Hector Odell fell asleep at dinner. Not just once, but nearly every night. It was an awful habit of which his family tried to be sympathetic, until they realized it was due to boredom and not some debilitating medical condition.
His father was the most disturbed. Hector was supposed to inherit the family business. How could he run the anvil manufacturing factory if the mere mention of it sent him to sleep? Mr. Odell was not a modern man who wished to see his children happy. He reasoned that if Hector wouldn’t be of use in commerce, he could be useful in teaching his siblings a lesson.
The next time Hector nodded off, Mr. Odell had him lifted from his highly appointed surroundings and transferred to Pine Hill Lake. He asked his henchmen to continue speaking about the intricacies of anvil construction, to ensure Hector remained unconscious. It worked perfectly. Something about the melting point of steel kept Hector completely dormant despite the bumpy buggy ride.
Mr. Odell and the rest of his children followed in open-top roadsters, dressed in their evening best. Hector’s siblings watched with sick delight as he was lifted into a single Chippendale chair and tittered as their butler lit a silver candelabra heirloom. If Hector was going to die, Mr. Odell reasoned, he may as well do it in style.
From the shore, Mr. Odell called out to his son. “Now, Hector, this is your final chance to show interest in the family business.”
Hector replied with a rather unseemly snort before resuming his snoring.
“You are a third generation anvil man, son. It would be a pity to throw away such a legacy.” Mr. Odell had said all this before, but figured he should give Hector one last chance.
When Hector continued to sleep, his father sighed and said, “Alright, cut the cord.”
This story was written as part of a visual writing prompt project I started on Instagram. Each week I offer an image to spark stories and poetry. I make sure to always share a response of my own. They’re short; micro-fiction, really. Still, they’re stories I put energy into so I’m giving them a home here as part of a microfiction series. I hope you enjoy.
Dude was so bored he’d rather die 😂 It’s like when Gregor Samsa hated his job so much he turned into a roach just so he didn’t have to go to work.
So good! Your stories always have such rich imagery and speedy scene setting. I wrote from this prompt before reading yours and am now in awe at how well you stuck to the imagery. I loved the line, “You’re a third generation anvil man.” And the Chipendale chair reference was a nice touch, too.