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@flynnkennedy
And so they say lord, for everything a reason For every ending a new beginning Oh so they say baby, for everything a reason And so they say baby, for everything a reason And those who loved before will be brought back together Yeah those who loved before will be brought back together And so they say baby, for everything a reason And so they say baby you will be brought.....brought back to me
Perfect Calmness, Troubled Sea || Jackson+Flynn
On the first day of his Senior Year Jackson and his dad had found the perfect flag for the raft they were building. The one they never got around to finishing.
On his first day in Purgatory Jackson found the very same flag shoved into the pocket of the jeans he’d worn when he offed himself. It was like fate. A shining sign that pointed him in a preset direction, the little piece of the life gone past he could cling onto, something he needed to finish - for himself, for his dad, for all that had gone wrong.
Perhaps by chance or due to persistent destiny he found Rory - quite possibly the only companion who’d make sure he didn’t turn into a self-hating mess of nothingness and guilt. Jackson hadn’t held any hope for redemption up until he met Rory. The other boy made him feel the desire - the internal need - to fix what he had wronged. Maybe then, and only then, would he deserve the loyalty, compassion and sincerity Rory had shown him. He had been a terrible son after all. He had shown his dad no loyalty, he killed him - indirectly so but he did.
And thus his incessant strive for redemption began.
He hadn’t told Rory everything at first. Completely petrified by the possible prospect of his best friend - his only friend - realizing what an utterly horrible person he was and leaving him.
The flag had been the first spark. It had a special place in his ruin of a room. He had bent an old, rusty clothes hanger and snuck one of the ends into a small hole in his dirty wall, hanging the flag on it. It was the first thing he could see as he looked up from his uncomfortable bed in the mornings, the last thing his eyes registered as he tried to fall asleep while the springs from the mattress dug into his back.
The first time he saw the lake was on his way to work. He had made a detour, trying to find some sort of a shortcut to avoid being late and as he ran down a path he’d never seen - the trees cleared and on his right, there it was. It had stopped him dead in his tracks. The dark, cloudy sky was almost a perfect replica of the grey surface of the lake but Jackson could not imagine stumbling upon a better place.
He had to tear himself away and rush to work but he came back straight after his shift was over. It had been raining when he laid his eyes on the water for the second time, his mind flooded with all the good memories he associated with such places. The rain hadn’t been an unusual occurence and it wasn’t nearly enough to dampen Jackson’s spirit and nostalgia. He had stripped down to his boxers and spent a good few hours swimming. The water hadn’t been clean, he hadn’t expected it to be but that hadn’t mattered. He desperately needed that.
He began taking money out of his weekly paycheck, putting it aside and saving up for rope, nails, tools - anything he might need to build the raft he never got to finish with his dad. The work was going slow, he didn’t get paid much. He had more than enough wood collected from all over the place but he didn’t have the tools, he kept losing nails or bending them. It was frustrating and he had sat on the floor many times, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, as he contemplated giving up the project altogether. However one glance at the damn flag was enough to remind him why he was doing this. Peace of mind, feeble attempt at redemption, piece of sanity.
Jackson liked working outside and did it as often as possible, dragging all the tools he’d collected and the numerous pieces of wood across the town to the lake. It was another one of those days.
The weather was bad and the dark clouds threatened him with heavy showers. Latest revelations about his father being closer than he had anticipated had shaken him up considerably. He was working shirtless, on one side of the lake, the tattoo of his dad’s hand print catching his eyes every few seconds. He wanted to see his dad so damn bad. There was no one else in the entire existence he’d needed to see so desperately but he was scared.
Scared that when his dad looks at him he’ll have a disappointed look in his eyes. The one that will say ‘you did this, you left me alone’. Jackson could handle hating himself but there was no way he could ever withstand his dad hating him. His heart would break.
All his tools were laying around in the grass. The raft was merely half done and he was battling with the ropes. He was shirtless, the discarded piece of fabric laying a few feet away as he wiped the sweat away from his forehead and untied the knot that he’d fucked up. If only his dad was there. He’d know how to fix this up. He always knew how to fix things.
Clearly Jackson did not inherit that trait from him.
When you kill yourself there was no 'good days' only 'bad days' and 'worse days'. Flynn had come to this conclusion this afternoon. It had been one of those 'worse days'...yet again. Nothing had gone his way today. He'd stubbed his toe, lost his wallet, been late to work, got put on traffic duty, Flynn's most hated job. He'd rather be chasing hobo's out of door ways and picking arguments with crack heads than sitting in his car waiting for someone to speed past him so he could race after them and give them a ticket. He didn't mind the whole pulling people over part but the fact was here in Purgatory no one sped because...where the hell would they speed to any where? No one was in a rush to get anywhere because there was no where TO go. He used to enjoy traffic duty but it felt like he had been waiting to give someone a ticket for eternity. What's more being alone in the patrol car gave him time to think. Flynn didn't like to have too much time alone with his thoughts. Being alone with his thoughts meant thinking of his family. Thinking of what he'd lost...what he'd left behind. Theses were never very happy times. The sun was burning his eyes so he flipped down the visor only to be greeted by the mirror reflecting back at him. God he looked like death warmed up. His eyes had dark circles below them...his cheek sunken and hollow, days worth of stubble causing a shadow over the older males chin. He tilted his head back inspecting the deep ugly scar along his throat from where he’d offed himself. ‘You’re pathetic….thank god Jackson can’t see you now’ a voice in Flynn’s head hissed maliciously. Angry at himself he snapped the visor back up, no longer wanting to lay eyes on his shameful scar. Everyone knew what Flynn had done down here, there was no hiding it. It wasn't a neat little slit of the wrist one could hide with a shirt sleeve, or an invisiable glass of poison given only away by the blistering around your lips. It was a thing jagged raw cut, skin rucked up from the serated blade of the hunting knife. He shut his eyes and ran his fingertips over the scar. He swallowed hard, feeling the scar tissue move in an obscene way. He prayed to god his family had not had an open casket at his funeral. The shame of having his son's and daughter see how he mutilated himself was too much to bear. He hoped none of them saw his corpse. Pinching the bridge of nose he tipped his head back frowning hard. He'd left them. All alone...but it was better. He wasn't burdening them any more. God he missed his kids...his babies. He'd do anything to see them just one more time. There is many things he'd tell them, so many things he'd say to them. Oh Jackson. He'd tell him how much he loved him, he proud of him he was, how sorry he was for leaving him alone. He wished he could hold his eldest son one last time. Bury his face in his hair, inhale the soft musky scene and hold him tightly. Just for a moment. Just for one moment. He opened his eyes, sighing, desperatly trying to hold back the tears. God he needed a drink. But when didn't Flynn need a drink these days? Once his shift was over he'd make his way over to the bar. Drink himself senseless. Forget about this. Forget about everything he'd lost, everything he'd left behind. After his shift ended he decided that he most definietly needed to get some air. Instead of heading straight to the bar he decided to detour slightly. He'd go visit the lake..along with his bottle of whisky he kept for such occassion. Not that the lake was anything special to look at. But it often helped him clear his mind when things got....messy. He walked slowly through the trees until he got to the waters edge. He reaced down picking up a stone. He turned it over slowly in is hand before skipping it across the water. He soon slumped down at the edge of lake, taking a long gulp of whisky. To be honest, Flynn hand drunk more than half the bottle on the hike up here and was starting to feel a little woozy. Putting the cap back on the bottle and looking out into the water he could help but feel so desperatly empty. "Come back to me...." he whispered out into the murky lake closing his eyes as a solitary tear made it's way down his cheek. He opened his eyes slowly after a moment staring across the water to the other side of the lake....he...he was there. No...no he couldn't be. It wasn't...this HAD to be some kind of drunken hallucination. Or maybe he'd just finally lost the plot. There was no way his son was on the other side of that lake building a raft. He tried to focus but he couldn’t his vision was blurry and his mind was swimming. This can’t be real, you’re imagining it. He told himself. Flynn tried to stand. "Jackson?" He whispered as he stood up off the ground, his body failing him yet again as he tried to stand but in his state fell, his legs giving out below him as he landed in the dirty. "Baby?" he whimpered, tears now falling down his cheeks again as he forced himself back up on to his feet, running around the perimeter of the lake now. He was sprinting as fast as his leg would take him. He stumbled and fell more than once but just just got up and ran again, he kept running until he reaced the other side of the lake. "J-Jackson?" he whispered nervously, not trusting himself to believe this was real as he reached out to his son gently, his fingers trying to clutch at the material of Jackson’s dirty torn shirt. As soon as he felt his hands connect with the material he gasped. He was almost certain Jackson wasn’t there, that this was all just a figment of his imagination. Jackson looked….a mess to say the least. His hands were cut and bleeding, like he had been working too long with the wood, there were bruises around his throat, his face was stained with sweat and his cheeks red and hot as if he were flustered. Flynn gripped his son by the shoulders, pulling him close, holding him to his chest, burying his face in his hair, his tears now soaking Jackson’s soft brown locks. He pulled him close, closer than he’d ever held anyone in his entire life….and afterlife for that matter. He clung to him as if letting him go would mean he’d just evaporate into thin air. He couldn’t stop himself from letting the tears fall this was all his fault. All his fault his son was here, all his fault he’d left him to deal with life alone. All his fault that he was a pathetic drunken mess of a man who didn’t deserve such a precious perfect angel as his son. He looked into Jackson’s eyes gripping his son’s face in his hands, staring into them, pressing his forehead hard to the teenage boy, who now looked so much older than Flynn had ever remembered him looking before he offed. There was something in Jackson’s eyes right now, pain, hurt, guilt. His naivety has gone and so had his innocence. That was killing Flynn. He said nothing but sobbed while cradling his son to his chest as if he were still a baby. After what felt like hours but was probably only a matter of minutes he managed to sputter a word “Why?”.
I miss you.....so much
❝I get up in the morning and my hair is all hanging in my face and poking up on one side, I need to shave and I look older than I am. When I stagger into the kitchen to get my breakfast, I don’t think, Oh, look at that handsome guy. Look at that talented special creature.
My baby </3
A child looks up at the stars and wonders.
A great father puts a child on his shoulders
and helps them to grab a star.
Neon Cathedral || Macklemore & Ryan Lewis
The liquor store is open later than the churches.
Damnit.
Eh, nevermind. Yes, the library isn’t too terrible. There’s a decent copy of moby dick and the Dante’s inferno, there, though I feel reading Dante’s inferno would come off as rather ironic. I stopped getting drunk about four months ago. It usually just makes things worse. I don’t get the same feel good feeling from drinking like I did before this. But, that’s probably because life was good before I died.
Yeah, it isn't. Lucy lent me a copy of to Kill a Mocking Bird. I liked that book a lot. Four months? Really? And you're not even tempted when you work around all that liquor all the time? Well you've got more will power than I do buddy I'll tell you that for frree. No it's never the same, I agree with you on that one. Apart from when I got to the end of my life....I think drinking then feels like drinking does now to me...an escape.
I'm still really sick of this place...
That’s my job? Well, you know, it kind of sucks to put yourself into people the way I do and get back what I get. You’re not pathetic. If you are, everyone here is. Shut up, Flynn.
What do you even mean get what you get? What are you talking about Jamie you're not even making sense to me right now? Don't tell me what the fuck to do. I don't need you, I don't need ANYONE just pour me another whiskey and...
I nearly fell through a roof today.
Beer? It tastes like piss, too. I had better canned vodka in Afghanistan.
Well let's be honest, I don't think anyone down here drinks it for the taste. More so, the effects. Though if you want to get real drunk real quick I'd recommend the whiskey.
Stupid effing Washing Machine.
How do you like me now you piece of shit?! Yeah! Not so smug now that you’re on the side of the road huh?! Ate your last sock…..wait, I’m yelling at a broken washing machine what the hell is wrong with me…
Excuse me miss....? Are you are okay? You seem to be yelling at a washing machine, should I perhaps get someone to remove it for you?....wait...is that the one that shrunk my uniform two sizes?! If so then you CONTINUE to yell at it all you want!
I’m not bitter and hostile … Okay, maybe a little, but it’s a long story. And that guy, really? I had the displeasure of talking to him. Not exactly the first guy on the list of friendly people you could ever talk to.
… Right, I’ll see what I can do about it.
Well why are you the way you are Clyde? I mean we're all here for a reason, we all have our stories to tell, or not tell? Hey Billy is not that bad once you get to know him, but you need to put the effort in with that one, he can be a little anti-social at times. Good well then I expect to see you there Johnson.
It can get so boring here.
What were their names? I always wanted kids. My wife didn’t, so we never did. Thats why you gotta stay drunk a lot so you can forget things longer. No problem, and that sounds cool. Lets see….How do I do this?
Jackson, my eldest, he's 19, then Jeremiah, 12 and Josie she's only 4. My little sweetheart. I love my kids more than I love my life, obviously as I took my life. I'm sorry you didn't have kids but maybe it's for the best, at least you didn't leave them without a father when you offed. You're tell me buddy, I'm drunk most of the time to be honest with you, I like it better that way, I don't want to remember. Pool is hard enough sober, let alone drunk with one arm! I'll hold the cue in place or something....you can push through? I don't even know...we're probably too wasted to be playing this anyway.
Maybe it was naive of me ...
(/He leans into the touch almost gratefully) Now all I need is you following me around with those magic fingers.
… Knight. But it was pretty uncool of me to get bent outta shape over it, since he told me that his roommate isn’t feelin’ too well or somethin’. I don’t wanna start dropping names when it comes to the guy who threatened me, since it’d be disrespectful and I’m not tryin’ to trash talk. He probably has his reasons, but I just want a good atmosphere. Yeah, I invited some of the girls at the coffee shop and this woman who lives in the first floor of our building … so far only one got back to me …
[Flynn shook his head, a look of grimace on his lip and a dry sound at the back of his throat. The man was about as close to he COULD get to laughing.] If I could I would, sounds like a much more rewarding job than the one I do now. Ah I see. That's odd he would just ditch like that though, that's not really like him is it? OH of COURSE it would be something to do with his room mate right? I mean those two are pretty much connected at the dick. That's alright, I understand that. I know Zia, I know, you're a good guy okay. That's why I don't want anyone threatening you, you heat me? Sounds good, is that Willow? Who lives in your building? Whay's she look like? Maybe I know her?
