Black Brother Oneshots

Birthday from Hell: 3 Nov, 1981

Twenty two. That's how old the man was, yet somehow that seemed impossible. 

Five days earlier, he was every happy-go-lucky guy in his early twenties. His hair was perfectly brushed, falling elegantly to his shoulder, a sleek black. His grey eyes shone with mischief and pride, not a dark cloud in sight. His leather jacket was his most prized possession, that or the pack of cigarettes that sat in its pocket. He spent his spare time polishing his motorbike, taking it for a spin to go visit his best friends and beloved godson.

Those friends had been planning something for this date, to celebrate the man turning twenty two. To them, it seemed impossible that he was twenty two.

Oh how much can change in five days. Two of those friends had been murdered, one convinced that the man had been the one to do it, and the final one had betrayed him. He was framed and taken into custody, unable to take care of his beloved godson he had promised to take care of. 

Today, he was unlike every other man in his early twenties, a convicted murderer. His hair was a tangled mess, a frizzy black. His grey eyes shone with pain and suffering, clouded over and seemingly dull. His leather jacket was replaced with prison rags, and his cigarettes gone for handcuffs. His motorbike was scuffed, having taken his beloved godson away from him, never to see him again.

Today, he was supposed to be sitting around a table with his friends and godson, singing Happy Birthday as a group. Instead, he was sitting on the dusted floor of prison, his only company dementors, singing Happy Birthday alone.

Today was supposed to be a Birthday in Heaven, but instead, it turned into a Birthday in Hell.