𓈊 A Poppy By Any Other Name

Cutscene III: Tendencies of Responsibility

You know how I said cutscenes have nothing to do with plot? Well, this one does. All of the other ones don't (unless I've said they do).

Trigger warning for death and self delete. Yes, it's actually described and put into detail this time. Please, be very careful while reading this! It's heavy stuff! (Don't worry, I'll be including a synopsis at the end)

Also, this should clear up a bit about the whole "Joel wants to adopt Grian" deal in Act XXV and explain what Joel's panic attack last chapter was about. Hopefully it'll make a bit more sense to y'all.

Anyway, enjoy the chapter! Or, at least, try not to bawl your eyes out /lh/hj

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"Joel, make sure your father has somewhere comfortable to sit when he gets home from work, alright, sweeheart?" Joel's mother, Arabella, called from the kitchen.

Twelve-year-old Joel rolled his eyes from the sofa and called back, "Yes, mother." He made a face as he grumbled to himself about having to move for his father. Why should I move? he thought bitterly. What does he do for us that's worth me moving from my seat for him?

"Will you come help me make these croissants?"

Joel immediately stopped his grumbling and hopped off the sofa, scurrying into the kitchen where his mother was. She had one of those small box TVs sitting on the counter as she baked, playing the news and weather channel.

Arabella smiled at her son as he rushed into the kitchen, beckoning him over with a wave of her hand. "Roll out this dough for me?" she asked, giggling as Joel nodded happily.

As Joel began to kneed the dough, Arabella moved on to taking a half-cooked dinner out of the oven, seasoning it before putting it back in again to cook longer. She glanced over at the little television, frowning.

"Oh, dear," she sighed. "Another car crash at the intersection?" She huffed, removing her apron. "They need to do something about that, I'm tellin' you. Someone's going to get real hurt one of these-" She froze and Joel looked up at her, slightly confused.

"Mama?"

Arabella looked like she'd seen a ghost. Or maybe an army of ghosts. Or maybe just the afterlife itself. Either way, she looked unwell and pale. "Joel, sweetheart," she said softly, reaching for the boy. He let her pull him into a hug. "Don't look at the TV, dear."

Despite what his mother told him, he'd already been facing the TV. On screen, a reporter was standing in front of the wrecks of two small cars and a pick-up truck, talking away about some sort of "tragedy." There were police officers and first responders taking someone away on a stretcher.

The stretcher was covered. Someone had died.

But it wasn't just anyone, no. Why would it be?

On the screen was shown the picture of a middle-aged man's I.D. The man had black hair, some gray from stress at the roots, and brown eyes. His forehead was slightly wrinkled from the unhappy expression on his face.

Joel knew that scowl. That was his father's scowl. It was the ugly, repulsive scowl that Joel's father gave him and Arabella because he hated them. And now he was the dead man on the stretcher being taken away.

A strange feeling of relief filled Joel. We don't have to deal with that old sleeze anymore, he thought. Mama can be happy.

But that's not how it happened. Why would that be how it happened? Why would anyone get to be happy, even though the only thing in the world that's hurting them is gone?