Disclaimer: I'm just borrowing Charlie for a while, since he doesn't belong to me, but the creators of Lost.. Unfortunately.
A/N First posted fanfic. Concrit is most definitely welcome.
Dedicated to shyaway, for her friendship, kindness and patience.
EP
Track 1: Missed Opportunity
As much as he tries, Charlie finds that he cannot escape death's presence. He tries scrubbing the sticky blood off of his hands several times each day as he works with the meats and poultry at the butchery, but to no avail. It seems to linger in perpetuity on his skin, his clothes, no matter what he wears.
The work is hard (his cuts always seem to be off somehow, he knows it) and dangerous even with the bellyguard and glove to protect him.
Liam, as always, seems to fare better whatever he does. He went off to university as soon as he was done with school, escaping the dead-end fate of his baby brother. As usual, his father holds him up to Charlie as what he should be.
What he should be...Hadn't he joined his father's trade to earn some respect by becoming the dutiful son carrying on family tradition? As usual, through fate, Liam had won out again.
Fate. He'd put any plans of music aside, once his father had pleaded with him about helping at the shop. Charlie wonders sometimes what would have happened if he'd listened to his heart. Maybe he and Liam could have started the band they'd talked about when they were idealistic teenagers -- Liam did have a pretty good singing voice, and Charlie could always play an instrument, maybe lead guitar or bass...
As he thinks about this as he passes the pawn shop on his way home one dreary, rainy night, he sees it and stops suddenly: in the window is an Ovation acoustic guitar, a gleaming ruby red, darker than the bright, wretched fluid he's been accustomed to for the past few years. He sees the price is reasonable, even for an instrument in such good condition. He knows in his heart he won't buy it, much as he is tempted; he knows that it will join the fate of the poor piano his mother bought him for Christmas -- sold, or donated to a charity to someone who would actually have time to play.
After staring longingly at the instrument in the window for a few more minutes, he heads for his tiny, dingy flat in the darkness beyond, still wondering, the question on his mind of what could have been.