Chronicles of the Brotherhood: Genesis

Act IX: Tribulation of the Demon Slayer

            “You’re cooking dinner?” Jericho asked rolling up his sleeves and nudging his way into the cooking process. “Mom, I’m home I’ll cook.”

            “No Jericho, please” she huffed putting her knife down. “I want to make dinner for once.”

            “Let the boy cook dear,” Jericho’s father called from the family room.

            Jericho tensed startled by his father’s voice. He glanced at his mother and lowered his voice to whisper. “He’s home?”

            “He came home early from patrol,” she whispered back.

            “Wonderful,” Jericho said sarcastically.

            “Now Jericho,” his mother started.

            “Did you want the meat grilled or pan fried Mother?” Jericho cut her off changing the subject.

            Jericho’s mother leaned back and let him continue cooking dinner with masterful ease. She stood barefoot in a long navy blue dress tied by an apron around her waist. His hair was long and dark as the night sky mirrored by her crystal eyes as the moon. She pulled down four place settings from the cupboard and went into the other room to set them. Jericho continued to do one task with one hand, another with the other, occasionally using his mouth to act as a third appendage.

            “Jericho my boy,” the powerful voice of Jericho’s Father bellowed as he entered the room. He sniffed the air and smiled through the handlebar mustache that adorned his upper lip.

The burly man that stood at the doorway was the chief of the town law enforcement and was proud enough to admit it. He was dressed in a similar fashion to Jericho, only he filled his clothing a lot better. He did not wear a coat like Jericho but on his wrist was a time piece with the force’s insignia incrusted upon it.

            “Evening Father, how was patrol?” Jericho asked not looking away from his work.

            “Droll as usual,” his father replied with a satisfied, almost arrogant tone, “no one in this town tries to break the law; they know the consequences when I wear the badge.”

            “I’m sure, Father,” Jericho replied dishing up the food he had prepared.

            “And when you wear the badge, they will all give you the same respect they give me,” his father continued, “You will be a great chief Jericho.”

            Jericho did not respond but stepped past his father carrying out the serving plates of food to the table now set with candles in the center. He strategically laid them down and took his place on the right side of his father, his mother on Father’s left, and Father at the head. Jericho’s mother sat with a smile on her face gazing up at her husband who stood at his seat.

            “Well family,” he exclaimed, “a sweet smelling ending to a fruitful day, let us eat.”

            Jericho served himself and ate without speaking much except to answer few questions as simply as possible for his father and or mother. The family seemed very distant but the only one who really cared was Jericho. His father always went on about how he is the greatest officer the law enforcement has ever seen and how Jericho will one day fill that spot. Jericho’s mother on the other hand was always too busy thinking about something else to ever pay attention to the connection of the family.

            Dinner ended as it usually did, Father got up from the table leaving everything askew for Jericho and his wife to clean up, and Jericho’s mother found something more important to do so abandoned Jericho to do the dishes on his own, but he didn’t mind. He liked the alone time with his thoughts; not like he didn’t already have that by the hour load.