Parker Stephens

Indie Blog

[sergeantanders-blog]

Praying To A Ghost |1943 | Parker&Cooper

[parker-stephens40-blog]

imcooperanderson‌:

Cooper felt himself shatter when he heard his friend sob. He hadn’t expected Parker to shed tears for him. Everyone treated recruitment like a noble thing, shouldn’t his friend be proud of him? Sending him off with a cheer and smile?

“I don’t have a choice,” he said quietly, barely above his breath. It was that true opinion cracking under the persona of pride he was trying to hold.

Standing up, Cooper went over to his friend and embraced him tightly. He didn’t have words, as much as he opened his mouth to speak, all words failed him. Instead the slightly older boy held onto him tightly. Parker had become his world, he was family, he was his life and it felt wrong to leave him, but he had to.

“It’ll be what, a few months then I’ll be back?” he smiled at him, holding his friend tightly to his chest. “I’ll turn up and Hitler will take one look at me before he starts running in the opposite direction,” he said lightly, trying to ease the situation.

Parker felt the slightly damp embrace from Cooper and wrapped his own arms tightly around his skinny body. Why was this happening? Hadn’t he lost enough already in his life? If there was a God and the whole Holy book was right, these were certainly going to be his forty days in the desert.

His voice vibrated against his own chest and even though he knew Cooper was trying to cheer him up, nothing could at this precise moment. His mind wandered as he stood there in his best friend’s arms. Did he enlist too just to be with him, just to inevitably die with him? Could he possibly stop him from going? Did he confess to Cooper all of his secrets? Would this be there last moment together?

Parker pulled away and brushed his nose with the back of his hand. He couldn’t make a joke, put on a happy face or even speak. Instead he took a few steps away from Cooper and made his way over to the fire escape. He pulled open the window and felt the crisp, cold air whip against his damp face. He moved his body out onto the iron staircase and headed up. Straight up to the roof.

The sky was dark, but it was dashed with small colours of purple, blue and just off in the horizon, a hint of orange. The ground crumbled beneath his feet as he crunched his way over to the edge of the building, his eyes set on the horizon. The thoughts of planes flying through those skies, going to fight off the Nazis.

His eyes drifted down to the cold street bellow, the untidy streets of the city and a newspaper flying in a weak breeze dragging lazily on the floor. Parker inhaled sharply and sat down on the roof, bringing his knees to his chest, ignoring the fact he was in his nightwear, ignoring the fact that he was barefoot and the tiny pebbles were sticking to his foot and most of all, ignoring the fact his best (and only friend), was leaving him.

[sergeantanders-blog]

Praying To A Ghost |1943 | Parker&Cooper

[parker-stephens40-blog]

imcooperanderson‌:

He smirked softly at the other man’s humour. “Glad to see you can tell the time Parks, I’m very proud of you,” he teased lightly in response. Though the smile quickly faltered as he couldn’t have it last, there was too much hanging over him.

Hearing his friend snap slightly, Cooper felt his chest tighten and his pulse quicken. Keep it together, Coop. He could never explain why his body would send itself into a panic, like a trip wire had gone off and he lost control of his functions. Registering that he was holding his breath, he tightened his grip on the mug of tea before slowly breathing in. You got this, just be clear and concise.

The older boy watched his friend glance at the letter but not read it, though he figured anyone would recognise the ink of a type writer, the emblem of the US Army at the top and the signature at the bottom. He imagined thousands of these letters had been sent out, the only difference being his name at the top.

“No. Though I have spoken to her today, after work. I handed my notice in,” he said clearly as he sighed softly and drew in a shaky breath. “Basic training starts next week and then I go over to France by the end of the month. They’re desperate for men, they called my name and I have to go.”

Sipping his tea, he kept his eyes fixed to the table before daring to glance at his best friend. “I wanted to let you know,” he murmured softly.

Parker didn’t smile. He didn’t even fake a smile. Something was wrong and it seemed only fitting that bad things would happen after 1am. His eyes danced around Cooper looking for any sign of possible injury, yet he seemed healthy. It wasn’t a late-night fight.

Hearing the ‘no’ hit him hard in his chest. He felt empty, like he had jus thrown up after a big meal. Or was passing a virus. His body went cold and the hairs on his arms stood to attention. He took a step back and felt the side of the unit press into the soft fold of his back. He winced slightly but he couldn’t tell if it was from the pain of the unit, or the news.

Cooper had to go. He had to leave him. Parker looked away, anywhere except Cooper’s dumb face. His mind seemed to fill with images of guns, helmets, shouts, screams and he was back in the nightmare he had just woken from. Only, this was real. Cooper was going to war to fight for the world and Parker was losing his only world.

Parker opened his eyes for a moment and felt the warm tears on his eyes once more. Christ, he was such a pansy. He brushed his eyes with the back of his hand and gave a hollow laugh. “Damn allergies…” He lied.

The words didn’t come, they didn’t form, and they certainly didn’t shape themselves in any form to provide comfort or warmth on this cold August night. Parker just stood there, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He finally hung his head in defeat and looked around the room. “Don’t go…” He croaked, an invisible hand around his throat. “We can do something, stop this… You don’t have to go you can…” He stopped as he burst into tears and buried his face in his arms.

Parker sobbed into his arms, his face feeling hot, flustered and damp with tears. His voice hitched and whined with each sob. He finally lifted his head, his voice merely a quiet whimper, his eyes red and puffy with torment. “Don’t go…” He mustered.

[yesterdaysprint]

Clarion-Ledger, Jackson, Mississippi, May 27, 1939

[julian-fawcett-mp]

Wartime Sweethearts

[parker-stephens40-blog]

[sergeantanders-blog]

Praying To A Ghost |1943 | Parker&Cooper

[parker-stephens40-blog]

imcooperanderson‌:

Brown eyes shot up and fixed on the other man, he watched him for a moment before a small smirk crept on his face. “Morning? It’s not that late is it?” he asked as he looked back to the window at the city which still laid in darkness. 

“A little,” he mused. Hell he’d tried to drink himself to death though he was that buzzed on paranoia and anxiety, it felt like he’d been sipping cola all night. 

Pulling at the drawers, he took out a plain white t-shirt and slipped it over his head. “I’m just-” he started while unfastening his belt. He couldn’t think of an excuse, couldn’t think of why he’d spent his whole paycheck on nothing but liquor and the company of his thoughts. “…I wanted a night out,” he finished.

He watched as Parker tidied up after him. He had told him countless of times he didn’t have to. Cooper would’ve done it in the morning. He was tidy, he kept things clean but right now he wanted his bed and sleep, things could wait. Though he kept his thoughts to himself and let him go about his business.

“Yeah, it started raining, the heavens opened when I was walking back. It’s almost like God’s crying. That’s if there is a God..” he muttered the last part. 

Taking his trousers off, he put them on the side and found a pair of pyjama bottoms under his pillow. “Thanks, I’ll get that then head to bed,” he murmured before walking through to the kitchen. Cooper quiet walked to the stove, made himself a cup of tea and then sat down at the rickety wooden table they shared.

He carefully sipped the hot liquid, not flinching at how it burnt his tongue, his mind was elsewhere. Without a word he took a piece of folded paper he’d had slotted in the wood of the chair. “I got a letter…” he placed it on the table in front of him and let Parker take it at his wish. Cooper often got letters from his mother though this wasn’t one of those and the cold, emotionless look on his face was not the usual bright eyed, smiley one that came with news from his mother.

Parker turned towards the clock on the wall and then back to Cooper. “Well, you see that there big hand? It’s pointing at the number twelve and that little hand is pointing at the four. Which makes it four o’clock in the morning. So, good morning sunshine.” He sipped his tea, letting the warm liquid comfort him. At least he was safe.

He couldn’t help himself as his eyes drifted down to his belt buckle and then forced himself to look elsewhere. It was automatic. Like turning when you hear a loud bang or when you hear your name called in the street.

Parker drank more of his tea, why would he need a night out? Granted, things hadn’t been looking good but why now? Maybe everything was getting to Cooper, maybe he just needed to feel normal again, even at the cost of liquor. It was times like that he would take a long walk and try to find something new.

God was a funny concept. Sure, he had grown up Protestant, but that didn’t mean he believed in what he was taught. Parker believed in an after-life and he believed in something bigger than himself. Whether that was an old guy with a beard, a genie in a bottle or something else, there was something in the universe pulling strings so that everything would happen for a reason. Which begged the question, what had the universe done this time?

He stood to one side and watched Cooper walk into the kitchen. Something was wrong. He hummed worryingly as he followed him into their small kitchen. His eyes sticking to Cooper like glue. “Cooper… Just say it.” He finally mustered as he watched Cooper pour himself a drink. Parker closed his eyes preparing for the worst. Please… Please just say he had gotten into some stupid fight, or that he had pissed on a building and got caught…

Parker watched him remove the paper, his eyes glued to it, fixated. He bit the bottom of his lip and watched as he placed it on the table. He took a step towards it and then stopped, seeing the fine typed letters through the paper by the dim light of the building. His eyes glanced over to Cooper and he took a step back.

“…Your mom?” He finally said after a minute of silence, the last drop of hope seeping its way out of his mouth. This wasn’t real. He was still dreaming. His eyes stung from the tears he was repressing.

[sergeantanders-blog]

Praying To A Ghost |1943 | Parker&Cooper

August was supposed to be a fun month. It felt like the heart of summer, Central Park was the place to be, ice cream was a treat and baseball season was in full swing. Though this August would be unlike any other he’d experienced.

4 am, pouring rain and all he could think about was the letter he received two days ago. He’d told his mother that afternoon then gone out and spent his week’s wages in the local bar. Whiskey shot after whiskey shot until he’d bled his wallet dry. He hadn’t wanted to go home. He hadn’t wanted to go back and tell Parker about being called up to fight. He didn’t want to dwell on the lingering thoughts in the back of his mind, that he didn’t want to go, that he might not come back. He was supposed to focus on the good right? Was he a coward?

Everyone went with smiling faces. They were all excited and proud to be chosen, so why didn’t he feel that way? He was being an idiot surely? One thing Cooper knew was that he couldn’t let anyone think he was a coward. He’d fake it till he made it. Focus on the energy of everyone around him. Basic training started next week and that was it, he’d be shipped over to France to fight the good fight, with a weapon he’d only shot with his Grandfather. 

“I’m in over my head,” he muttered to himself, hands in his pockets as he slowly took the walk home. The city was in a dim out. The lights stayed off or low to confuse overhead planes. Thankfully they didn’t live too close to the docks or harbour; there’d been a bombing there not too long ago. 

Walking up the fire escape, he went to hid bedroom window and slid it up quietly. He hadn’t wanted to go in through the front door, risk bumping into his flat mate and best friend. He wanted to skulk in through the window, collapse on his bed and wallow in self-pity. Just one more night, one more night before he threw on the act for everyone else. It wasn’t uncommon for Cooper to come in late so maybe Parker would’ve made the usual suspect that he was out “schmoozing some poor girl with his handsome face” as his friend had often called it.

Climbing through the window, the brown liquor hadn’t quite killed the hyper-awareness he was teeming with so he didn’t feel drunk. Sliding the window shut, he jumped when he recognised a silhouette in the doorway.

“Jerk. Nearly gave me a heart attack lurking in the dark,” he muttered at his friend before throwing his soaked jacket onto the back of the desk chair. Ruffling his hand through the black locks that were plastered to his head, he shuddered slightly as a chill ran through his spine.Peeling his shirt off, he threw it at the laundry basket before kicking his shoes into the far corner of the room.  

“Didn’t mean to wake you, m’sorry.” 

@parker-stephens40

[parker-stephens40-blog]

Two days ago, Parker turned 23 years old. It wasn’t the best birthday he had ever had, for one thing he’d dropped his corn dog off the pier and another, some asshole called him out on his way back from his evening walk. Calling him a ‘Nancy-boy.’ Usually, he didn’t let words bother him, there was a war going and there were far worse things happening. Yet, these words stung. He wasn’t a-one of those, but he knew he didn’t feel the same about women as he felt about men. There was nobody else that knew that thought of his, the one that lingered in the back of his mind on every date he went on. The thought that crept up on him as he slept.

He woke up in a cold sweat, his forehead glistening and his body warm. The pillow was damp and resonating heat. His chest rose and fell with every deep breath he took. He checked the time and sighed falling back into his bed.

Parker swung his feet over the edge of the bed and slipped into his comfy slippers. He made his way into the kitchen and put the copper kettle over the stove. His eyes glanced outside at the dark streets of New York and inhaled sharply. It was late and he could tell by the lack of sound coming from Cooper’s room, he was out there somewhere.

Cooper, where were you? Parker hated it when he would go out late at night. The streets aren’t safe. What if, God forbid, there was an attack? Sure, it wasn’t the most likely, but what if a bomb dropped right on his stupid head? What if he was jumped in an alleyway? What would he do without him?

The kettle whistled calling his attention back to the stove which he switched off and poured himself a hot cup of tea. Parker sat at the table, cupping the warm mug in his hand, the heat was welcoming, and his heart rate was settling. He closed his eyes and cast his mind back to the dream.

Parker and Cooper in a small bunker, somewhere off in the countryside. Bombs raining down all over them. The distant bangs and the screams of pain. His eyes closed tighter. He remembered opening the shelter door and looking out into hell itself. Dirt spraying everywhere. The screams getting louder, the fire. He turned around and looked at Cooper, who wasn’t Cooper anymore. Instead, he was a skeleton. An outstretched hand made of bones and burnt flesh reaching towards him.

He slammed his fist on the table and ran his hands through his hair. How much longer was this going to go on? Tears fell from his eyes as he slowly as he sobbed silently. Parker wiped his damp eyes and looked up as he heard a window slide open. He pulled the draw strings around his dressing gown.

Parker stood in the doorway; his hands folded across his chest as he watched Cooper climb in like some common criminal. His fingers felt tight around his arms. He had been drinking. He sniffed and brushed his nose with the back of his hand.

“Morning Swigger. Been on the drink?” He asked, knowing full well the answer. He knew that smell too well. Parker moved over to his jacket, picking it up and placing it somewhere to dry. He came back in and made his way over to his shoes, straightening them up. Parker hated mess. Even if it wasn’t his.

When his shirt came off, Parker shook his head, a small smile on his lips. Cooper really just didn’t care sometimes. But then, why should he? The two had been friends since they were knee high. He picked up his cup and warmed his house. “There’s a hot pot in the kitchen if you want something warm inside of you. You look cold, Cooper.” He said, leaning against the wall.

[parker-stephens40-blog]

Parker Stephens

Born: 2nd August 1919. Age: 23 years old. Hometown: New York, New York.  Current Residence: New York City. Occupation: Post office owner/cleric

Personality Traits Quiet - Cautious - Cheeky - Thoughtful - Wise – Independent - Reserved - Caring - Anxious - Aloof - Tolerant

                                             Likes and Interests Music - Books - Reading – Current Affairs - Coney Island – Long walks - Movies                                            Dislikes and Phobias Violence – Substance abuse – Loud noises - Heights

Bio - 

Parker Stephens grew up after the height of the First World War, his parents both fought for a world where their son would grow up not knowing the cold sting of the Great War. His father, Nathaniel Stephens died serving a month before Parker was born, he never got to meet his son and left a hole in Parker’s family tree that would only continue to grow wider.

His mother, Susan raised Parker with her father in a small New York apartment on the lower East Side. It was a one-bedroom place and barely big enough for the three of them, but they managed. Parker grew up knowing the value of what he had.  

Growing up, he was close to his grandfather, he would often ask him stories of when he was a child or what it was like to move to America from Ireland. He found the country his grandfather was from so interesting, all the way across the seas and so much smaller than the state they lived in now. One day, he wanted to visit Ireland and explore Cork and all it had to offer. To try to find those trees from the stories or the stone wall he fell off when his Parker’s age.

The family got by sure enough, his mom did all the jobs she could, moving from place to place after they had tired of her services, but it was his Grandpa Sean that really brought home the money. His grandfather loved to gamble and was quite good at it… Well, he was quite good at cheating to win and not getting caught. Every week he would slip an extra bit of money into the family pot and take Parker out of treats. Sunday morning walks or an ice cream on a Saturday night.

One night, his grandfather felt particularly good and challenged a local to a game of poker, only the stakes were the highest they had ever been. His business for the apartment the family lived in. Parker knew the story of how his grandpa won the business inside out and found it hilarious how he managed to distract everyone so he could slip a literal ace up his sleeve. The Stephen’s clan were now the proud owner of Ol’Sean’s Postal Services.

Parker loved working at the post office, he loved sorting the mail, going out for deliveries with his grandfather and most of all, getting to help his grandpa with the cash up at the end of the night. His absolute favourite thing about the mail room was the strange exotic stamps that would pass through. So many places all around the world and Parker felt like he was at the heart of it all.

 to be continued... 

[parker-stephens40-blog]

“There's a starman waiting in the sky He'd like to come and meet us But he thinks he'd blow our minds”