Honour – Short Story by @mightyjock


‘This is the highest honour that can be bestowed upon you.’

The words were spoken as harshly as the blow that had preceded them.

Abel suppressed a cry of pain and made no attempt to stand; a move that would surely provoke his father.

‘I know the honour. I respect the honour,’ he whispered, his eyes downcast.  ‘I want, more than anything in this world, the honour.  It is not the importance of honour that I do not understand; it is the means.’

He could feel the numbness spreading along the side of his jaw but experience had taught him that he was not made of glass.

His father, the Patriarch, loomed above him.

‘And who are you to question the choices that have been made?’ demanded his father. ‘Who are you, but a mere servant of our creator, to question his will?’

Abel turned to look around his room.  It seemed starker than ever in these bleak times; a single sign of their god hung on the far wall below a picture of his mother. He bowed his head before his eyes passed over them; he could not look at either.

‘I am sorry, father,’ he said.

The worn hand of his father stretched down towards him.  Abel took it and was helped to his feet.

‘In times like this, when the doubt of our righteousness creeps into our minds, we must go to prayer and speak to our god,’ said his father. ‘Come, we will go together.’

Continue reading this story and see some others at www.mightyjock.co.uk