#charliedrabble

[normallyxstrange]

30 Days of Writing –  April 2019 –  One Word Prompts

Day 9: “Cold”

© 2019 F.R. Southerland

feat. Charlie

1954

     It wasn't the first snowfall of the year, and judging by the chill in the air, it certainly wouldn't be the last. Charlie couldn't remember a year when everything felt so... cold. It was an odd thing, how he noticed it. As a demigod, he ran warm—downright hot, most days. Cold barely affected him. So why was it the wind left him with a bitter chill, causing him to shiver even in his coat?

    “Grief causes us to act and react in ways we don't always expect. Oh, sadness and anger—those are to be expected—but it's other things that hit you. Suddenly. All at once.” His mother fixed her brown eyes on him, and even Charlie noticed the warmth in them had fled, replaced with the glisten of tears. He had little reason to doubt her words. After all, if anyone knew about death and grief, it would be Eleanor Slater. She'd experienced plenty of it in her three hundred some years.

    Her smile was sad when she gave her youngest son a pat on the shoulder. “The cold comes with it.”

    “Does it?” he asked, bitter tone seeping in. “I didn't feel it when Dad died. Not this... kind of cold.” He'd been sixteen at the time, there was talk of war and he'd been more angry than sad. There hadn't been the chill of despair, only the heat of anger and youthful pride.

    But with Ethan...

    Charlie sucked in a breath and turned his head away. His older brother was dead and it was all his fault. If he'd only gotten there in time, warned him not to attempt the trip, that the water was rushing, rushing over the bridges and roadways.

    He understood it then, where the cold came from. It wasn't grief, not as his mother understood it, but it was something else. Something worse.

    Guilt.

    Tears stung his eyes but he blinked them back quickly, before they could fall. It came again, that chill, and Charlie tried his best to fight it off again. He drew his coat closer around him and in doing so, shrugged off his mother's hand.

    It went so deep, a knot of it formed just beneath his heart, somewhere beneath his rib cage. He could imagine it as a block of ice, settling in.

    He might never get warm again.

[trustmeimawitch]

🗣+ Aaron & Charlie

Send two muses, see them interact (main/default verse)accepting all muses@little-earthquakes-rp

    “Whatthe fuck are you doing here?” Succinct. To the point. Aaron didn’twaste in time in getting to the heart of it. Charlie’s presence inshop was unusual. Charlie being around in general was unusual. Hefigured it had something to do with his father’s lack of involvementin his youth. Associations never really faded.

    Fucking too little too late,old man, Aaron thought. Hetossed a greasy rag aside, finally looking up at him.

    Everytime Aaron looked at him, it was always with a touch of anger.Sometimes, that anger was simple annoyance. Other times, it wasstronger, like a freshly opened wound that stung. Right now, it wassomewhere in between. Charlie studied his son before giving hisanswer.

    “I’mmoving things from your grandmother’s estate this afternoon, possiblyto storage forever. If there’s anything you want, you should come by.Pick it up.”

    Aaronimmediately gave a scoff of disbelief. “Ain’t that something youcall a person about? Didn’t need to show your fucking face here.”Translation: he would rather he didn’t show up at all.

    Hehad expected as much from Aaron. All he had to do was open hismouth—didn’t matter what he had to say—and Aaron was ready toprotest it completely. “I know, but I was nearby. It was easier.”

    For who?He shook his head at Charlie and grabbed his cigarettes off thetable. He made a flame—large, extra hot—and lit up. Through thehaze of thick smoke, Aaron stared at him. “Alright, so are youselling Gran’s shit?”

    “No.Just moving it.”

    “Shouldjust sell it. Ain’t gonna do any good gathering a shitton of dust insome storage unit.”

    Charliesighed. “I’m not ready to sell anything yet.”

    “Uhhuh.” Aaron took a long drag on his cigarette, then hefted oneshoulder in a shrug. “Well, I don’t give a shit what you do withit. Go find Jamie. He might want something, but I don’t.”

    Despitehis desire to push the issue, Charlie didn’t risk it. After all,mending the rift between himself and Aaron was an ongoing project. Hewasn’t too keen on the idea of tearing apart what little they’d fixedalready, so he relented to Aaron’s words with a nod. “Okay. But ifyou change your mind—”

    “Iain’t.” Aaron’s chuckle was devoid of humor, the annoyance andanger growing. To anyone else, his father’s reason for visiting wasonly an excuse. There was always something else, some kind of agenda.It was too late for them to ever have the perfect father-sonrelationship that Charlie probably wanted, and he hated that Charlietried.

    Hehated even more how much he resisted the idea, but that was a wholeother thing.

    Aaron might catch on,Charlie thought as he nodded again, stuck his hands into his pockets,and turned to leave. Little by little, I’m working my wayinto his life. It’s not much, but it’s better than before. Betterthan nothing.

    Hewas determined not to give up, even if Aaron fought it—as heassumed he would—every step of the way.

[normallyxstrange]

“Do we really have to do this again?” drabble (original fiction) feat. Charlie, Aaron, & Jamie #fictober18

#Fictober18 prompt

Day 30:  “Do we really have to do this again?”

featuring Charlie, Aaron, & Jamie

swearing // ; smoking // ; child abuse mention //

     If Aaron had it his way, he'd have nothing more to do with Charlie. He'd tried before—gods knew he did—but it always ended in frustration. He was to the point now that further attempts at reconciliation were better left as wishful thinking. He'd given Charlie a chance. That was all anyone could expect of him.

    But Jamie had asked. The thought to ignore him had crossed his mind—tempting, real fucking tempting—and he would've, if Jamie hadn't looked so worn-down, jaded.

    “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

    Jamie just took a long drag on his cigarette and watched the smoke drift away from them. He finally found words, after a minute or two of tense silence passed between the brothers. “No one's forcing you.”

    Aaron let out a breath and shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. “Yeah, but you ain't giving me much of a fucking choice either.” The temptation to leave was growing stronger with each passing minute, and each passing minute grew closer to Charlie's arrival. Aaron flicked his eyes toward the street.

    “Do we really have to do this again? I don't want to argue. I don't want to fight.”

    “Shit. Neither do I, but you know how shit is with us. How its always been—it ain't gonna end well.”

    Jamie knew all about that. Charlie's release from prison was one of the main reasons Aaron left home—saying nothing of their mother's abuses. “It might, if you don't blow up about shit.” When Aaron shot a glare at him, Jamie ignored it and continued, “Just saying. Dad's not a bad guy. He's not the villain.”

    Aaron gave a snort of derision. He didn't know what it was like, to have been told all of his childhood that his father was a terrible person, that he'd never wanted him, to have that memory somewhere in the back of his head of a man full of rage, and seeing very little evidence to support anything else. He hadn't even wanted to give him a chance, but he had, despite his reservations.

    He should stop letting his family talk him in to shit.

    Exhaling a deep sigh, he flicked the remainder of his cigarette away from him. “Whatever. I'm fucking done. I'm out.”

    “Aaron--”

    He'd only walked a few paces before he saw him, his father, coming up the sidewalk. Too fucking late to do any good. Aaron gave Charlie a look, glanced back over his shoulder at his brother, then headed across the street and away from him.

   Jamie wished he wasn't so resistant. There were a lot of unresolved issues wrapped up in Aaron's stubbornness that prevented them from moving further. It was a sad fact.

    Charlie crossed the parking lot to stand with Jamie, gaze following Aaron's retreating form. “Again?”

    “Yeah.” Jamie sounded as morose as he felt. “But he stuck around longer than I thought he would.” He offered a cigarette from his pack to Charlie. “I tried to get him to stay.”

     “It's progress,” Charlie said, tone quiet as he took the proffered cigarette. “Slowly but surely.”

     Jamie wasn't so sure.

© 2018 F.R. Southerland, @normallyxstrange​ / @frsoutherlandauthor​