Saint Aura (plinksnotdead) wrote,
Saint Aura

  • Mood:
  • Music:

A Different View

TITLE: "A Different View."
FANDOM: Good Charlotte.
SUMMARY: "That same year on Christmas Eve, Dad went to the store..."
STATUS: Finished.

A Different View

It's Christmas Day. December 25th, the time for giving, receiving and
remembering Jesus. I'm a Christian, this should be a great day for me.

But it's not.

Yesterday, my father left. He said he was going to the store for our
Mom. She ran out of milk while baking. I offered to go for her, but
Dad said it was snowing and that he'd go instead.

I went back to my room that I share with my twin Joel. We were lying
on our beds, talking about what we thought our parents had got us.
Joel wanted a skateboard. I wanted a guitar. My Dad played guitar. He
used to sit me, Joel, our older brother Josh and our younger sister
Sarah down in front of his armchair, the one in the living room
that was next to the couch, in front of the TV. We would sit and he
would play to us. Ever since I was a little kid I've wanted to play
guitar. To be just like my Dad.

A few minutes later, I heard the car start. I didn't have any clue at
the time, but that was the moment my Dad walked away from our lives.

An hour later, my Mom came in. She asked if me and Joel had seen Dad.
Neither of us had. He'd only gone down the store for milk, what could
possibly have been taking him so long?

The car wasn't outside. He couldn't have come back and gone out again
because we would have heard him.

I checked his room anyway. Swinging the door open, that was when my
life fell apart. It was only yesterday, but I've replayed that moment
so many times in my mind, I'll always remember it as only seeming like
yesterday. It's so clear. I walked in. The bedside table, usually
littered with junk, like guitar picks and tissues, notes and pens, was clear.

I walked further into the room. His clothes were gone from the
wardrobe, no longer hanging in their clean rows. I opened his dresser
drawers and they were like gaping holes. He had left.

I ran back out to the living room, where Joel was sitting with my Mom.
She was crying and I sat down with them, looking around the room.

In her hand she was holding a sheet of paper. The bill for the therapy she had had earlier that year. Mom had broken down and Dad had taken care of us. Dad had also said he had paid the bill.


A car drove past, it's engine sputtering, sounding a lot like the car
my Dad drove. I ran outside, but it was someone else. Turning, I
grabbed the door to go back inside, and froze, noticing the sign tacked to the door.


My head whirling, I ran back inside to show Mom. She took it and burst into tears again. Looking around the room, I noticed things.

The photos of us on the mantle were either knocked over or missing.
Dad's guitar no longer stood in the corner.
Our colour TV was gone. My parents - my Mom - have a small
black-and-white TV in their - her - bedroom. That's it.

And Dad's armchair had been slashed up the middle. The fabric was
ripped, the stuffing spilling out everywhere.

That chair was Dad. No one else sat in it, ever.

And that was wrecked, too.

But that was yesterday. Christmas Eve. Now it's Christmas Dad and I'm
curled up in the remains of Dad's chair. Joel and Sarah are watching
A Christmas Carol on the old black-and-white TV. You wouldn't notice
it with this movie anyway.

Mom is going househunting tomorrow. She's convinced she can find us a
new place.

I just want my Dad back. I loved my Dad. He was the coolest guy ever,
but he's gone now.

I can't forgive him though.

"Benji?" Mom asks.

I look up. She's leaning over me.

"Merry Christmas." she says, handing me something I assume to be a

A guitar.

"Thanks, Mom."


Tell me what you thought. The writing is horrible, I know, but the
premise of the story isn't too bad.

saint aura*

EDIT: I've changed my mind... their Dad was an arsehole. I just read a magazine article with Joel telling the journalist all the things their Dad used to do...
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.