"Damn dad, you scared the shit out of me." I was standing in the doorway, sweat running down my face, breathing profusely, and looking around the room, trying to find the source of the green blood. I followed the trail with my eyes and saw that it led directly to my father.
"Didn't I tell you that my room is off limits to kids? And why are you looking at me like that?"
Father was still slurping away at the noodles, totally disregarding the undeniably weird situation he was in.
"Why the hell is there a trail of green blood leading from your car all the way up to your office?"
I walked up to my father and scanned him from head to toe, trying to find something on him that would leave off a trail like that. His hands were covered in the green blood.
"Oh, so that's all it was?"
He tossed the empty noodle cup onto the floor along with all the other trash and wiped his hands together, spilling some of the blood on my shoes. I got down to wipe off the liquid and was hit with yet another nose full of the disgusting smell.
Father put his goggles back on his eyes, spun around in his chair, and pulled himself closer to his working table, which was usually filled with his teaching material, but now, for some reason, seemed empty.
As I lifted my gaze from my shoes that'd been permanently stained by the blood on my father's working table, I felt a big lump enter my throat. Sure enough, the blood trail didn't lead to my father, but behind him to the thing laying on the table.
"You mind leaving? I need total concentration to study this thing."
I slowly get up and walk up to my father, peeking over his shoulder.
"Dad, what the hell is that?"
It was shaped like an overinflated American football.
"Some weird ball of flesh I stumbled across on my way home from work. Now go."
It was fully covered in black fur.
"Why is it bleeding? What'd you do to it?"
I could swear I saw it breathing for a second.
"I didn't do anything. It looks like it's bleeding from the inside, and the blood is somehow coming out through it's skin. But I'm on serious leave."
I didn't move a muscle. There was something very wrong with the thing on my father's desk.
"Why does its blood smell so strong?"
The smell felt like I was being force fed rusty nails through my nostrils.
"I don't know. The blood isn't any richer in trans-4,5-Epoxy-(E)-2-decenal than my blood. It's like the blood is just like ours but still somehow different."
Father took his goggles off now, holding them in his hand, and spun around in his chair once again to look at me.
"Now go do your homework or something; I'm busy."
He waved his hand towards the door with a commanding expression on his pale face.
"Dad, I think you should throw that away."
He suddenly stood up, looking down on me.
"Excuse me?"
I tried swallowing the lump in my throat, but it didn't budge.
"I'm just saying. I haven't seen anything like that in my life; it doesn't look natural, and it could be dangerous."
Father started scratching his head with his poorly cleaned fingers.
"Listen, i don't get opportunities like this every day, okay? I have finally found something that could get me out of my dead end job."
"Listen, dad, I get that, but what if it's just a normal piece of meat? What if it's nothing special? Just throw it away, please."
Father sat back down on the chair and spun back around to the table.
"If it's a normal piece of meat, why do you want me to throw it out?"
He froze for a moment and spun back around.
"Why does everyone always want me to fail?"
"What? No? I just have this feeli-"
He got up and started profusely poking at my chest while yelling.
"You're just like anyone else! First your mother, and now you!"
His breath stank like rotten animals.
"Dad, no, that's not right. I just-"
I felt a sharp pain in my temple, and before I knew it, I was on the ground, lying on a pile of noodle cups. I tried to feel my temple with my hand and felt something warm and moist. My father had hit me using his goggles like one would use brass knuckles.
"Damn it! Why does no one ever believe in me?"
Father started kicking the noodle cups around me barely missing my face. Tears were running down his face, and drops were falling all over the floor due to his profuse movements.
This wasn't the first time my father had hit me. Every time I had entered my father's office, one way or another, it led to him beating me. He was a frail and weak man, not someone I couldn't fight back against. But I didn't have the heart to do so. Every time, I'd just lay on the ground, taking it.
I can't remember much from that time, but before mom left, not even once do I remember seeing my father angry. Mom leaving had apparently been the last push he had needed to fall over the edge.
Father stopped kicking the cups for a moment to catch his breath. I slowly started opening the ball I had made from my limbs to protect myself. Father rolled the chair underneath him and sat down on it.
"Get up."
He sounded almost annoyed that I hadn't fought back.
I slowly got up, holding my side with my left hand and my still-bleeding temple with my right.
"Now leave. I need to get back to work."
He spun back on his chair and rolled to his table while waving his hand behind his back, signaling for me to leave.
"Yeah, sorry for the intrusion."
I turned around and started walking towards the door with a small limp in my step.
After entering my room, I threw my bag under my bed. I fell face first onto my old sheets, making the already formidable hole in them even bigger. As I layed there, thinking about the passing day, I sighed. That had been the first conversation I'd had with my father in six months.