Post-Geneva Developments

In the quiet town where I live, an ordinary evening took a dramatic turn. The night in question began like any other, but events unfolded that would forever change my family and me.

As I sat in the living room, the silence was suddenly broken by the sound of my father collapsing in the bathroom, curled on the cold tiles. I rushed to his side, finding him unresponsive. In that moment, I felt a wave of fear wash over me.

My father, once a strong and imposing figure, was now declining. His slurred words, misplaced objects, laughter without context, and the appearance of little folk at the edge of the garden were all signs of his deteriorating health. The once grand and imposing house we lived in now seemed old and crumbling, time thickening its walls.

Despite his decline, my father still held a certain fear. He would smile at me, as if proven right about my supposed failures. My stepmother, too, was afraid. She accused me of theft, moving her things, and stealing her post, and locked herself in the bedroom to whisper to the police about my supposed plans.

My stepbrother, a man I barely knew, began appearing more and more frequently. He held a carving knife and looked certain, believing I was orchestrating an inheritance coup. The house became a fortress under siege, and I was the traitor inside the gates.

In the midst of this chaos, my stepmother's son began to appear, believing I was the mastermind behind it all. I felt trapped, but I was useful to my parents, as I could drink with them and scold me for things I hadn't done. I slipped into the role of the damaged son, the fuck-up, and the clever, melancholy boy who couldn't hold his life together.

As the night wore on, I called an ambulance and held my father's hand as the paramedics loaded him into the vehicle. The house remained silent after the ambulance left, save for the sound of someone downstairs, opening drawers and making metal clinking sounds.

My stepmother drifted through the house like a ghost, speaking in half-thoughts and believing someone important was coming. I returned home to find that I had confirmed something about not amounting to much. The night ended with me and my stepbrother standing facing each other in the doorway, and for the first time, I didn't know what came next.

As I look back on that night, I can't help but feel a sense of dread. The events that unfolded were surreal, and I can't help but wonder what the future holds for my family and me. But for now, I can only move forward, hoping for a brighter day.