Scarred

“I got you an early birthday present,” Dad said.

For a second, I wanted to be excited, but surprises were never good with my father. I looked at the box with apprehension.

“Aren’t you going to fucking open it?” he demanded.

He hadn’t even bothered to wrap the brown cardboard box. I hesitantly lifted the lid only to find... a gun; a revolver to be exact, it was my grandfather’s.

“In two weeks, you’ll be the same age as when my father introduced me to the family business.”

I knew that I had to be grateful or he’d get angry, so I breathed a thank you.

“You’re welcome,” he said, “now take it so we can start your initiation.”

“My what?” I stammered.

“Follow me,” he said, wearing a sinister grin.

I was shocked to find a man tied to a chair in the middle of the warehouse.

“This guy’s family thinks they can steal our territory from underneath us,” Dad said. “So you’re going to put a bullet through his right knee; our signature warning message.”

Dad ran the biggest drug ring in the city, and he had ambitions to mould me into a fitting successor just like his father had with him.

The only flaw in his grand plan was the fact that I abhorred acts of violence and had absolutely no ambitions to follow in his footsteps.

“What are you waiting for? It’s only going to become more difficult the longer you just stand there.”

Although the man’s mouth was taped shut, his eyes spoke volumes. They begged me for mercy; they beseeched me to undo his predicament.

But I couldn’t.

If I didn’t shoot, Dad surely would. I had a chance to please my father, yet lose a part of myself that I could never regain.

I raised the weapon and pointed it at the guy’s right leg. If I did what Dad asked, he’d be crippled for life.

His family intended to steal from us, yet we were also thieves. Our drugs stole people’s lives and livelihoods, so why should I tarnish my peace of mind to continue the destruction?

I cocked the hammer, and my hands immediately started to shake uncontrollably. What would be the consequences if I refused?

Bang!

It took my father a moment to realize that I’d shot into the ceiling instead. He pulled his own weapon and shot without hesitation. The man’s screams were muffled by the tape.

Dad stared daggers at me before smacking me across the face with his spiked ring. I instinctively covered my bleeding cheek.

The wound would leave a small scar; Dad’s ultimate sign of disappointment. It was now the second to adorn my face.

“I thought you were ready,” Dad said, pulling the gun out of my hand. “I was wrong... Again!”