Not Much

It is not much, but it is a start…

Sitting on the plane as it began the descent into the airport, his mind wandered.  Hard to believe three days ago, sipping scotch, laughing, he discussed business with his Fathers partners, mere hours after lowering him into the ground.  Father, funny word that is, he loathed being called that, or dad, especially pops.  “I did not build my company and fortune from the ground up and make my name known throughout the world to be remembered as Father, my name is Samuel,” he would say, “and you will address me as so, do you understand me William?”  Such a pretentious man, and ever arrogant.  William detested him, but yet, missed him.  Or maybe he did not miss him.  William always felt an unexplainable hollowness within himself. A hollowness that had been there long before Samuel died. But every son should miss his Father, William thought.  Samuel provided the kind of life most would take for granted, and those without would trade places with in an instance. 

A hand lightly brushed his shoulder, bringing him back to reality.  “May I help you with your bags, sir?  The flight attendant asked. “No ma’am, I only have the one.  But thank you,” Replied William.  Manners, always an abundant amount of manners.  That was in thanks to his mother.  She loved being called mother, before she died when he was only nine.  Taking his bag and heading toward the exit, it finally hit him.  He was it, the last Stevenson.  The lone survivor of what was once the most powerful family in the country. And at twenty-four, alone in the world.  As he stepped out, his hand quickly jumped up to block the ever blinding rays of the sun from his eyes.  Once the sun was obstructed, he was left breathless.  He was there, here, finally after his mother had told him so many stories.  To get lost, to walk the streets, and search. That was his dream. His goal.  But search for what exactly, or who?  That, he did not know.  He only wished to find something, anything here, in…..


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