The Candle Maker's Son

by **Roy Kingsfield** on January 30th, 2014, 8:44 pm

Day 30 in Winter of the Year 513 AV

Upon walking into the apartment, one would have assumed it was a storage room, rather than a home of three. It was filled with blocks of wax, tin containers, strips of fiber; bolts of cloth lay piled neatly beside a small basket of multicolored string.

A man sat in the corner of the room, slowly stirring a small pan of semi-solid fluid over a fire. He prodded a melting block of wax as it began to liquefy over the open flame. As the block finally gave in to the heat, the middle aged man lifted the iron pan from the rack over the small fire and carried it across the room where twelve different hollow tubes stood upright. He began pouring the boiling wax, filling the cylinders to the brim. Heat rose from the containers as the liquid began to cool off.

“Roy,” the man said quietly, “I need your help hanging these up.”

There was a rustling noise as a figure rose from the ground. Roy ran a hand over his buzz cut head as he stood and scowled. The younger version of the man reluctantly came over to the table. The young man sighed exasperated as he picked up small wooden caps and wedged them firm on the end of each capsule. Grabbing the strings that were laying strung through the tubes, he tied hooks on each of their ends. He methodically stood up a chair, attached the hook to a rod extending across the room and repeated the process. Soon a dozen candles were hanging upside down from their strings.

As Roy was busy working, a woman carrying a basket opened the door. A cold gust of wind greeted the duo, before she closed the door quietly behind her. The woman looked up and smiled at the two men when she saw them.

A look of surprise flashed across her face as she spotted her son assisting his father, “Roy! I’m so glad to see you helping your father,” She shared an uneasy glance with her husband. “Jeffery, everything coming along alright?”

Uncertainty could be seen in the quiet candle maker’s eyes as he looked at his wife but he smiled at her, “They are indeed, my dear Alice. Roy here was just helping me out.”

The older man, set the pan down and stood looking at his son trying to gauge his reaction. As he stood by watching, a look of pride slowly began to creep over his face. “See Roy, you have a knack for this profession. I really want you to reconsider your future in this. It’s in your blood, son.”

Roy felt resentment rise up in his chest as he heard his father say that. For as long as he could remember his father had tried getting him interested in the family business. Candle making had been a skill that had been passed down through generations. Each father taught their son the craft. Jeffery had learned it from his father and he felt it was his obligation to do the same for his son.

Roy jumped down off the chair and avoided eye contact with his parents who looked at him, waiting for his reply expectantly. “I don’t know why they bother even asking. They know how I feel about it,” he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, bitterness coiling around his chest.

He put the chair back where he found it, still lost in the chaos of his own dark thoughts, “The last thing I ever want to do is waste my life away, making petching candles. It’s a miracle we’ve even survived this long in this cesspool of a home.” Angry thoughts swirled together, frustration at his parents for the life they chose to have that doomed him to living a simple, boring existence.

When his father spoke it was the last straw. “Roy…”

The young man exploded as his anger finally reached its limit. He couldn’t bear to even be in the same room as his parents. The anger had him in its vice and wouldn’t let him go. Roy blew past his parents, opened the door and slammed it shut behind him, leaving a shocked silence in his wake.

by **Roy Kingsfield** on January 30th, 2014, 10:38 pm

Day 30 of Winter in the Year 513 AV

The icy air cut into Roy’s skin as it penetrated his thin shirt. In his fury he had forgot his coat, but he ignored the cold and stormed out. The streets were filled with people who were hurrying from one place to another, keeping eye contact to a minimum. The streets were a dangerous place to be in the slums, it was best to keep from drawing attention to oneself.

But that was the opposite of what Roy wanted.

His fists balled up as the anger took its course through his body. Frustration, bitterness, anger roiled within and it demanded an outlet. He felt like he was going to explode unless he could release it. Roy pushed past people rudely, drawing angry looks and shouts of surprise but he ignored them and continued his hunt. He turned off the main street and strode through a narrow alleyway.
Roy seethed as he glared at the ground, not paying attention to where he was going. Just before he stepped foot from the alley, he bowled into someone turning into it. The two hit with enough force to knock each other onto the ground. The angry youth, jumped to his feet, temper flaring to an all-time high.

“What the shyke is your problem?” Roy stood over the fallen figure, eyes burning as he glared down at him. The form slowly pushed himself to his feet and looked at the youth. A flash of annoyance crossed the man’s face as he stood to his full height. He was a few inches taller than Roy, forcing him to look up.

“I asked you a petching question!” Roy snapped as the man just stood, staring in front of him. The seething mass of pent up emotions churned his insides and he finally found his outlet. Roy lashed out, fingers curled into the palm of his hand. His fist connected with the other man’s face with a loud crack.

The man reeled backwards, surprised, before recovering. He raised a hand to his cheek and touched it gingerly. He finally spoke, his deep baritone rumbling in his chest, “You’re going to regret that kid.” The rough looking man charged forward, arms extended, attempting to tackle Roy to the ground. Just as the man was about to crash into him, Roy jumped to the side. The man staggered to a halt, trying not to fall over.

Roy smirked, “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.” He ran towards the man and made as if to punch him again but as the man went to dodge, Roy brought his knee up and rammed it into his opponent’s side. He grunted as the young man’s blow hit him but he shrugged it off. He whipped out his arm and wrapped it around Roy’s leg.

He jerked Roy’s leg up, causing him to lose his balance. “Whoooa!” Roy yelled as he was lifted into the air and crashed onto his back. The man leaped on top of Roy before he had the opportunity to get to his feet.

“This good enough for you?” The man snarled as he balled both of his fists and began swinging at the pinned male. Roy brought up his arms, trying to stop the blows as they rained down upon his face and torso. Adrenaline was coursing through his body, taking the edge off the punches. Roy’s defense grew weaker and weaker, more blows hitting their marks. Knowing it was only a matter of time before he got knocked out, he tried one last attempt to escape. He snaked both legs up in the air, wrapped them around the throat of his attacker and began squeezing. The assailant grunted in surprise and reached for the legs enclosed around his throat.

The man resisted, pulling forward hard against the locked legs, trying to break free. Roy suddenly unlocked his legs and the man jerked forwards towards Roy, startled. Before he could stop his fall, Roy whipped his fist up and smashed it directly into the incoming face. The man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body collapsed.

Roy managed to push the heavy man off to the side and lay there breathless. The angry swirl of emotions that reared its head in his chest had subsided for the moment. Roy tried pushing himself up from the ground but his body refused to respond. After a moment, he tried again, this time slowly easing his way up.

Roy looked down at the body, a feeling of triumph coming over him. The thrill of adrenaline coursing through his blood, the challenge of taking on an unpredictable foe, not knowing the outcome until it’s over; that is what he lived for. He lived for those moments. Moments he seemed to only find in fights.

Roy winced as he began walking. He wiped a trickle of blood that streamed down his nose, smearing it across his face. His face and ribs ached from the beating he took but it didn’t matter. He came out on top. He knew he needed to head back home, it was getting late and as much as he was eager to fight, he was in no shape to get jumped by a group of thugs.

Roy sighed, he knew he was going to get lectured by his agitated parents. He learned to ignore it, push the guilt of disappointing his parents down. He didn’t want the life they had, he wanted to pave his own path. The feeling of victory, slowly began to fade as he made his way back home, leaving nothing behind but an empty void.

by **Roy Kingsfield** on January 31st, 2014, 9:15 am

Day 30 of Winter in the Year 513 AV

He stood in front of the door of the apartment and stared at it. The walk home had been a rough one. As the adrenaline wore off, he began to feel the throb in his body where the punches landed. It felt like a freight train had plowed through him. His had begun to stiffen up as he slowly made his way home. He knew what was about to happen the moment he stepped through that door, it was inevitable. He took a deep breath and winced as the bruised ribs expanded.

He cracked the door open as quietly as he could. There was a loud creeeeak as the old hinges ground against one another. He gave up trying to be stealthy and walked into the room, trying to keep his face hidden.

His mother was sitting on a chair directly beside the door in front of their small table with a bolt of fabric that she was meticulously cutting into layers. His father stood in front of a small fire, checking the hardening wax that hung from the ceiling. Both looked over at the door the moment it announced his presence.

His mother gasped as his face was reflected in the light and his father stood passively by, looking at him. Roy didn’t dare look him in the eye, he knew what he would see. Disappointment. Exasperation. Fear. Alice threw her scissors on the table and hurried over to him. He knew he looked like a mess. Blood had smeared and caked onto his face, the broken blood vessels were starting to show their color on his face, the black and blue splotches swelling up. Alice tilted his chin up so she could examine the damage. Her eyes were filled with worry. Not just because of his injuries but because she knew there were deeper issues that were going on.

When Roy had first begun going out and looking for trouble, they had assumed he had been jumped by a group of local thugs while wandering about on the streets. But when it started happening more and more often, they began to suspect he was seeking it out. Roy bottled up his thoughts and emotions he held towards his parents for as long as he could but as the years passed and the anger grew, he began to slip up. When he was younger, the house used to be a peaceful place. But as the years went on, his temper began to flare more and more often creating tension in the house. Outbursts sprung out from his repressed feelings and his parents grew more and more worried about him.

They never really understood where his outbursts were coming from, they tried to confront him about it, but it just seemed to make it worst. They were both gentle people, neither really knew how to handle their son’s erratic behavior. Instead of taking it out on them, even though in his mind they were the cause of it, he took it to the streets. His parents were at a loss for what to do, as hard as they tried, they could not punish him because nothing seemed to affect him.

Roy pushed his mother’s hand away and looked away. He squelched the nagging guilt that rose up. He was torn between his anger that he had become accosted too and the morals his parents had instilled in him from a young age. The last thing he wanted to do was explain himself to his parents. His body ached and all he wanted to do was lay down.

His parents watched him silently as he crossed the room and laid down on the floor where a small mat and blanket laid. They knew better than to try to get him to talk so they left him alone for the time being, the tension in the air thick enough to cut through with a knife.

by **Roy Kingsfield** on January 31st, 2014, 11:01 am

Day 30 in Winter of the Year 513 AV

Roy lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The embers of the dying fire cast shadows along the walls of the family’s small home. He raised a hand and stared at the small cuts that lined his knuckles where the skin split upon contact. His thoughts began to drift as sleep began to pull him into its embrace.

A picture of himself, sitting on the lap of his father in their small home floated through his thoughts. The memory began playing itself in his mind. Roy was no older than five years of age as his father began explaining to him the meaning of taking the high road.

“Now Roy, I want you to remember something.” Jeffery stroked the little boy’s hair as he spoke. “You are going to meet a lot of very bad people as you grow up and they are going to try to tell you that it is okay to do bad things.”

He set Roy down and got on his knees so he could look the boy in the eyes. “But you need to know that we will one day be judged for our actions. All the things we do, the good and the bad, will be laid out before us. You need to live a life that protects the weak and hold up those who can’t fight for themselves.”

The memory troubled Roy but he pushed it away and it slowly faded to be replaced by a new one. His father was buying food at the local market and he had taken Roy along with him. The owner was trying to rip him off and the two haggled back and forth. When they had finished, Jeffery took Roy’s hand, who was no more than ten years old, and began speaking.

“Roy, you need to know something. When you take the high road, people are going to try to take advantage of you. They are going to try to walk all over you.” He stopped and looked down at his son. “But that doesn’t make you weak. Being able to stand for what you believe in and not budge is what some call a strength.”

The two continued walking through the crowded streets. “That man was trying to take advantage of me and make me pay much too high a price for his goods. But I know that man and I know he’s struggling to make ends meet and has five mouths to feed. So I gave him what he asked.” The duo arrived at their house and Roy eagerly ran forward to open the door for his father.

Jeffery set down the basket of food and resumed talking. “Do you understand why I did that? Some would say I was weak for giving him what he asked for. We lost a few mizras but we helped someone in need. You must never forget to help those are struggling. They are people just like you and me.”

The memory faded again and Roy opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, thinking about the things his father had said to him over the years. His father was unlike anyone Roy had ever met. He was the most kind, thoughtful, generous man Roy thought he had ever met. Everyone who knew him, respected him, even if they mocked him for his ethical code, as they called it behind his back. His father always stood up for the less fortunate and was fearless in the face of adversity, though he never raised a hand against anyone.

His father took him aside every opportunity he had to teach him to live a life with high morals, taking the road of justice. He didn’t want his son to end up like the rest of Sunberth. He wanted a different path for his son.

His thoughts drifted again and he began thinking of his mother. Alice was the most beautiful woman Roy had ever seen. She was a humble and gentle spirit but had a joy that radiated from her being. A glow seemed float around her and people were drawn to it. He could always count on her to be there for him and growing up he remembered her sitting in her little chair sewing wonderful articles of clothing. He would gaze in wonderment as she spun the string so gracefully it seemed like magic.

Both of his parents instilled in him an ethical code. It was something that guided his actions whether he wanted it to or not. But as he grew older, resentment, bitterness, anger took control of him and he buried that code under everything he could so it had all but disappeared. Under the dark emotions, he began to form ideas that his parents were trying to ruin his life and were trying to take advantage of him.

Roy shifted in his bed growing restless as he thought about his life. All his parents wanted for him was to waste his life away as a simple candle maker. It made him angry just thinking about it. A dark cloud descended over him as he thought about all the times his parents tried to subtly force him into doing what they wanted. He saw past their kindness, it was all a facade to get him to do what they wanted.

Resentment boiled within him. He used to never get angry. But the more and more he saw his parents try to bend him to their will, the angrier it made him. The anger would never simmer down, when it struck it built up to such a point it was painful, unless he found a way to release it.

The day he had escaped the house after a fight with his parents and got jumped by a thug was the most liberating day of his life. The moment his fist had connected with the face of the thug who tried to rob him, the anger exploded forth in such a torrent he was consumed by it. He nearly beat the kid to death before someone intervened and forcibly pulled him off. It had felt like sheer ecstasy as the pent up rage broke free. It had been the only outlet to free him from the clutches of the fury that threatened to rip him apart.

But the ecstasy only lasted for a short while before it was gone. It only left a gaping void that he did everything he could to fill it, but violence seemed to be the only thing to fill it. But he knew deep down as he drifted off to sleep that it simply wasn’t good enough.

by **Zandelia** on March 9th, 2014, 8:47 pm

Roy :

A nice little thread of internal, and external conflict. Well written and thoughtful. I would have loved to give more XP for it but sadly there was just not enough action to do so.

Feel free to PM me anytime about your grade. Keep writing!

Solo The Candle Maker's Son