"Weathered Too Young"
Disclaimer: I do not own HA! I do not own the song "Saints and Sailors".
Prologue:
"Saints and Sailors" by Dashboard Confessional
This is where I say I've had enough
And no one should ever feel the way that I feel now.
A walking open wound; trophy display of bruises
And I don't believe that I'm getting any better, any better.
Chorus
Waiting here with hopes the phone will ring
And I'm thinking awful things
And I'm pretty sure that few would notice.
And this apartment
Is starving for an argument.
Anything at all to break the silence.
Wandering this house
Like I've never wanted out
And this is about as social as I get now.
And I'm throwing away the letters that I am writing you
'Cause they would never do,
I would never do, never.
Chorus
Waiting here with hopes the phone will ring
And I'm thinking awful things
And I'm pretty sure that few would notice.
And this apartment
Is starving for an argument.
Anything at all to break the silence.
So don't be a liar,
Don't say that "everything's working"
When everything's broken.
And you smile like a saint
But you curse like a sailor
And your eyes say the joke's on me.
But I'm not laughing and you're not leaving
So who do I think I am kidding
When I'm the only one locked in this cell?
Chorus
Waiting here with hopes the phone will ring
And I'm thinking awful things
And I'm pretty sure that few would notice.
And this apartment
Is starving for an argument.
A
Anything at all to break the silence.
So don't be a liar,
Don't say that "everything's working"
When everything's broken.
And you smile like a saint
But you curse like a sailor
And your eyes say the joke's on me.
Present
Arnold stared into the mirror at his reflection. He hardly recognized himself these days. He was twenty-six years old, but felt like he was eighty. The last couple of years had really been hard on him and he felt exhausted, hopeless, and helpless. Sometimes he felt like he had wasted the last four or five years of his life. And there would never be any hope of getting them back.
He rubbed bitterly at his eyes, trying in vain to dispel the fatigue and get rid of the large purple bags that hung heavily there. He did this every morning, but never to any avail. The green of his eyes had gradually faded to an empty gray-green that no longer held any light. He put some gel in his hands, rubbed them together and tried resentfully to restore his hair to its once bright, blonde, energetic look. No use. It still looked pale and limp.
He sighed, placed his hands on the sink and leaned towards the mirror once more. "What happened to you?" he asked his reflection. "Who are you?"
He starred at himself and knew his countenance was no longer as it once was. The bright, optimism he had always carried had slowly been squelched. He would often pause in conversation not sure where the words were coming from. He knew it wasn't really him speaking; it was this machine he had become—this machine that just barely managed to go through the motions and make it through each day until he could once more sleep and escape from life.
Sometimes he could remember what he used to be like—who he used to be. He wanted to find that person again, but he had no idea how. Once in a while he would start to rise above the problems surrounding him but then something would happen and he'd fall even further down into despair. Everything seemed too hopeless and too endless to even bother trying.
It's not like he had made a bad decision and that's why he was here. No, it had definitely been the right one all those years ago, but things had changed and his attempts at healing her had been futile. It had seemed so possible, so sure. But somewhere something had gone terribly wrong, and now he just wasn't sure which road to take. So he spent his days walking around the house blindly, only wanting out.
He carefully opened his pill bottle and poured one of the tiny pills his doctor had prescribed yesterday into his hands, and stared at it. "Can you really help me?" he asked the little pill before placing it in his mouth. He filled his hands with water and sipped it slowly, swallowing the pill.
He sighed and trudged to the kitchen where he banged around until he found a frying pan and some butter. Choosing three eggs he broke the shells and poured them into the pan and listened to them sizzle. He didn't hear the tiny footsteps that crept up behind him, but he felt the little tug on his pajama bottom and looked down. My Little Pony in hand, the little curly-haired, strawberry blonde gazed up at him.
"Daddy?"
He tried to smile at her—the one bright spot in his dreary existence—the one thing the made it possible to keep going. "Yes, sweetie?"
Two beautiful, deep green eyes stared sadly up at him. "Do you think Mommy will come home soon?" little Cassandra asked quietly.
"I hope so, darling," he said, hugging his little daughter tightly in his arms, only wanting to rescue her from sadness and worry. "I certainly hope so."
A/N: Well, my friends. What do you think? Okay, yes, you probably think I am going to overwhelm myself since I already suck at updating WICS, however, I beg to differ. This will be better for me. Trust me. Two stories, so if one gets hard, I can turn to the other and hopefully that will get my creative juices flowing.
Anyway, this is inspired by the song by Dashboard at the beginning and some of you may have read the little Ipod shuffle short little thing I wrote which also gave me some help with this idea. Are you intrigued?? I certainly hope so!
