Upon entering the foyer he was struck
with a foreboding sense of dawning comprehension.
The light switch felt significant under his finger tips and the
illuminated room made his dilated irises contract
with such force that he shut his eyelids against the
sudden death of darkness before him.

When his eyes adjusted to the harsh electric lights
he recognized the reason for the brief feeling of
understanding that grabbed him when he first walked in,
for in the far corner, adjacent to the spiral staircase, sat
the slumped-over body of his father in a winged-back chair.

The pocketknife protruding from it's neck bore the initials
'JSW' in small white lettering on the plastic handle, and the pool
of blood beneath the cadaver matched perfectly the color of the skin
on his hands. Like the skin of his ex-lovers lips.

Then he remembered what day it was, and how the serendipity of
the situation just tasted so very sweet upon his mind's tongue.

Happy Father's Day!