Red Right Hand

A story of betrayal and blood

Red Right Hand

‘Is that you, Alejandro?’  The gravel voice asked from inside, as the sound of boots against the wooden floors became louder.

‘You are awfully late,’ his voice rumbled again in the empty room, echoing from the walls.

Alejandro made his way into the room, beads of perspiration tricking down the side of his face, his neck, and into his shirt that was already drenched. But he was no Eskimo to be bothered by the scorching sun that just loved to show off his power in a torturing way, just like the blind man sitting on the chair beside the table. He was a hot-blooded Mexican.

‘We got into a fight before I,’ Alejandro paused as he put the gun on the table and with a sigh, said, ‘finished him.’

‘Do I sense some guilt, boy,’ the old man, Antonio, chuckled from his seat, his eyes, somehow, following Alejandro as he made his way to the little wooden table with a few cutleries, and  a half-used packet of coffee.

Alejandro remained silent for a few moments, trying with all his might to suppress the waves of pain and guilt that crashed against his heart, before he slowly opened his mouth to whisper, ‘He was my master.’ He managed to choke out as he endeavored to get the image of his master, lying lifeless in a pool of blood, out of his mind.

Antonio breathed out a long breath, his nostrils flaring like they always did when he breathed. ‘He is not your master. I am.’

‘That’s why I killed him,’ Alejandro replied, as he slowly poured the hot water into the porcelain cup.

‘Is that coffee you are making? I thought we ran out of sugar,’ the man asked, his wrinkly scarred fingers now tracing the gun on the table.

‘That’s why I bought us some,’ Alejandro replied, ripping up the little white packet, to pour the refined white powder, which made a slow hiss as it slid into the cup. Loud clanks filled the room as he began to stir the mixture, making sure all of the powder dissolved.

‘I am actually quite surprised you call him your master. I’m the one that taught you how to hold a gun. I taught you the way to master the art of killing. I’m proud to say that you’ve grown up to be like me. And now since I can’t carry out my job, you’re doing it for me. You’re like my right hand,’ Antonio said in his calm, voice as he sipped through his coffee.

‘Is that all I am to you, Dad, your right hand?’ Alejandro gritted through his teeth as the tears which had hidden all those years slowly trickled down his face.

‘Alejandro…’ Antonio choked out as his lens shivered in his wide eyes, and the blood tricked down from his mouth.

‘You know what Dad, you taught me everything except one little moral.’ he brought his face closer to his father’s as he slowly whispered in his ears, ‘Never betray a blind man.’

Alejandro walked out of the room, his father’s blood in his hands as he heard a loud thud in the back, his old man collapsing on the floor after being poisoned by his son, or apparently, his right hand.

                                                  

Author's Note

So this is my first writing that got published in a newspaper in my country so yeah this piece means a lot to me and i had to share it with you all...what do you think:)?