Disius 9: 365-Day Novel

Denim soaked up option two like a farmer’s skin did ombridge oil, much to Meekus Claudius’ hateful chagrin. Bounty hunting was far more scandalous in his eyes than him acting as a farmer. As he had said in the privacy of his home rooms concerning the matter, Denim had crossed the line.

            For several long, painful, moments, Meekus Claudius paced his private office floor to the point treads were being made in the fine hairs of his throw rug. Clearly, he had been angry. He had worked so hard to trump up charges against his only son, anything to get him squarely on his leash and nothing he’d done had worked. Instead, it had only put them further at odds and this time with Aunt Henelly at his heels.

“Sit down, Meekus! You are ruining my sister’s beloved rug. It’s criminal!” Aunt Henelly rebuked.

Meekus Claudius did such a violent about-face that he nearly knocked the old woman to the floor. Frustrated by the collision he flew into a rant of curses so fierce that Denim felt his blood curdle.

He only stopped his colorful tirade when he caught Denim in his sights. “Do you want to know what is criminal, Henelly?” His dark eyes bored deep into Denim’s. Even now in the shower scrubbing off the stink of the farms did Denim still feel the pressure and depth of it. “What is criminal is the fact my son is hell bent on doing everything in his power to defy me!”

“I am not defying you!”

“Do not speak!” Biting down on his tongue, Denim obeyed, yielding himself over to his father’s hateful verbal lashing. “You have no idea what you’ve done. No inkling of what is at stake, and yet you sit here with your filth and defiance, playing the part of a man when you are proving yourself to be nothing but a boy!”

“Meekus!” Henelly shouted, her fingers taking hold of Denim’s arm as if she could stave back his tears. Good for her Denim had long since given up the useless practice. His father found tears as scandalous as bounty hunting and as reprovable as stolen water. The man had made it clear in Denim’s youth that tears would gain him no ground no matter how rooted in pain they were.