Chameleon

“JESUS!” His father’s mercurial face was now twisted with disgusted rage. “Have you HEARD anything I’ve said? Nobody gives a SHIT about your opinion, it don’t MATTER how you define success, it’s something that’s defined FOR YOU!”

Rune looked down at the man sitting in his father’s recliner, wearing his father’s t-shirt and sweats, his father’s favorite drinking glass lying on the side table to the recliner’s right, filled with the familiar smell of his father’s favorite whiskey, on the rocks. And realized he had to recognize this was his father, because any other perspective would mean treating this man with pity, contempt, and ridicule.

The teen nodded, excused himself, walked past the recliner, towards the house’s front door. He heard his father asking where he was going, him replying he didn’t know, just needed to go out. He had opened the door before fully putting on his jacket.

So he walked downtown, just like he was walking now along the shore of the lake, toward the sound of the mechanical humming.

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