Short Story

A short story to introduce one of ┬áMom’s characters, Sebastian. He has major issues. Mostly because of his uncle and father. Mom’ll post a short bio of him and Emree soon. Yes he is gay and in a relationship. If that offends you, don’t read. Another warning, parts of this story deal with death and sexual abuse. If any of these things are a touchy subject for you, you don’t have to read it. It’s really not that bad.


The Morning After

Sebastian woke groggily and rolled over, groaning at the time displayed on his clock. 7 o’clock. He grabbed the timepiece and turned off the alarm as he sat up. He tossed the clock over his shoulder and stood up, stretching. He made his way to the bathroom, yawning as he filled the sink with warm water. He dipped a washrag into the water, squeezed it out and rubbed it over his face. Sebastian stared at his poor, tired face and sighed. Last night had left him battered and bruised, but the job was done. He went on with his morning routine, finding comfort in the shower’s hot spray and the smell of his soap. He couldn’t stand hotel soaps, they could be nice, but they were most definitely not part of his carefully chosen beauty regiment. When Sebastian finally felt clean, he stepped out of the shower and wrapped his silk robe around his slight frame. He sat down on his bed, placed the clock back where it belonged and grabbed his brush from the bedside table. As he brushed his hair out, he couldn’t help but think that something was missing. He stood up, still brushing his hair, and leaned a little over the bannister near the spiral staircase. He peered down to the kitchen and smiled at what he saw. He ran back to the bed, twisted his long hair into a messy bun and shoved his feet into his slippers. He then headed downstairs, excited.

“You’re home!”

“Yeah, I got in last night. You were sound asleep, so I didn’t want to wake you. ”

“You’re so sweet Em.” A kiss followed his words and for one moment, Sebastion could think of nothing else.

“Why, Emree Stevensen, I do believe you’ve been thinking of me.” The dark-haired man that held him chuckled amd pulled his lover closer.

“Yes, I have, indeedm been thinking about you. But first, breakfast. You’re always hungry after a job.”

“What did you make?” It was more another part of his morning routine. They both knew that Sebastian could only tolerate one food after a work night. As Emree stood at the stove slowly stirring the wheat porridge, Sebastian traced the edges of the pitch black dragon tatoo that trailed down his beloved’s left arm. Emree had gotten the tattoo while they had spent a year in Japan on a much needed vacation. Normally, Sebastion couldn’t stand tattoos on anyone, but this one had special meaning. It was to mark the third anniversary of their meeting. That was five years ago and Emree still insisted that Sebastian had saved his life in that cold December day. Sebastian had, at first, wanted nothing to do with the boy who had just happened to be at the site of his first major job. But Emree had sworn his life to Sebastian; and ancient tradition that the redhead had found quaint and somewhat refreshing. Indeed, Emree had proved that he was nothing like the people Sebastion had known in his early life, or since. He was shaken from his thoughts by a chaste kiss to his forehead.

“Are we going to eat here, or the table?” Sebastian blinked owlishly up at him and smiled.

“The table of course, silly. I’ll get the bowls.” They sat down to eat and divided up the morning paper. Emree took the front page, leaving the funnies to Sebastian. Minutes passed as the two sat in companiable silence, eventually finishing their porridge. Sebastian tossed the paper down onto the table and picked up his teacup. He settled back into his chair, tucking his feet under his legs and sighed deeply. Emree looked over at him and folded his paper slightly.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I don’t.”

“It was that messy?”


“But it is done, right?”


“Did you send the token?”

“Not yet. The boy was sick last night.”

“I see.” Emree went back to reading his paper, now acutely aware of Sebastian’s nervousness, The longer that token stayed in their house, the more agitated his lover became. He found it fascinating that it was the token and not the job itself that Sebastion detested. Perhaps it was that the object, whatever it was, became a reminder of the struggle that existed deep within Sebastian’s psyche. A struggle that he convienently forgot when it came time to do a job. Either way, the knock that sounded at the door dispelled Sebastion’s gloom and he jumped up to answer it. On his way, he bent down to retrieve a small box wrapped in brown paper that lay near the front door. He opened the door to see a scraggly blond thirteen year old standing at his front door.

“Feeling better, Enki?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you for asking.”

“Well, I don’t want anything to happen to my most reliable deilivery boy, do I?”

“But, Sir, I’m your only delivery boy.”

“That should tell you something.” He smiled warmly as he handed the package and a piece of paper to the boy. Enki unfolded the paper to reveal an address and a fifty dollar bill. That was way more than he was usually paid for deliveries, but by the time he tought to protest, the door was already shut firmly. Enki smiled and turned away from the house and headed down the street that would take him to the bus line. He would be able to tell his mother that they didn’t have to worry about food for a few days. It was a good feeling.


Sebastian walked back to the table and picked up the front page of the paper that Emree had finished with. He settled in his chair, leaning against his lover, satisfied that all was well in his tiny world. The newspaper was full of rumors of war and political scandals, but none of it seemed to be able to bring his spirits down. He tossed the paper aside and went looking in the cabinets for the jar of peanut butter.

“I’m telling you, Em, 1983 is going to be a strange year.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it Bas.”


Halfway across town, a middle-aged man looked down at the brown paper package that sat on his desk. He wasn’t sure who it was from, just that it had been delivered to his workplace by a young boy with a missing front tooth. He poked the package wondering if it was a bomb. He then looked around him and sighed. He was workng a dead-end job for a boss who didn’t care if he lived or died. He shrugged and opened the wrapping. Couldn’t get much worse, he figured. The package didn’t explode, however, and he sighed with relief. He picked up the small black jewlery box nestled inside bubble wrap and opened it. His breath skipped a beat and he could have sworn that, for a moment, his heart stoppped. Inside lay a small medallion with a frayed blue ribbon attached to it. It belonged to his father and was his favorite possesion. When he looked closer, he dropped the medallion into the big box and sat gasping for breath. He rubbed his hands on his pant legs and felt tears well up in his eyes. The trinket was covered in dried blood and now that he looked at the little box, it must have been placed there when the blood was fresh. He noticed a little notecard peeking out of the corner and tugged at it until it fell on the desk. He read the small writing and hardly noticed the tears that flowed down his cheeks. People were beggining to stare, so he put everything back into the big box, grabbed his keys and his coat, and raced to his car. As he drove out of the parking lot, he noticed the sky was a lighter shade of blue and the heavy weight that had been on his soul since childhood was gone. He decided he wasn’t going back to that office. He was going somewhere new. He didn’t know where yet, but that didn’t matter.


Dear Sir,

By the time you read this note, your father will be dead. I, like you, have suffered with the pain caused by sexual abuse.

Because of that, I have taken it upon myself to rid the world of men like you father. You needn’t feel sad that he is gone. His curse is not yours to bear.

You are free.