Full-House

A Story by Abishai100

A 'dark painting' about wrought (incomplete) distances of post-immigration (American) sanity, a troubled home-life, and a simple 'prince' of darkness.

Portrait of criminal minds and domestic/American life. Hope you like it,

DISCLAIMER: This work of fiction offers no ties to any real-world news-story/event and all images used herein comprise a purely 'personal' expression of crime-psychology storytelling (for 'open' comment).

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Amlan Satan had lived in his townhouse in Echelon (USA) with his alcoholic emotionally-troubled father (Emit) after moving to the States from Algiers and becoming a librarian and doing nice off-work microfiche-studies of post-WWII Roswell-invasion superstitions and lore for paranoia storyboards. However, he began having this nagging psychology-feeling his brain-curiosity about alien-abductions/species/strangers had something to do with his eschewed experiences with his troubled father.

MR. SATAN: Roswell and terror-transit superstitions for father-son dramatism.

LIBRARIAN: Certainly worth a microfiche-meditation for (American) prayers.

MR. SATAN: Surely (thanx, miss).

Amlan had developed a troubled psyche somewhat, and he knew of his father's discrete strange tendency to get bleu-cheese and 'loudly' claim it went perfectly with just about anything for consumption, and sometimes cited things that wouldn't seem just-right for the dairy-rich dressing, like oranges and uncooked bacon.

PSYCHIATRIST: You feel your library-IQ for Roswell-interest is psychological.

MR. SATAN: Maybe I've developed a 'dressing' interest in hospitality-readings!

PSYCHIATRIST: Perchance you need to find a hospitality-reading for books?

MR. SATAN: When in doubt, trust in Selfie-culture for lifestyle-activity!

PSYCHIATRIST: It's worth a study, Amlan Satan; for the Ego.

MR. SATAN: You're right (thanx, miss).

Finally, one night after a Friday-day's work at his Echelon library (USA), Amlan Satan came home with his own (market) purchased case of bleu-cheese dressing (American) and insisted he'd prepare a normal/sane dinnertime experience for his alcoholic father (Emit). He would make some nice zesty fried-chicken from scratch and share some Roswell-study notes with Emit while entreating him to think of those 'alright' feelings of hospitality-readings and Homeland traffic/life 'comforts' of food and bureaucracy and American legends (hmmm).

EMIT: I prefer some of that (American) bleu-cheese with some raw-fish!

AMLAN: That's not inconceivably inedible, Emit, but the chicken-plan's a win.

EMIT: You're surely now the library-coached man of colored confidence/IQ!

AMLAN: I feel it, father; consider the American 'access' to creativity/bread.

EMIT: Damn (social media culture tests for everyday people, sonny-boy).

AMLAN: Good (Facebook-interest).

PSYCHIATRIST: Maybe your (shared) Echelon-home's haunted now, Amlan.

MR. SATAN: I think you're right, at least about Emit, doc.

PSYCHIATRIST: "I offered him fried-chicken and reading and had to wind-IQ."

MR. SATAN: You believe the note-account I wrote for this session, doc?
PSYCHIATRIST: Maybe Emit needs some Roswell co-study for American life.

MR. SATAN: I hope you're accurate; for real estate prayers for immigrants!

PSYCHIATRIST: Good (bureaucracy-reading).

Amlan Satan brought home a sportsmanship-culture 'treasure' for his father, a gift for Super Bowl fanfare and American life/TV, a Florida-QB card featuring a legendary athlete representative of social media culture in the States. Emit was ironically quite pleased, but he insisted to be served bleu-cheese with bananas.

AMLAN: How about bleu-cheese with wings, father?

EMIT: Damn (ok!).

EMIT: I bloody-murdered some cheerleaders, sonny-boy.

AMLAN: What?

EMIT: One 3-month spree, with a silencer-pistol, sonny-boy.

AMLAN: What?
EMIT: They didn't appreciate bleu-cheese superstition, Amlan Satan.

AMLAN: What?
EMIT: I will commit suicide post-confession (at our Catholic-church).

AMLAN: Good.

EMIT: You know the magic of the American Dream...privacy consumption.

AMLAN: Good, Emit.

EMIT: My life's one of stranger language/art.

AMLAN: Good, Emit.

EMIT: What did you learn about America, Amlan Satan?

AMLAN: Bureaucracy, for Roswell, Emit.

After Amlan buried Emit at the special funeral, attended only by a handful of folks, including one of their Echelon neighbors (Sam), he realized to escape the haunting shadow of his troubled immigrant-father, he'd have to find the road to perdition's escape and find solace...perhaps in what the American Dream (actually) offered...the 'image' of Romanticism...perhaps a restorations-deliverance marriage to a football-cheerleader. This had become an American tragedy portrait in crime-psychology examination, for that colored quality of Earthling ribosomes (surely).