SELF-LOVE
THE FAMILY BUSINESS Esther Hannan-Moon @esther_hm
A Father and Son stood outside 56 Eagle Street in matching outfits. Their black clothes shrouded their faces, obscuring their hands and shadowing their figures. The Son had his hood pulled over a mop of crow coloured hair, and headphones in his ears, blocking out the quiet of the scarcely alive morning. An iron fence painted seasick green barricaded number 56 with two armchairs occupying the front veranda, one dust coated, the other worn in from use. The Son slipped off the headphones and drew his bottom lip up to nibble on. His hands wrung themselves underneath the draped black sleeves. The Father put a hand on his shoulder, but kept his face fixed on the house’s front door. “This can be a precious moment, so I need you to handle it with caution.” The Father said. “I know…it’s the right time, but it’s still his time.” The Son replied, drawing in a breath that let off a rattle as it left his ashen body. The Father nodded, “Mr. Jameson. Eighty54
two years old. His wife passed over two years ago. Cancer. Are you ready?” The son shook his head. His hand shot out and grabbed hold of his Father’s cloak. The older of the two felt a pinch in his chest. Pictures of a chubby fist in his own bone thin hand, a bubble of laughter as his Son was tossed laughing into the air. The Father went to the door and knocked three times. A weathered hand pulled open the door and a gentleman with thick owl glasses stood regarding the pair. ‘Um...hi Sir, I’m Death Jr. You can call me Ripper. So... you’ve um, died, and we’re here to take you over. If you want. Well, actually, it’s not much of a choice, but you can take your time if you need to say goodbye to some people. Is that allowed? I’m not sure, but...yeah.” The Son mumbled. The man, Mr. Jameson, smiled. It was a smile that reached his eyes, showing the shine of a few tears that had pooled. “It’s my son’s first day on the job, I’m still showing him the tricks.” The Father said as art: nimasotoudeh.com
