Hey, readers! Ok, so I was re-reading Light just because I had nothing else better to read and I came across Grandpa Merwin and I was like WTF? How could I could I forget the poor guy? So I thought I could do maybe a one shot or a chaptered story of the relationship between Grandpa and Drake before the FAYZ happens. There may be some incorrect information about Drake's original father because I didn't know his back story with his father so I'm just going to make that up. I'm sorry if that concerns you! If this is going to be chaptered (I might do) I'm going to put an OC and use a little romance but I don't want Drake to get all mushy. I hope you enjoy this and you can review and tell me if there should be more than just a one shot. Thank you! :D
Disclaimer: I don't own any of Michael Grant's AMAZING books. Does it look like I can write his style? Uh…NO. There will be some strong language in this so please watch out or just ignore it. I want Drake to be really badass. Lol. Oh, and I don't own any of Green Day's songs too.
Summer has come and passed. The innocent can never last. Wake me up when September ends…
I was listening to Green Day. Something I have enjoyed since my childhood. I was in my stepfather's ridiculously expensive black car. I'm into cars, I've always loved to inspect the detail and design but the car that the stepfather has bought is just ridiculous. Sure, Mercedes are pretty sexy but this car's different. It was a van car. It has sliding doors and it feels like you're in one of those disabled buses. There were eight seats. Three seats on each row were face to face with the other three so I was sitting my back from my stepfather and my legs were propped on top of the other seats.
I was pissed. This so-called father of mine wanted to 'spend time' with me and so he had dragged me from Coates Academy as it is winter break now and since he wanted to 'spend time' with me oh-so-much he decided I would absolutely love to spend time with my Grandfather Merwin. I was named after the git and I've apparently have only seen him once when I was young. I have never known what his hobbies were, or actually what he looked like in person so basically this is my first time seeing him properly. My black skull ear buds were stuck in my ears and I was listening to Wake me up when September ends on full volume. My head was rocking back and forth to the beat.
…here comes the rain again, falling from the stars. Drenched in my pain again, becoming who we are…
I know this song is for prissy emo idiots but I actually found Green Day's songs really catchy. In my hand was a Swiss Army knife and I was carefully inspecting the small details of it. How sharp it was and how I slowly thumbed the sharp end with my finger. It did not draw blood but when the bastard I call my stepfather had suddenly hit the brakes and beeped at an unknown car, the knife cut my thumb causing blood to drip on the carpet floor. The pain was sharp and it stung.
"SHIT! Can you not be more careful, you fucking idiot? Look what you fucking made me do!" He looked from behind his shoulder quickly and saw blood on my hand and his leather seat I was sitting in was smudged in blood and so was his carpet. The dark red liquid was brown against the fuzzy floor and it absorbed it. He cursed under his breath annoyingly and I managed to find a first aid kit that was snugly fitted on the door. I grabbed it hastily and found a bandage and I quickly wrapped it around my finger. I put my ear buds back in, cleaned the knife and put the damned knife back in my luggage bag and pretended it never happened. I turned and gave the dick the middle finger. He probably saw that in the mirror and looked angry. He didn't really give a shit about me. He was scared of me definitely which I enjoyed. Hah! I'm the fear he should be afraid of. He knows what I'm capable of. If I had a chance to slit his throat, I would. And I would most definitely enjoy it.
Instrumental rock music…
The journey had ended with silence afterwards and I arrived at the old geezer's house. I took my luggage and without saying a word to the driver, I left. I marched straight up to the front door with pebbly sounds following me from each step I stepped on. I didn't want to knock so I tried opening the door and surprisingly it was unlocked. I threw the door open in front of me and clumsily threw the bag of luggage in the corner. The place smelled of gunpowder and old people's homes. It was strangely suffocating like I was bombarded with smoke and it just wouldn't leave my lungs. I was scowling and muttering curses under my breath, why the fuck am I stuck here for a week? Jesus Christ…
…as my memory rests, but never forgets what I lost. Wake me up when September ends…
I searched for Grandpa Merwin and he was over in the living room. He was sitting in a rocking chair and rocking slowly back and forth with his eyes closed. He looked dead but occasionally he would drum his fingers against the old wood and open his eyes for a second. He was old, no doubt about that and he had that white hair that was soft-looking and it wasn't grey at all. He also had a white beard and when he opened his eyes they were grey and cold like mine. He wore a grey fedora hat and wore something an old cowboy would wear. Beside the rocking chair was a stick that looked shiny and was probably made from oak.
The song moved on to another Green Day song. I rolled my eyes and scoffed and found the kitchen. Everything was simple. There was no décor and nothing that would attract someone who has a sense of style. I honestly just don't care as long as I have my own room. The house was big and small at the same time. By big I meant that there was a lot of space that wasn't used and that it was dusty in those places. By small I meant that everything was a lot to take in and yet there wasn't. It was suffocating if you know what I mean.
The kitchen had a small dining table with just two wooden chairs on each side. There was a stove and a couple of cupboards that wasn't stocked with anything apart from crackers and a lot of canned food. The fridge had cheese, milk, some eggs, butter and bread. Everything was organized and the counter was smooth with just some teabags and a kettle in the corner. There was a window which had an amazing view and it viewed a garden with dry grass and since the house was in the middle of nowhere, it was just fields, fields and more fields. Nothing special.
I grabbed myself a box of crackers and cheese and stuck one cracker in my mouth as I grabbed my bag and using two steps at a time, I went upstairs and found a room with a single bed that had white clean sheets and a wooden bedside table with a lamp next to it and a large cupboard across the room. There was a bathroom next to my room and I shoved the bag angrily into the cupboard. I put the food on the bedside table and sat on the bed. I sighed and let the music in my head just roam there. What am I supposed to do here for a week? For all I know, I might lose my mind. Wait…Was there a TV downstairs? Maybe I could eat boxes of crackers and cheese and just watch TV for the rest of the week, if there is one. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.
I ran downstairs to find the old geezer in the kitchen, sipping a mug of coffee. No idea where he got the coffee from but whatever. I did actually find a very small TV cooped up in a glass cupboard in the living room. It worked and all the channels did too. I began to relax and enjoy the rest of the week…
Until, he came along and destroyed it. He walked with his stick and I inwardly groaned. I narrowed my eyes and scowled. He sat back in his rocking chair but did not rock it.
"You know, son. There's more to life than television. I haven't seen that devilish machine in years and now all of a sudden you brought out the noise. Sit here and I'll tell you a story."
He had a husky and deep voice. At times his voice broke due to his old age but I'm guessing he's used to it. I cringed when he called me 'son'. Nobody shall call me that and nobody ever has, the only time been when my biological father called me that before he was jailed and died because he lost his mind. I jailed the father that understood me. I obviously didn't mean to. He was the one who taught me how to shoot guns at the age of 8 and he blamed himself when I shot the fucking neighbor who came round for 'play dates' that my mother forced us into.
I didn't say anything so I just glued my eyes to the horror movie that I put on. I didn't want to listen but he continued anyway.
"You know that you were named after me, yes?" He took my silence as a positive agreement. He went on.
"I am seventy four years old, if you didn't know that," he rolled his shoulders as if he was rolling dead weight off his shoulders, "I was shipped to Vietnam long before you were born and it was a horrible, horrible war. There was this kid, possibly your age, I don't know, maybe a little older and he was bumped to corporal on account of the regular corporal was dead. He was a nice enough normal fellow. One day, after he had no sleep for three days and no food for five days and had two friends shot…" he looked down on his lap and he had trembling fingers that never seem to keep still. "Anyway, an NVA, or North Vietnamese Army regular, was injured so the fellow couldn't keep up when his comrades fled so corporal decides to question him. He spat in the corporal's face and so long story short, the corporal shot him in the neck. That corporal was me."
I didn't want to listen but somehow I was. Somehow this man has made me think about things. During the story, I had carefully set the ear buds on my lap but my eyes were fixed to the screen anyway. And somehow I was still listening. I looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a shark smile plastered on my face, he had a hint of a smile.
"And you know what, Drake? My blood runs through yours, because when I shot the NVA, I enjoyed that feeling. I had that sadistic pleasure that caused me to laugh. I enjoyed the feeling when blood had sprayed all over the dark walls and the grey floor. I enjoyed seeing him die there. So what I'm trying to say here is that me and you? We aren't so different. Dark times happen but we two enjoy that feeling anyway. So, you can continue with that television watching, because my job is done."
He was smiling fully now and he left the room with a grunt. I slumped back in my chair and I was imagining what that felt like. I was thinking what the scene was. I enjoyed that feeling.
.:GONE:.
For the rest of the week, I and Grandpa Merwin enjoyed ourselves by sharing stories that caused us to laugh our sadistic minds off. He taught me how to shoot just like back in the old days with my father. He obviously did not have the energy to shoot a gun but he managed to show me how to throw knives. I was impressed. It was true; we really did have a lot in common, we taunted each other and I then started calling him Grandpa Merwin even if that's for fucking idiots who have no lives, normally I called him Merwin mainly because we both have the same first name and he just calls me by my name. I didn't even need to switch on the TV just enjoy myself.
I was back at Coates now, just reflecting on the week we had. It was until then everything started to change, teachers were gone, nurses and social workers were gone, everyone over the age of 15 was just gone. I called up Grandpa Merwin but the line went dead. I threw the fucking phone across the room and cursed over and over again. I didn't really give a shit about my family but Merwin was different. He understood me. Now he's gone. But I didn't cry, I didn't shout, I just sat there and smiled. Now was my chance to show off my sadistic skills without getting arrested. My eyes gleamed with pleasure.
I hope you guys liked that! There might be an OC if you want me to continue. I'm leaving it as 'In-progress' for the moment. I hope you liked that. I did. Have a nice day!
