The Angry Mountain
“Get up Robert.” His father made no motions when saying this, he just stared at his son. No signs of remorse or sorrow. Just an empty look in his eyes. “I said get up. You want an apology? You won’t get one. Now get the fuck up. You make me do this to you, you know.”
Robert stared at his father, the anger growing in his eyes like a fire destroying anything in it’s path. He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it quickly. He didn’t want to get hit again, so he only stood. He wiped his nose again with the sleeve of his shirt, his eyes never leaving his father’s. If only his father were smaller, or himself bigger, he would never feel that fear again. But he knew he was too small. His father was a mountain.