All You Need
The sun's welcoming beams passed over Hector this morning. He instead awoke to the sound of approaching footsteps upon the creaky floorboards.
As he groggily sat up from the cot he roused from he fell back against the wall. His head was spinning and his backside was numb. Puzzled, he narrowed his eyes in a squint as he took in his surroundings. He was in his room sure enough, but there was a shadowed figure standing in his doorframe. The very sight of the silhouette sent a shiver down his spine. His father. He could slowly make him out from in the shadows, the dark circles that incased his icy optics, his leathers skin stretched over his bony features...
"Up," he said flatly.
Obediently, Hector rose from the bed. He kept his head tucked to his chest for a moment before his father's large hand started to lift his head up. Before he had a chance, Hector jerked his head away from the hand and up quickly. His father's eyes were icy as usual, but a hint of remorse lingered far in the recesses of them. Apparently he had sobered up, for the flush of his cheeks turned to a pale ashy color that stood out on his brown face.
"Get cleaned up."
Still confused and lightly alarmed, Hector stole a glance to the small window on the opposite side of the room. The sun was just rising over the hills, only faint rays drifting past the open-air window and over the floor. He never remembered rising so early, only for Sunday. Sunday was church, which his mother insisted upon. He was sure of one thing at this point; today was not Sunday.
"But father," he started off, "why are we waking so early? It's not Sunday..."
Vincent stiffened slightly, turning his back on his son. He had nothing to fear from Hector, he figured he never would have anything to fear from the boy. He heaved a sigh, Hector wasn't sure if it was a sigh of irritation or a sigh to keep himself from strangling his son.
"You are correct, my son. Today is not Sunday, but today we will be leaving the house early."
Hector was ready to question, but his father gave him a rough nudge towards a basin of water below the window. After catching his balance, he stumbled towards it and took up the cloth. The water was cold, a few days old as well. It wasn't clean, but that wasn't his concern. The water was a few days old and he couldn't dismiss the odor of it; it only reminded him of the liquor. Hesitantly, he took up the cloth from the depths of the basin and started to clean his face with the rough fibers.
"I've got some goods that need to be taken out of town and sold, just a cartload. Shouldn't take more than a week." Vincent sighed again, pressing a thumb into his left temple as a sign of distraught. "Your mother suggested you come, something about saving my soul...but its time you learned the trade, or something of it."
Hector slowly put the cloth back down in the basin and stared at his father once more. He was a merchant, but not one that traveled on the sea. When he was younger he traveled across the endless waters, but age and family caught up with him. He couldn't help feeling like a burden, and his father never made things any easier on his part. He was to become a merchant as well however, an educated one. School had only contributed to that a little. He didn't think anything Creevy uttered was going to help him any further in life than something a stranger could whisper in his ear.
His father's gruff voice brought him back to reality. "An' the first rule you'd best know would be no dawdling."
Again, he didn't have time to respond. Just a few seconds would have saved him, but time was not in his favor. He jumped as a swift slap came in contact with the back of his head. Wincing, he rubbed the back of his head for a moment before briskly walking towards the linen basket in fear of being slapped again. Hector rummaged through the soft, cool sheets and flannel shifts before Vincent interjected again.
"Don't bother. All you need's in the cart."
Somehow Hector doubted this seriously. His father would never do anything for him, let alone pack for him, and he was sure his mother wouldn't be allowed to do such a thing for him either. Swallowing deeply, he took a last glance around the small room he had found sanctuary in for nearly ten years. He felt as though it would be the last time he would ever see it, but at the same time it was if as though it were new, something he'd never seen before. Still in fear of letting his gaze linger on anything too long, he turned to face his father.
Vincent nodded in satisfaction and strode out of the room, footsteps dying off into the outside world. Hector followed a few steps behind, taking in the sights and sounds behind his father's back.
The sun's welcoming beams passed over Hector this morning. He instead awoke to the sound of approaching footsteps upon the creaky floorboards.
As he groggily sat up from the cot he roused from he fell back against the wall. His head was spinning and his backside was numb. Puzzled, he narrowed his eyes in a squint as he took in his surroundings. He was in his room sure enough, but there was a shadowed figure standing in his doorframe. The very sight of the silhouette sent a shiver down his spine. His father. He could slowly make him out from in the shadows, the dark circles that incased his icy optics, his leathers skin stretched over his bony features...
"Up," he said flatly.
Obediently, Hector rose from the bed. He kept his head tucked to his chest for a moment before his father's large hand started to lift his head up. Before he had a chance, Hector jerked his head away from the hand and up quickly. His father's eyes were icy as usual, but a hint of remorse lingered far in the recesses of them. Apparently he had sobered up, for the flush of his cheeks turned to a pale ashy color that stood out on his brown face.
"Get cleaned up."
Still confused and lightly alarmed, Hector stole a glance to the small window on the opposite side of the room. The sun was just rising over the hills, only faint rays drifting past the open-air window and over the floor. He never remembered rising so early, only for Sunday. Sunday was church, which his mother insisted upon. He was sure of one thing at this point; today was not Sunday.
"But father," he started off, "why are we waking so early? It's not Sunday..."
Vincent stiffened slightly, turning his back on his son. He had nothing to fear from Hector, he figured he never would have anything to fear from the boy. He heaved a sigh, Hector wasn't sure if it was a sigh of irritation or a sigh to keep himself from strangling his son.
"You are correct, my son. Today is not Sunday, but today we will be leaving the house early."
Hector was ready to question, but his father gave him a rough nudge towards a basin of water below the window. After catching his balance, he stumbled towards it and took up the cloth. The water was cold, a few days old as well. It wasn't clean, but that wasn't his concern. The water was a few days old and he couldn't dismiss the odor of it; it only reminded him of the liquor. Hesitantly, he took up the cloth from the depths of the basin and started to clean his face with the rough fibers.
"I've got some goods that need to be taken out of town and sold, just a cartload. Shouldn't take more than a week." Vincent sighed again, pressing a thumb into his left temple as a sign of distraught. "Your mother suggested you come, something about saving my soul...but its time you learned the trade, or something of it."
Hector slowly put the cloth back down in the basin and stared at his father once more. He was a merchant, but not one that traveled on the sea. When he was younger he traveled across the endless waters, but age and family caught up with him. He couldn't help feeling like a burden, and his father never made things any easier on his part. He was to become a merchant as well however, an educated one. School had only contributed to that a little. He didn't think anything Creevy uttered was going to help him any further in life than something a stranger could whisper in his ear.
His father's gruff voice brought him back to reality. "An' the first rule you'd best know would be no dawdling."
Again, he didn't have time to respond. Just a few seconds would have saved him, but time was not in his favor. He jumped as a swift slap came in contact with the back of his head. Wincing, he rubbed the back of his head for a moment before briskly walking towards the linen basket in fear of being slapped again. Hector rummaged through the soft, cool sheets and flannel shifts before Vincent interjected again.
"Don't bother. All you need's in the cart."
Somehow Hector doubted this seriously. His father would never do anything for him, let alone pack for him, and he was sure his mother wouldn't be allowed to do such a thing for him either. Swallowing deeply, he took a last glance around the small room he had found sanctuary in for nearly ten years. He felt as though it would be the last time he would ever see it, but at the same time it was if as though it were new, something he'd never seen before. Still in fear of letting his gaze linger on anything too long, he turned to face his father.
Vincent nodded in satisfaction and strode out of the room, footsteps dying off into the outside world. Hector followed a few steps behind, taking in the sights and sounds behind his father's back.