Author : Bryan Pastor

“You can’t kill me.”

Two men stood facing each other in a glass walled penthouse. Beyond the glass a neon jungle stretched in every direction.

“I mean, you can shoot this body, rob it of its life, but you can’t actually kill me. Time won’t allow that.” He wagged his finger to accentuate the point.

The men were rough approximations of each other, dirty blonde hair, thin muscular builds. They obviously shared some DNA. The man who had spoken stood behind a cluttered desk, sorting through papers. The one he spoke to stood a dozen steps away, aiming a handgun at his chest.

The man with the gun smirked.

“What do you think you know?”

“Oh I know.” The man with the gun stated. “I did the math. Mom should be well pregnant with me by now.”

“You don’t think I would have planned for this contingency? By now you should know the whole gambit, I’ve been everywhen. Seen everything. It’s not like I didn’t see this coming. Go back to your time, things will settle themselves out.” The man behind the desk picked up a new stack of papers and began rifling through them, finished with the conversation.

Time passed. Realizing that the man with the gun was going nowhere he set the papers back down.

“Not that I care, but where did I go wrong?”

“Why is it always about you, father?” the man with the gun in his hand shook as he fought to control his anger.

Father didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re what twenty-two, three unless I changed my plans the transition should have already begun. Since it’s not all about me, what did you do?”

There was a long pause as the son fought back tears.

“That’s just it. I don’t know. You just stopped trusting me. No explanation, no warning. You just cut me off from everything.” He hissed the last words through tight lips.

“Don’t you think there is rational explanation for that?” his father spat angrily. He took three deep breaths to calm himself before speaking again. “Likely for your protection.”

“You sent Simon to see me.”

This caught father’s attention.

“Simon failed?” father asked incredulously.

“You taught me well.”

“Rubbish. This all sounds like rubbish. Come. Sit. I will pour us a drink and we can get to the bottom of this.”

“No father, it’s too late for talk.”

He pulled the trigger.

– – – –

“What have you done?” the women asked, rushing into the room.

“Mom?” he asked.

She looked down at her dead husband, then back to the man that she could only assume was her son. She asked her question again.

“What have you done?

He rushed over to her, burying this head in her shoulder, his tears flowed freely.

“We need to go mom. I’m going to take you where you can be safe.” The sobs began to subside.

She placed one hand on the back of his head for comfort. With the other she took the gun from his hand.

“Hush son.” she whispered. “I will make it all better.” She placed the gun to her head and pulled the trigger.

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