Sycophant by Nova

We were always at odds, my father and I. He’d take a swift left, I a shaky right. His feet were nailed to the ground, and my fingers clung to the clouds. Numbers, algorithms, elements whispered into his ears and swirled him into becoming a stoic man, whose every thought was stagnant. He could never find the right words, only the right possibilities. He tried to teach me many things, but I never listened. Questions that had no answers didn’t appeal to him. He never liked what he couldn’t understand; he never liked me. One day, I felt wronged by a teacher at high school; so, I confided in him.

“If the boss suggests that you’re a dog, bark in return,” he said with a smile. “You have to know your place in this world, people who try to cross the line go into the danger zone-those are the fools of the world.”

That was the last time I asked for advice.

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