typing in the following words.

"Taphephobia - Delicious."

As soon as the last character appeared on the screen the impostor was gone.