Sins of the Father (October Flash Fiction #1)

They had grown comfortable. Arrogant. Unkind.

And now they were paying for it.

Emotion stalled thickly in his throat as he watched his son pack his belongings in the brown duffle bag. This boy was barely out of school, yet his country considered him man enough to fight a war. A war he didn’t start, but rather inherited.

He thought back to the days of his own youth, to the time when the trouble started brewing. He remembered how every citizen seemed angry and frustrated, half of them one way and the other half the opposite way. He recalled how civil debate had started to become civil unrest.

He tried to pinpoint when it had happened. When disagreement had turned to war.

When had they stopped seeing their fellow countrymen as valuable people? When had being on the opposite side of the political spectrum reduced a person’s worth in their eyes? When did they lose respect, civility, the ability to disagree maturely?

When had political dogma become more important than humanity?

Tremendous guilt washed over him as he considered all the times he had called someone a name, demeaned them on the internet, or ranted about a politician for all to hear.

He had helped fuel the fire. He was part of the problem.

And now, his son would pay the price, maybe with his life. The house divided was crumbling around them, and now it meant war in their own backyards.

His son shouldered his bag and straightened to face his father. They embraced, words few but emotions flowing.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be okay.”

He smiled a sad smile at his son’s youthful optimism. He wished he could believe him.

He wished he had been better in his youth. He wished it for his entire generation.

“I’m sorry, son.”