The Wildflower: Unresolved Bonds

"You're riding to school with your fiance today." A rather depressing old man tells me from the other end of the long dining table. I'm still as lost as a newborn deer, but a few dots have been connecting so far. Judging from the multiple large portraits decorating the fancy halls of the mansion home, he is family. Presumably my father.

"Okay... dad." I try my best to act natural, as natural as I can without knowing anything about the person I'm playing in the dream, other than that they're drop dead gorgeous, loaded, and have good skincare. Wanting a normal conversation for once, I don't stop myself from asking, "How's breakfast?"

"Splendid. Rather expected since I handpicked the cooks myself." He brags, pure arrogance emitting from his voice. I snort in amusement, something about his movement cartoonish despite his otherwise intimidating demeanor. The old man glares, offended, and I cover the sounds of my enjoyment with a cough.

Looks like no one in the house likes happiness.

"Cool, cool, good choice. Hah. This is pretty good."

He looks at me strange, as if I'd just twirled his mustache with my finger and pulled at it without any reason to. The impulsive urge to do so almost moves me from my seat. But self-control keeps me still, instead opting to probe at his confusion, "What? Did I say something wrong?"

"Nothing of importance. Just that you haven't spoken to me in months."

"Oh wow, that's sad." I say, almost on instinct. Awkwardly, I cough into my hand, realizing the unusualness of my words. Try to tone down on the personality, self.

"More irritating than sad, really. You have your mother's stubbornness, she'd be gleaming with pride if she were here with us right now." The old man reminisces. The hardness on his face doesn't falter once. Though there's an endless sadness haunting his eyes at the mention of 'mother.'

An unidentifiable emotion fills my existence as I stare at him, stare at the dark circles under his eyes, the grief that lingers in the meters between us.

Pity. I think I pity him, if anything.

"Anyway. Do well in school today. Don't be a bother to Hayes." His words echo as loudly as the clanking of his fork in the noiseless room.

Whoever this Hayes is sounds like he's as much of a stuck-up bastard as my.. uhh, my body's own father. Nothing I can't handle, really, considering the pretentiousness I've already faced for the day.

I shove the last remnants of my meal down my throat, in a rush to escape the awkward air. "Sure. Love you, dad."

I get no reply back, muscle memory expecting a somewhat sweetened goodbye. I remind myself that I'm not talking to actual family, just a man that fails to resemble my real father in the slightest—a tired, rather sad man.

I offer him an empathetic smile, fist tightening as I'm confronted by the unfortunate surprise on his face. Love. Did that concept even exist in the decorated halls of this manor? When was the last time true light ever reached a corner in this place? "Ah, we don't do that. Okay, got it. Yeah, bye father."

I walk out of the dining room, more maids escorting me towards the parking lot.