"You can do it your way, or you can do it the right way." His gravely voice made you feel small, his tone making you want to curl up under something and never come out. The axe swung down hard and lodge itself into the stump below, the wood he had stood up now sitting in two halves on either side of the stump. He shoved the axe handle against your chest and set up wood for you to chop. The axe felt heavy in your hands, obviously made for someone closer to your dad's size. In all honesty you wagered he could've torn the wood in half rather than use the axe if it came down to it, he had raised you on stories of him doing feats that were far more incredible than than. You swallowed hard and planted your feet before bringing the axe down in a high arc where it missed and instead embedded itself in the stump. You glanced up to your father to try and gauge his reaction.

His arms were crossed and his brows were furrowed, frown lines traced the corners of his mouth and it was obvious he was debating just sending you inside and finishing up the work himself. You'd begged him to let you help, eager to try and prove to your father that you were useful or had some semblance of him in you. You weren't keen on him seeing you as some kind of failure like how you assumed he saw your brother, you were desperate to show him some kind of skill that might make him stop looking at you like some piece of roadkill. He'd told you he was going chop wood and you'd followed after and declared that you could help out. You'd shown sloppy form and he'd corrected you and after half an hour you were still messing up. In most circumstances, a new skill not being perfect wouldn't be a problem but John expected perfection

Now you just felt like trash, and how he was looking at you made you almost certain that he felt the same way about you even if he wasn't willing to say it. He yanked the axe from the stump and swatted you away from the wood "Just go inside. I'll be done soon." As he spoke, splinters flew from the newly cut log