An Erratic Life

Ron's wife Joanne was tied to the kitchen chair, gagged and crying.

His twenty-three year old daughter Rebecca was strapped to a cheap, rusted folding chair. Gagged and crying. His eighteen year old son Robert was sitting on a barstool, hands secured behind his back, legs tied to the barstool legs, gagged and...........looking directly at Ron with burning hatred in his eyes.

Ron paced.

He didn't know what to do. He wanted to kill them all. He had a baseball bat in his hands and a gun strapped to his hip.

He wanted to kill them. They all lied. Fucking bait and switch.

Joanne tricked him. So sexy, so sweet - he had to marry her. She reeked of promise. Promise of wild abandon, promise of security, promise of a traditional loving American family. Consistency. Someone to lean on.

But she turned on him. He never understood why. He was a little erratic, but all men were erratic, weren't they? Allowed their inconsistencies and meaningless dalliances? After all, life was a bitch, goddamn it - much harder than anyone ever explains. Shitty jobs, low money, no respect. Life sucks. And all these people depending on you. Looking to you for their security.

Like Rebecca. A daughter. Ron never wanted a daughter but she stole his heart effortlessly. Until her teenage years, when she became a selfish, inconsiderate ass who not only disrespected her father but openly ridiculed him. Called him petty. Called him stupid. Called him a loser.

Ron did not deserve that.

He paced. He was trembling and sweating. Swearing loudly and talking to himself; ignoring his captives.

Robert. A son. Thank god for his son. Someone to grow up in Ron's image, to learn the lessons Ron taught, to defeat life in the way Ron never could. Except something went wrong.

He wouldn't hunt, he wouldn't fish. He hated guns. He tried sports but sucked at it. After a certain point he resented Ron, resisted Ron's approach to life and rejected it. Turned into a fucking intellectual. Wanted to become a college professor. What kind of life would that be? Fucking boring, that's what.

Ron paced quickly, the cursing got louder. Screaming at the walls, shaking his head violently, smashing his thigh with the bat. Ignoring the pain. As he had done for his whole life. Until now.

The family was afraid.

He knew he couldn't kill them. Pissed him off. Killing them would have been sweet revenge for a life turned to shit. Ron could not believe he could be so wimpy.

But he felt something for them. He assumed it was love. Hard to tell.

He could not kill them.

So he shot the dog.