[BROLIN/MERTHUR] "tell me we weren't just friends." he begged, his bright-blue eyes growing glossy as tears filled them. there was a short and silent pause between the two, almost as if the blonde had been hesitating to voice his thoughts. then, he...
Bodies stood, trembling and shaking beneath layers and layers of black. Fresh tears spilt from their eyes and disappeared into the dirt beneath their feet while sniffles wracked through their bones. They all stood dormant around a deep, newly dug up hole that had been a rectangular shape, their hearts split into two as they weeped with one another in their own grievances.
I was there, you see, my big blue eyes staring as two men lowered a wooded box into the ground. I clung onto my fathers hand, and he gave it a gentle squeeze, his eyes unreadable and his bodily posture still as a mannequin. "Daddy, what are they doing?" I asked, my innocence taking hold. "Where's mommy?"
At that, tears quickly filled his eyes but he swiped them away so fast that I hadn't really noticed. "Mama's just been sick, Cole," His voice was unstable; shaken. "She'll look over you from now on."
I tilted my head, my ebony hair folding onto the opposite side. "But she always does that. She made me peanut butter and jam for school lunch awhile ago!" I exclaimed cheerfully, but the look remained dormant on his features. He hadn't responded, as he glared daggers at the wooden crate that was now being covered in shovelfuls of soil evermore so. Atop, lay a marble stone. Carved into it, "Donna Morgan, 1966-1992."
As the years passed on, my father grew distant of me. I grew older, and soon understood the meaning of abandonment and loss. My mother was taken from me long before her time, and my heart dulled everyday from then on while in knowledge of this.
My father was losing himself in his own grief, and it came to a point where he'd stop getting out of bed every morning. Where he'd forget to eat his meals and swallow his medications. Where he'd learned that alcohol and cocaine was his only sense of comfort in the darkness he was trapped in. I'd try my hardest to gain his attention, but all I'd receive was silence.
More years had passed, and you'd expect that someone would have learned to cope with such a loss by then. But, my father had always been the one who'd get hung up on things. He'd never let it go. On the day of my mother's twelfth anniversary of her death, my father had decided he'd let go. Just as she had done.
And there I stood, dressed in black, people weeping from around me, as I watched two men lower a wooded crate into the ground. On a marble stone atop the grave, "Vernon Morgan, 1962-2004."
And there I stood alone as the small crowd of people departed to their vehicles. Since that day, nothing much has changed.
That was before Bradley had come into the picture.
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AN; I had to do some hardcore MATH. Donna died when she was 26 (colin was 6 years old when that happened). Vernon died when he was 42 (colin was 18.) just to clarify, Donna and Vernon are fictional characters I made up because I didn't want to use Colin's actual parents. And Colin was actually born in 1986 so I FEEL PROUD FOR DOING MATH! (i'm sorry if that made no sense but i'm just proud of myself for that one 🤧). -lily -3/11/19
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