Gracie 3

A sudden sound wakes me up, I realize it's someone pounding on my door and I shove my head under my pillow to continue my beautiful dream of winning a five million dollar jackpot.


 With a rush of curse words I jump down from my bed and walk to the door with the full intent of maiming whoever is at the door. My feet are making a very satisfying clumping sound, I like how my feet sound, reflecting my suppressed rage. The walk from my bedroom to the porch is less than one minute in very leisurely conditions, as you've already guessed- my house is very small. You could barely fit ten people into the whole flat but the porch more than made up for it. It was nearly twice as large as my apartment and I had installed insect screens and mounted protective bars around it. I slept there when it was hot and it functioned as my pantry, wardrope and storage area.

I could see the young boy who had been knocking on my door and I remembered Gracie and the bizarre phone call we had a few hours earlier, a part of me wanted to cling to the belief that it was just a nasty dream. I knew it was no dream, I couldn't have dreamed up something so foul. I couldn't have been so cruel as to subconsciously remind myself of what a case of childhood mumps had robbed me of- a shot at fatherhood. That was the reason I called off her bluff sucessivefully, there was no chance that I was daddy dearest to her child under any circumstance.

 Throwing open the screen door, I find a boy who was the splitting image of me at twelve, my lips parted as the floor rushed to meet me. A few minutes later I find myself being watched by eyes that look so eerily like mine with the same derisive and sullen expression I usually wore like a medal as a teenager.

"You're not even strong, you fainted too easily." the boy's voice also sounded like mine did before women, wine and song left me a permanent record of their stay in my life.I could barely look at him, I was too affected by the sight of him to find my tongue. The boy begins to tell me the story he'd been itching to tell me

I quickly wormed the story of his birth from him, at least the little he knew and I unfortunately realized that she wasn't lying about having a child with me. I felt the beginnings of helpless rage welling in my head and I decided to deflect it by asking him why he came to see me.

"I had to see you" he replied with belligerence colouring his voice.

"My mother has cancer"