The Family Name
He sat in a rickety chair by an open window. A desk in front of him littered with empty bourbon glasses and an ashtray filled with crumpled cigarette butts. The air was so rank and stale even the breeze floating in couldn't filter it. He bent, frantically typing on an old manual typewriter confiscated from the old man's office before he dropped dead making plans to escape the country with a stolen suitcase full of $100 bills.
That he was the son of a theif really didn't bother him. The fact that he was the son of a murderer, did.
He'd come home after dropping his girlfriend after a fun weekend at the local annual festival. He'd been still a bit drunk when he pulled in the drive. He found it odd that the lights were on at 4 am. That wasn't normal for his parents. Sure, on weekends they may stay up later, but 11:00 p.m. was the latest before Mom stifled a yawn and headed to bed.
The office light was on, and a fan purred lazily in the ceiling blowing hot air around with a sickening sweet odor. His father was face down in his chair. He calculated his death as Friday. Marlon called the police and looked in vain for his mother. He reported her missing the next day. The police came and took a report. The days stretched forth into months and still Mom didn't return.
When Marlon went down to the cabin in the woods the suitcase of money he found under the desk, along with the ticket to Sweden became more clear. He found Mom. At first he contemplated calling authorities. She was left face down in the claw tub in her carefully decorated bathroom. There were rope burns on her pale wrists. It looked like she put up a hell of a fight.
He buried her behind the cabin and put her favorite charm bracelet and shoes in the hole. He said a makeshift prayer before dropping the dirt in and carefully placed garden stones on the mound and replanted some daisies by the cabin over the corner.
This letter was the epilogue of his current life. Tomorrow he'd be gone. The tickets won't go to waste after all. It would be senseless to turn the money in and expose his dead father for the theif and murderer that he was. After all, he had his own legacy to think of.
He finished the letter and folded it. His suicide note would keep them looking. By then, he'd be long gone. Sometimes you just have to protect the family name, when it's all you have left.
photo taken with my Galaxy Note 8
This is my 5 minute freewrite.
The prompt is epilogue
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art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics
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