A Faithful Vase

Isaac Brown

Lying is a disgrace, my mother would constantly declare before her passing. “Dishonesty is of the devils, of which will corrupt you for eternity.” That was the only thing I recall from that day. I think about her constant preaches as I gaze at this vase I have inherited. It has this Deep red vibrancy, of which reminisced on her true rage, and the furrows in the design looked in every way like her bursting veins after I… Although I feel grief, I do not weep. I resonate with my father’s despair, but not in sympathy. I long for home yet I feel free like a vulture. “Mother?” I recall shouting. “Of what reason should I have been given this vase?” I do not remember the response but only the devious smirk he threw at me, though I would rather it be the case than remember her.

“It had only been a week; I understand if more time is needed.” I veer over my shoulder to see my father lurking over me. “Time is not needed; I’m merely observing this ugly vase.” I say as my father’s face shifts from desolate to insulted. “Your mother’s vase is not to be slandered in this manner; Do you speak of resentment regarding your own mother?” Rolling my eyes in embarrassment, I turn away from him. “Why, of course not…” The moment my lips start to form a movement, the vase shimmers as the decrepit old vessel crumbles to its original state, before the construction; before it was betrayed. Staring at these ruins that once resembled a container, I now feel a now looming presence, a weight on my shoulders that reek of guilt. Turning around I see a home, hollow as it once was, yet I feel not alone. “Father?” I cry out. “Mother?” I cry out again, and the response I yearn for cries back out. I do not understand what it said, but I acknowledge the request. This once mundane abode becomes vibrant, and red of sin. The presence of which lurked locally has become intense. Looking down I see my shoes have become ash, then my socks, then my jeans. The clothing which protected my innocence has now left me for the devil to take. There is nothing left. My naked shell of a body sheds into its core.

“My heart is pure; I do not wish to accept death.” I cry out, but inside I knew the truth. I have now shown dishonesty to more than just myself. I soon accept my fate as the faithful vase forms a crooked smile from the shards once held together by transparent epoxy; Which simultaneously melted with my chance for redemption. The vulture begins to cry as a once complete legacy decays to ash.