[Sandy brown narrative Caspar]
The sun is setting at the house on the hill. If there really was a God, this is where he would live. Here, at this house, far above all of the other houses. The city spreads itself below in rolling valleys of green punctuated by terracotta rooftops. This is a house built for a diety, not a man. The view is impeccable, all-consuming, and a little possessive, as if to say that this too shall all be mine. There is a mist in the valley, fragrant hibiscus dew and fresh cut grass. It is fucking cinematic, with its palm trees and lush botanicals. Out back, the house overlooks the ocean. The water goes on forever, the devoted backdrop to the house on the hill. Caspar lies in one of the green and white lounge chairs beside a vast pool. The water is level with the surrounding gray tile, and it is still, giving the impression of a flat surface. A walkable surface. A walkable sky. The sun is setting, making the sky a soft, bluish gray. And the water is gray, on gris, on grigio.
His father stalks out of the house, large and furious like God. He's wearing all black and so is Caspar, like this is a somber family affair. Most of them are. His father's hair is all gray, like the water, like the tile, like the sky. Gray, and yet there is nothing feeble or remotely 'old' about him. He seems impossibly large and muscled. Age has made him a little soft around the middle, but in the same way that a grizzly bear might be. It doesn't detract from his greatness. It doesn't draw one's eye from the raw power of him. This is a man who dictates how the world turns. A man who clenches his fist, and empires crumble. Even his voice is heavy like thunder when he says, "What the fuck do you think you are doing here?" Caspar is drinking hard liquor straight from the bottle while reclined in the pool chair. He has sunglasses on despite the lack of sun, and he seems already defeated in the twilight. "This isn't your home anymore," father says.
Caspar stares straight ahead through the sunglasses. "Remember when you taught me how to swim?" The pool is so peaceful before them, so flat, so still.
His father says, "My father taught me the same way I taught you, and I never saw fit to cry about it for twenty goddamn years. And if this is about me putting you back in the fucking will, you can forget about it. If this is about money, you're not getting a goddamn cent." He is a mountain of a man, and he doesn't move for anything… but at the moment, he seems to soften. It is something small, imperceptible to the eye… but maybe it is there because he says, "Go to work for me, get yourself sorted out, and then we can talk."
Caspar bristles, he pulls the sunglasses off and climbs from the lounge chair with enough dexterity to show that he isn't wasted. He doesn't even seem drunk, despite the half empty bottle of evidence. "When I got married, what did you tell me?"
"I told you it wouldn't last." The silence stretches between them here. The moment pulsates, waiting. "And it didn't, did it?" It is so peaceful up at the house on the hill. The wind whistles by, wearing plumeria. "I'll tell the staff to give you five minutes to get out." The father turns and begins walking back around the pool, back to the door of the house on the hill.
Caspar hesitates, he's tonguing his lip, there is liquid forming in his eyes. He bites down and takes a step, like it hurts to do it. "Dad? Dad, please. I've got nothing left." His father pauses, turns to look at him when Caspar repeats, "Nothing." And then he turns back, walks those final paces across the gray and into the house, dressed in black and unforgiving.