***AUTHORS NOTE: Sorry if he's out of character, just thought it'd be interesting to see him change his views on everything. Become a good guy, if you like it let me know! This story was requested from my Instagram page***
Getting old, yeah it sucks, but sometimes when you get older, you learn more. Become either more cynical or accepting of the changes around you. Mr. Pink was no exception. He served his year in prison, it was yes, scary, even for him. He wouldn't tell you that, though. But after a long, long twenty year sentence, he was out. Did he regret what he did? Hell no. He regretted getting caught however. Since day one in confinement he thought of several ways that he could have gotten away.
Mr. Pink now lived by himself, unable to find a decent job, he paid the bills working odd jobs he hated. But they brought in the money, until he actually landed a pretty neat job at a bakery in some obscure town in the middle of nowhere. Before all the drug dealing - cop shooting, Mr. Pink… Enjoyed baking once in a while. He was surprisingly good at it. So he was pretty shocked being accepted at this position.
Mr. Pink also found another part time gig gardening. It was very therapeutic, ripping up weeds and planting flowers. Some might call him a fag, but the dough it brought in! He got over his animosity towards people, well, some. Surprisingly he was a hit with the older crowd. Maybe due to working out when he was in prison, he looked scrawny, but the nearing 50 year old was… He had a great body. Lets leave it at that.
Mr. Pink carried the watering can and small shovel to the building, dropping it off, his shift was done. Never did he think his life would be... Decent, after all that. He still looked back, with obvious resentment for the crew. He was given a psychologist he was required to meet with on a bi-monthly basis. Mainly because the state was worried of him turning back, or for his obvious PTSD towards everything.
Something he'd never tell you though. He had trouble at night in his small apartment. He could swear he heard guns, screaming, seeing ungodly amounts of blood. Sometimes he'd had severe nightmares he'd wake up startled. Panting, trying to calm down. 'It's over, all of it,' He'd reassure himself.
Mr. Pink looked around, surveying his work, damn good job. He walked off the pouch, his shift was done. The lady who he worked for had severe arthritis and couldn't work in her garden. Almost out of pity he would have done this for free, but even as he got old, he was still the same asshole. He still wouldn't tip, okay, maybe he learned to tip at least ten percent. If she was nice.
He had his license revoked, so Pink walked everywhere, which yes, sucked, but he was able to think clearly during his long walks to and from work. He walked back to his tiny apartment, which although small, was pretty nice. Well, as nice as it could be. He didn't really decorate, he didn't like spending too much time by himself. But his son, yes he had a son who is in his 20s, told his father he'd enjoy his new home a lot more if he just, threw something on the walls. Mr. Pink thought about it, and painted a pretty sick mural on his wall. The tent wasn't thrilled, but then again, Pink didn't give a shit. The Mural wasn't anything to write home about, but Mr. Pink enjoyed painting. Maybe he'd partake in a class someday.
He checked the voice message system on his home phone, there was a message from his sons mother, just checking in on him. Mr. Pink didn't get close with her, everyone would tell you it was because he was an asshole who fucked and ran, but… Mr. Pink didn't want to be with her, just due to the circumstances that he couldn't proved what she needed. She was probably the sweetest person he knew, she had a great job, she had a great support system, had two doctorates in medical science… She deserved someone in her league, some rich man who could take care of her, cook her steak every Friday, give her sushi every Sunday. Mr. Pink couldn't do it, he didn't see himself fit. But god dammit he loved her and his son. He knew it was for the best if she stayed away. He never was able to raise his son behind bars. He did however, break down once she came in. He remembered it well.
"...I need to tell you something," She sat, grabbing both of his thin hands, Mr Pink looked at her, gazing into her deep sparking honey eyes, he studied how she was breathing, he wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, but couldn't due to his hands being in handcuffs. "Yes?" He said, in a low tone. "I...I'm pregnant," His eyes widened, she finished, "It's yours," She whispered, her expression tugged at his heart strings. He did what he wasn't supposed to and actually reached out, throwing his arms above her head and pulling her in, tears springing from both couples eyes. The guard quickly grabbing Mr. Pink, slamming him into the wall, "Ma'am you need to leave," She wiped her tears, knowing he wouldn't be able to witness his own child's birth. Or be in his life. When Pink was set in his cell, his imminent reaction was to ball. 'Oh my god,' he wasn't upset, he was overjoyed. The happiness he felt, was ruined by him understanding he can't be there for the child.
But every week he wrote a letter to the child, when the child was born, then became able to read, Mr Pink wanted him to read every letter, to show he wanted nothing more than to be a father for him. He would.
Pink clicked the message, listening. It was that his son had been accepted into Harvard. Pink was told he was studying to become a lawyer, kinda funny isn't it? He was proud of his son's accomplishment, all of them.
Mr Pink walked around his tiny home, just wishing things played out differently. He was an older guy now, life was moving so quickly. He grabbed a piece of paper, and wrote a letter to his son, how proud he was, and how deeply sorry he was for not being there, but ultimately was very happy with how he landed in Harvard. Even joking how he would be his lawyer if Pink committed any crimes in the future. But scribbled down; I won't, I learned my lesson.
He put the letter in the mailbox outside. Waving at Gretchen, a lady he remembered from the bakery, she comes in every Monday. Ordering the same dessert and grabbing a loaf of bread. She was an older gal, mid seventies yet got around just fine.
Maybe this is the time. It's never too late to start over, he would go to the graduation ceremony, he would be the proudest father there. He was going to try and make things right.
He'll start by tipping the waitress, if she's nice, of course.