Categories > Original > Drama > Father, father
Lucas sat on his bed, with its dirty mattress and unwashed sheets, and calmly loaded the bullets into his .38 Beretta handgun. After closing the chamber, he lifted the gun and held it to his temple.
Night was just beginning to fall; he could hear the shouts of the criminals-to-be on the streets, the harsh scolding from a parent to a child, the chatting between the hookers at the corner before their shift began. Lucas was fifty-two years old, he lived alone in a dirt-poor neighborhood in Philadelphia, and his life was worthless anyway. He was ready to become a statistic.
Taking a swig from his bottle of cheap liquor, he exhaled and closed his eyes.
"Any regrets?" he asked himself. He smiled humorlessly."Too many." He popped off the safety with his thumb.
Not wishing to die in sorrow, he groped for a happy memory within his mind. The few that he had were from many years ago.
He thought back to his family. Specifically, his son. The son he had left back in Medford, Oregon. The son that he was so incredibly proud of, the son that he loved so much.
The son that he had turned his back upon.
Shaking his head in disgust, Lucas's eyes jerked open violently. He stood up in a sudden movement and hurled his alcohol at the wall.
All that was left in his hands was the gun. He hurled that at the wall too.
He sat back down on the bed, his heart beating fast and his forehead sweaty. He was a coward. He was a vile piece of shit that couldn't man up for one night to visit his estranged son when he had the chance.
Because unlike Lucas Bostwick, his son Kellin had made something of himself. His band, Sleeping With Sirens, was on tour and tonight's concert would be in Philadelphia.
Making what he deemed to be the second hardest decision of his life, Lucas got off of his bed, tidied himself up, and made his way to the city's music venue as quickly as possible. Instead of buying tickets, he snuck in through a back entrance that no one else knew about. He was the janitor there, after all.
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"Thanks, guys. Now, I'm gonna have to ask y'all not to shout during this one, alright? But I want you to sing at the top of your fucking lungs! This next song we're about to play goes out to anyone that's had a mother or father that wasn't there for them."
Kellin paced the stage, microphone in hand. The audience was edgy, moving and slapping the stage, but they soon hushed.
Closing his eyes, he exhaled and placed the mic to his lips.
"Father, father, tell me where have you been..."
It was impossible to sing this song and not be flooded with memories. As Kellin poured his soul into that microphone, his mind flashed image after image of his past that he wished he could just lock away and never think of again.
He sang to the crowd, and the crowd sang every word right back. With the emotion that Kellin gave, his audience returned. It was apparent to him that even though he had never met any of the kids at his show tonight, that he probably had very few things in common with most of them... in at least one aspect, he and his fans were in the same boat. That thought was heartbreaking.
"Is this what you call a family? Is this what you call a family? Is this what you call a family? Is this what you call a family?"
Even after the final chord had diminished, the crowd remained silent. Then Kellin's hard expression softened, and the audience cheered and yelled and slapped the stage. He smiled.
He began pacing the stage, looking at his feet and talking to the crowd. "That wasn't bad, guys," he said, smirking. "Y'all are good singers." More cheers erupted. "We have one song left before we have to go..." The cheers turned into boos very quickly. "...yeah, it sucks, it sucks, but we had a pretty fucking good time tonight, didn't we?"
Kellin stopped pacing, standing center stage, and pointed the mic away from him. The screams from the fans were amplified through the speakers. He heard some of his fellow band members, Jesse and Justin yelling as well, and Kellin grinned.
Until he locked eyes with a very familiar, sad-looking man standing at the back of the venue, and Kellin fainted.
just an idea I've had. Disclaimer: this is all complete fiction. Songfic based on A Trophy Fathers Trophy Son by SWS. The song is not biographical to Kellin Quinn's life, nor is his father really named Lucas. I made that up.
i plan on finishing this story within two more chapters, maybe even one more.
also. I challenge you to listen to A Trophy Fathers Trophy Son and note get emotional. It's hard.
Night was just beginning to fall; he could hear the shouts of the criminals-to-be on the streets, the harsh scolding from a parent to a child, the chatting between the hookers at the corner before their shift began. Lucas was fifty-two years old, he lived alone in a dirt-poor neighborhood in Philadelphia, and his life was worthless anyway. He was ready to become a statistic.
Taking a swig from his bottle of cheap liquor, he exhaled and closed his eyes.
"Any regrets?" he asked himself. He smiled humorlessly."Too many." He popped off the safety with his thumb.
Not wishing to die in sorrow, he groped for a happy memory within his mind. The few that he had were from many years ago.
He thought back to his family. Specifically, his son. The son he had left back in Medford, Oregon. The son that he was so incredibly proud of, the son that he loved so much.
The son that he had turned his back upon.
Shaking his head in disgust, Lucas's eyes jerked open violently. He stood up in a sudden movement and hurled his alcohol at the wall.
All that was left in his hands was the gun. He hurled that at the wall too.
He sat back down on the bed, his heart beating fast and his forehead sweaty. He was a coward. He was a vile piece of shit that couldn't man up for one night to visit his estranged son when he had the chance.
Because unlike Lucas Bostwick, his son Kellin had made something of himself. His band, Sleeping With Sirens, was on tour and tonight's concert would be in Philadelphia.
Making what he deemed to be the second hardest decision of his life, Lucas got off of his bed, tidied himself up, and made his way to the city's music venue as quickly as possible. Instead of buying tickets, he snuck in through a back entrance that no one else knew about. He was the janitor there, after all.
--------
"Thanks, guys. Now, I'm gonna have to ask y'all not to shout during this one, alright? But I want you to sing at the top of your fucking lungs! This next song we're about to play goes out to anyone that's had a mother or father that wasn't there for them."
Kellin paced the stage, microphone in hand. The audience was edgy, moving and slapping the stage, but they soon hushed.
Closing his eyes, he exhaled and placed the mic to his lips.
"Father, father, tell me where have you been..."
It was impossible to sing this song and not be flooded with memories. As Kellin poured his soul into that microphone, his mind flashed image after image of his past that he wished he could just lock away and never think of again.
He sang to the crowd, and the crowd sang every word right back. With the emotion that Kellin gave, his audience returned. It was apparent to him that even though he had never met any of the kids at his show tonight, that he probably had very few things in common with most of them... in at least one aspect, he and his fans were in the same boat. That thought was heartbreaking.
"Is this what you call a family? Is this what you call a family? Is this what you call a family? Is this what you call a family?"
Even after the final chord had diminished, the crowd remained silent. Then Kellin's hard expression softened, and the audience cheered and yelled and slapped the stage. He smiled.
He began pacing the stage, looking at his feet and talking to the crowd. "That wasn't bad, guys," he said, smirking. "Y'all are good singers." More cheers erupted. "We have one song left before we have to go..." The cheers turned into boos very quickly. "...yeah, it sucks, it sucks, but we had a pretty fucking good time tonight, didn't we?"
Kellin stopped pacing, standing center stage, and pointed the mic away from him. The screams from the fans were amplified through the speakers. He heard some of his fellow band members, Jesse and Justin yelling as well, and Kellin grinned.
Until he locked eyes with a very familiar, sad-looking man standing at the back of the venue, and Kellin fainted.
just an idea I've had. Disclaimer: this is all complete fiction. Songfic based on A Trophy Fathers Trophy Son by SWS. The song is not biographical to Kellin Quinn's life, nor is his father really named Lucas. I made that up.
i plan on finishing this story within two more chapters, maybe even one more.
also. I challenge you to listen to A Trophy Fathers Trophy Son and note get emotional. It's hard.
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