The boy sat lazily on his fathers desk chair, bored out of his mind. His father worked in the dim light just ten feet from him, tightning a bolt on yet another one of his inventions.
The brunette reached up and ruffled his hair a bit, like his father used to do.
Used to do.
Thats the keyword. His dad had been busy now, more busier then he had been when he was working on The Bird.
His father was working on a Time Machine, which took up most of his time.
The boy sighed sadly and rested his chin in one hand as he leaned on the desk, looking at his dad with wanting eyes.
His father haden't even bid him a hello this morning, nor the other morning, nor the other and so on.
The ten year old sighed very loudly, hoping this would catch his fathers attention, but to no anvil.
His father continued to tightning the bolt, then went off to another part of the machine.
His brown eyes eyed his fathers lab, they finally set on a small machine. It was big enough to push, he thought.
He got up and didn't bother to tip-toe to the machine, his father wouldn't notice him anyway.
He just up behind the machine and pushed it slowly towards the travel tube. He didn't know for sure what would happen, but he was sure he'd get attention from it. So what if he was grounded for enternity? Punished? Beaten? At least he'd be able to talk to his father. And be noticed by him. To know his father knew of his existence.
He reached the machine and began to push it into the tube.
"Wilbur!" Cried his father as he turned around and noticed what his son was doing. "Don't do it!"
He ran over to stop his son but was to late. The machine was sucked up into the travel tube, but got stuck in the middle. Suddenly there was a rumble and the tube began to shake.
An explosion rang out and smoke billowed out from the tube and filled the lab. When the smoke finally cleared, Cornelius and his son stood smoke stains and surprised, looking straight ahead and still. Wilbur glanced at his father, who glanced at him.
In a matter of seconds it happened, Cornelius lunged at his son but Wilbur was to fast. He sped off out of the dimmed lab, leaving Cornelius to fall to the ground. He quickly pushed himself up and chased after his son. Down the stairs they ran, down the long hallway, into the living room. Wilbur was a good fifty feet ahead of Cornelius, who was panting but catching up. Wilbur suddenly changed direction and let his long skinny legs race him to the front door.
"Don't shut the door!" He screamed to his mother.
She turned suddenly and refrained from shutting the door. She let her son pass her, a confused expression on the brunette womans face.
Only a few seconds later Cornelius came racing past her. "Why did you keep the door open?" He called as he sped after his son.
The sun was setting fast. The hills were begining to cast shadows, the sky began to turn purple.
Wilbur zig-zagged then turned right and went up the hill. His legs were begining to hurt him, and he had a small stuch in his side. At the top of the hill is when it happened.
Wilbur suddenly lost his footing and tripped, landing stomach first on the grass, the wind knocked completely out of him.
Cornelius was speeding up fast, he was no more then thirty feet from the ten year old.
The boy pushed himself up off the ground and began to run again, but with the lack of air in his lungs he collapsed once again, landing on his knees.
"Wilbur Robinson!"
His fathers voice was right behind him, and very angry.
Scared, the brunette got up quickly and tried to run again, when his arm was suddenly grabbed very hard, up by his armpit.
The sudden grab caused him to stop suddenly and lurch forward, then fall down.
He lay eagle spread on the soft grass, staring up at his father. His chest rose and fell quickly as he tried to regain his breath, his fathers hand still griping the arm which still hung in the air.
Cornelius swallowed a few times and panted. He wiped the sweat from his face then collapsed on the ground and sat next to his son. He didn't let go of his arm, fearing the boy might make another run for it.
Wilbur sighed and sat up slowly, ignoring the startled jump made by his father. He looked up at his father with sad eyes.
"Why did you run?" Cornelius asked him finally, after a long silence.
Wilbur shrugged his arm and stared at the ground. "I was afraid yuo'd hurt me. You've hurt me once."
"I would never hurt you, Wilbur!" Cornelius said, shocked by what Wilbur would said. "I have never hurt you. I've never laid a hand on you."
Wilbur shook his head quickly. "Not physical hurt." He pointed at his chest. "You've hurt me here."
Cornelius stared at where his sons finger was pointing. His heart suddenly wrenched and broke. He understood completely. He now understood why his son was being more trouble then normal, why he was acting different from his cocky additude and acting sad.
He had been ignoring his only son. For the sake of a machine. A machine made of cold steel, not flash and soul like his son.
Cornelius let his hold on his sons arm loosen, then he let go completely.
"I'm sorry Wilbur." He muttered to his son.
Wilbur stared straight ahead. "No dad..I'm sorry."
Cornelius glanced at his boy. "For what? The machine incident? If so, I forgive y-"
Wilbur put his hand up. "No. I'm sorry because..." he paused, glancing sadly at his father then standing up to leave. "because I don't believe you."
He began walking down the hill with his head hung, hands in his pockets. He stopped and turned around, only to say:
"I'll be in my bedroom, thinking about my actions. When you're ready to tell me my punishment, come in." He then returned to climbing down the hill.
Cornelius watched his son until he was swallowed by the hill, then hung his head sadly as he sat on the hilltop in the darkness.
Grief and sadness struck him full force as he pulled off his glasses to wipe away the tears that were falling from his eyes.
What are we going to do? Cornelius asked himself. What are we going to do about it?
Then it struck him. Not we, me.
Me.
Me.
Me.
He hit himself in the head as hard as he could with the palm of his hand and closed his eyes sadly. It was his fault and he knew it.
His son was always a troublemaker, but never a sad, upset boy. And he did this to him. Made him depressed, sad, wanting attention.
And all he had to have done was stop for five minutes, just five small minutes, and talk to his son. Discuss his day.
But he didn't.
He screwed up.
It was his fault.
And he knew it.
He stood up and finished wiping the tears away. He placed his glasses over the bridge of his pointed nose and walked down the hill in darkness, back to the Robinson house.
Not to work on his invention.
Not back to the lab.
Not back to his work.
But to his son.
To the son that dearly need a hug.
A hug.
Just one. One that would last forever.
One to show him that his father loves him.
That he hasn't forgotten about him.
And he hadn't.
He hadn't forgotten about him.
But he needed to show him that.
Show him that his fathers still there.
Show him that its okay.
Show him he's not in trouble anymore.
Show him one thing.
One thing that was more important then any of that.
To show him that he love's his son still.
As a father should love his son.