He rebelled. “I am not your son. Just look at me. I’m two feet shorter than you.”

“I have the records to prove it.”

“Hand them to me.”

Szz. “There are your records, insolent boy.”

“No! My records!”

Blood sizzled at the wrist where I excised his presumption.

Wind from the chute below, and shock, shook him, and he grabbed the railing with his remaining hand. “Maybe your passion, as indicated by your violence, proves how much you love me!”


And he slipped, as if on his own whiny tears, into the chute, screaming as he fell. “But I totally expected it to be Obi-Wan!”