Authors: Michael Shaw
I squeezed the desk. "Yeah. I do, too."
He rubbed it with his thumb.
We both took a deep breath.
"You want my answer?" I said.
He raised his eyebrows. "Yes, Jack. I do."
"This test. It will rid of those who hold us back. And it will reward those who can make difficult decisions. Decisions that will preserve their own lives, which in turn preserve mankind."
He took his hand off his wrist.
"Our race has forgotten the purpose of natural selection. We literally waste millions of dollars on sustaining the people with problems, and what for?" I put my hand up. "They still die like the rest of us."
My dad squinted. He couldn't believe it. I was his son, eloquently speaking in order to justify murder. I could see disappointment. Guilt. He fell back in his chair, shaking his head, eyes distraught. "No. . ."
"We are letting the clear-minded individuals survive, in order that our race can sustain without the threat of morality."
He put his hand on his head. "Morality? The point is morality?" He lifted his head. "Why would all this be to get rid of-"
"-'You can't let personal feelings get in the way of your goals,'" I shot at him.
His face fell.
"Wouldn't that be the same in regards to this? For the survival of man?"
"Morals don't murder," my dad squinted.
I crossed my arms. Shook my head.
We sat in silence for several long moments.
He gripped the desk. Leaned in. "This isn't about morality to you, in the end."
I raised my eyebrows.
We both had goosebumps.
"It's about revenge," he tilted his head.
I shook mine.
"College. Work. . . Did anything. . ."
"What are you talking about-"
"You never did tell me, Jack." He rubbed his forehead. "Things happened in college, didn't they?"
I looked down. Held my breath.
He exhaled. "I should have done something about it." His voice began to shake. "I. . . I'm-"
"Don't apologize for what has only led to success," I cut in.
My dad leaned forward. "So is that what's happening? Now you want to get back at everyone who ever looked down on you?"
"No," I said firmly.
"Are you sure? You've never wanted to put someone in his place? At school? At work?"
I stood up.
My father sat completely still. But his eyes followed me.
I took off my jacket. Placed it on the chair. "You know that I've always loved learning."
He inhaled slowly. We were both so still. As if the dream had paused. But I knew it hadn't, because our tension made us shake. I perceived that I was shaking out of zeal. My father, shaking from sorrow. Sorrow for the son he'd raised. Sorrow that his own child had grown up to become this. That all the knowledge he'd gained in life was for nothing but the death of millions of people.
"I've always loved learning," I said again. "And one of the most important things science has taught me, is the survival of the fittest."
My father slid his jaw to the side. It seemed he was biting his tongue. I could tell that he wanted to say a million things to me, but he was giving me the chance to explain. I knew he wanted to convince me against all this. I knew he still loved me. But he wouldn't let that keep him from standing against me. From trying to stop me.
"And the fittest, I've found," I unbuttoned my shirt sleeves. Rolled the sleeves up, "is not necessarily the strongest."
My father shook his head.
"I was never stronger." I looked down at myself, arms angled outward.
He shifted his lower jaw back and forth. Grinding his teeth.
"I was never bigger."
My father didn't look the same that day. There was no doubt, he had a face of disappointment. But more than that. He wasn't just sad. It was th
e
kin
d
of disappointment that I saw. The kind that one would get if he'd built a skyscraper, only to see it torn down immediately afterward. Amazing work put to ruin. My father saw that in me. And I don't blame him.
"But, even though I wasn't stronger, I always came out on top."
"Jack, what does this-"
"-I came out on top, because I had a stronger will. Not necessarily a stronger body. But a stronger will. I had the will to survive, and succeed, doing whatever it took. For me to do whatever it took, I had to put aside the conceptions of right and wrong. Didn't I?"
His chest moved in and out. His large breaths were the only sound he made.
"This test is clear in its purpose, whether you think so or not."
"But is the purpose right?"
I snapped my fingers. "There you go again! Is it right? I'm facilitating the goal of man to be united. Survival of the fittest. No restraints or prohibitive conscience. No society-engineered fluff. True man, true results. The best that mankind can be. Where everyone sees his own life as most important, the best live, and then better generations will come from them. So, is it right? Scientifically speaking, it's the most right thing in the world."
He pushed himself and his chair back. Stood up quickly. "Science?" he said firmly.
I took a step back. "Yes."
He pointed to his chest. "Science was my job ten times longer than it's been yours." His finger came down on the table surface. "And never once. . . did it justify. .
.
killin
g
another man!"
The wor
d
ma
n
echoed through the large office.
My father kept his finger against the table. The tip completely white.
I unbuttoned my collar. Fell into my chair and rested my arms on the desk.
He leaned on the edge. "What about your mother? Will she take it? Would you put her through that?"
I shook my head. We were both breathing deeply now. "No," I said softly. "Neither of you have to take it."
"Then I have one more question for you."
"What?"
He bit his lower lip and looked to the side. The light reflected bright off of his eyes. "Why?"
The word gave me chills. "What?" I whispered.
"If everything you said is right. If morals are imaginary, and if you're completely consistent, why would your mother and I be exempt from taking the test?"
My mother. What could she have been thinking about then? She had to be the saddest woman in the world. Her own son would become the world's largest mass-murderer. And my father. He'd always wanted me to do something amazing. And I devastated him.
The Jack of my dreams considered something for the first time. He pictured the people he loved in the test. I felt something on my face. I reached up and touched my cheek. Water. I wiped it off with my arm. I seemed surprised that I had tears. As if it were a bad thing. I tried to hide it, which simply made it obvious.
"You believe in morality, Jack, whether you admit it or not," my father said slowly.
I couldn't say anything. I tried to cover my face.
"I can't let you do it."
"What are you going to do? Take away my credit card?" I scoffed.
"No," he replied, "but I will stop you. I will still call you my son, but I will have no choice but to stand against you."
I grunted, "Don't bother. If you stand against me, you have disowned me as your son. So you can forget calling me 'Son.' And I'll forget calling you 'Father.'"
As if he'd been physically pushed, he jerked his chest back an inch. His mouth opened. No words.
Finally he said, "You don't mean that,"
"Consider it a promise."
He lowered his eyes slowly.
I wiped my face again. And I felt that those were some of the last moments my father and I would share.
I pointed to the door. "So will that be all, Brian?"
→
I woke up on the floor again. Squinted as the light flooded my eyes. Every inch of my body ached. As if I hadn't slept at all. Or, I had slept for a long time.
Everything had changed. Before, I had just found out the inevitable. I had created the test. I tried to deny it until it couldn't be denied anymore. But this? I didn't even see this coming. I should've known. It was so clear, but he tried to hide it.
Brian is my father.
I scrambled to throw the covers off of me. Rolled over and staggered to my feet. Tossed the covers back into the bed. I breathed heavily. My voice sounded with each breath.
I looked around the room quickly. Bounced back and forth on my feet. I shivered. My arms and legs had goosebumps. I looked around again. No meal. Somehow, I was freezing, but there was no food.
I had to do something. The test would never be the same now. I had to act. I had to find Brian. Find my father.
After a few minutes I cooled down
.
Just wait. Wait and he'll come for breakfast.
Hundreds of thoughts ran through my head. How could I pass the test now? I didn't want to kill Brian before, but now I didn't even feel right trying to do anything to pass, if it would hurt him.
And why would my father be in the test, anyway? Why would he be in hell with me? If the punishment fits the crime, he wouldn't be in the same hell as me.
He shouldn't be here with me
,
I thought
.
My father's hell shouldn't be mine. He even tried to stop me.
It led to a feeling of sadness. Then anger
.
Why did my father get put here?
I pulled a chair back and sat
.
I'm the one who created the test. Why is he here
?
It didn't seem right. It was my fault. It was my test. Why did my test have to be his hell?
And then it was guilt. I clasped my hands together
.
If I hadn't made it, neither of us would be here
.
I bowed my head
.
This is my fault.
I stood when I heard the sound of the door opening.
The man who I once knew as Brian entered. Eyes on the floor. Seeing my feet, he lifted his head.
We made eye contact.
I took a deep breath.
He raised his eyebrow. "Hey?"
"What did I dream last night?"
He started to close the door. "That's your business."
I listened to the door click shut.
We stared at each other for several moments.
The only sound was that of my watch ticking.
We continued to stare.
The watch seemed to tick slower.
He opened his mouth to speak.
I blurted it out. "You're my father-"
He froze.
I had finally said it, but it was in a surprised tone. I still wasn't completely used to the fact.
His pupils dilated as his eyelids opened up.
My arms grew tense.
A few more seconds went by. Both of us shaking.
He closed his mouth. Grabbed the doorknob. Opened the door. And left.
He left me. I'd just told him that I knew. I knew the truth. And his response was to leave.
M
y
response was to follow.
I went into the next room.
My father was walking with a steady stride toward the following door.
I caught up to him. "Wait," I rested my hand on his shoulder.
He shrugged it off. Kept walking.
I took a few big steps to catch up with him again. Grabbed his shoulder this time. "Wait, Dad, I-"
He jerked his upper body forward, releasing my grip on him. Never stopped walking. He reached the door.
I grabbed both of his shoulders and turned him around. "Dad. What are you doing? Why-"
He pushed me back. Forcefully. "Let go of me," he said in a low voice.
"No," I grabbed his arms and pinned him to the wall. "Why are you walking away from me?"
His hands made fists.
"Dad, I don't understand what's happening. . ."
He pushed forward. Trying to get out of my grasp. His eyes were furious.
I grit my teeth and pushed him against the wall. "Dad! I'm trying to-"
He broke his arms free and grabbed my right shoulder. Squeezed hard. With his other hand he wound up and punched me in the jaw.
My head spun to the side with the blow. I held my hand out toward him.
He punched me again.
My knees bent, and I staggered downward. I heard the slow tick of the watch.
He struck me a third time.
My face hit the ground. Followed by the rest of my body.