The song "Livin' on a Prayer" by Bon Jovi flowed through the bar, the lighting was dim and the smell was thick. Lynn Loud Jr. is the fifth eldest child in the Loud family. Her hair was a mess, she was once a multi-sport athlete, crashing goals left and right, there was always a ball or a stick in her grasps, and now the only thing in her grip was a bottle of whiskey, the golden spirit. Her siblings all had their dreams come true, Lori caught her dream to be a judge, Leni became the fashion designer she had yearned to be since birth, Luna had got her album up on the top, Luan leapt into the world of stand-up comedy, and there she was an ugly duckling with a permanent orthosis supporting both of her legs, unable to bounce the way she used to. "Prayer my ass," she said mocking the song's chorus.
Drinking her life away, her dreams were ripped away by the herds of sheep when they cut the brakes away from her chariot, leaping off the edge of the world and into the house of the rising sun, the thing she had avoided like the plague. All were good until that fateful day, the day god took her legs away. Sip after sip, and the bottle grew drier than the Saharan Desert. Her cash flow away fast, the brace costed her two-third of her savings, whilst the rest stabbed on the barstool, drinking and gambling away, waiting for the day when the sun would not shine. Everyone had it better than her, Lincoln got the job drawing those dorky comics he loves, Lucy became the author, recognised by the wide world, why couldn't she have that?
God doesn't exist, if he did exist, he would have been hung. With all her might she threw the empty bottle away, shattering it to pieces, to bits of sharp slicers, patrons of the bar looked at her, huge and small their eyes burned through her skull. Silently judging her inabilities, telling her to leave. In anger Lynn, threw her sight at the people, her bloodshot eyes, unable to be drunk, too sober to think, failing to drown her memories. She stood and the orthosis clanged, banging against each other, saliva flooded out of her mouth like a rabid dog. "I can hear all of you talking shit behind me!" she shouted as she stomped the wooden floorboard, throwing a tantrum like a child. "Just fuck off,"
A round of laughter blared, laughing the poor woman's head to blazes of rage, with her right hand she punched a man sitting on a chair, ending the night for him as he falls face-first on the ground, fury, the flame raged on in her mind as she flipped the table with a spine-tingling battle cry of two words, "fuck off,". Running outside, into the large open world, the world with stars blinking in the space between heaven and earth. Running away, with a crooked set of legs. The rise of Lynn Loud Junior started with her legs, it was fitting for her legs to cause her fall.
Not an hour passed and she's out, lying on the wet street, in the thick heavy rain, her arms wrapping her body, shivering, crying, rambling. Begging for someone to just end her life, a bullet through the head, or a noose around her neck. The sweet mercy of death, the one thing she wanted so bad, contemplating the thought of jumping off a highrise, a bridge passed. She doesn't have the guts to do it, all those tough acts she did were only for show, hiding her true self, a coward, fearing the unknown. "How did it get like this?"
The chorus of her life wasn't filled with victories and fame, it was fear, fearing the judgement of others, deep down she knew that. Admit it, she won't. As the thunder starts to riot, she got up, walking back to the cheap motel she lived in for months now, pockets empty, wallets gone. She wanted to ask for help, but her ego begged her not to, the key rattled, and she saw the room, dark and sombre, the smell of cigarettes and beer stung her nose harder than Everclear. Empty pizza boxes, crumpled plastic bags, and the vibrating noise of the vibrator she left on.
She needed help from her friends and family, but her ego, her fear, was repulsive. She laid down on the disease-ridden bed, it smelled worse than a dumpster fire. Facedown on the pillow, stained with tears, crying herself to sleep. "Help me, god,"
And help God gave her, her door was knocked at 4 a.m. and there she was struggling to get up. Swinging the door open with anger, "what the fuck do you want?" she asked with annoyance in her voice. Then she recognised it, a purple shirt, with a jacket over it, a freckled brunette she called her sister, Luna. "I don't need your help," she said before slamming the door on her sister's face.
"Dude, just come out, I need to tell you something," Luna banged at the motel door.
"I can hear you from in here," Lynn shouted, as she clenched her fingers together, ashamed.
"please Lynn," Luna said, the hurt was in her voice.
"What do you want from me?" Lynn replied in anger.
"Lynn... I'm dying please,"
"Well, I'm not, aren't you supposed to dig a grave?" Lynn shouted, trying to drive her sister away.
"Lynn, I know what you're trying to do, please just let me see your face," her sister begged.
Unable to take the guilt anymore, Lynn swung the door open, still trying to act tough she looked into the older girl's eyes, and asked: "Are you trying to join the pity club?" to which Luna replied with an envelope, "what's this your death warrant?"
"take it, I don't want you to die like this," Luna said before she walked away, leaving Lynn alone with the envelope. She shouted for Luna to come back, but nothing stopped her from driving off, away from the place Lynn called home.
Opening the envelope, Lynn found cash, fifteen hundred dollars and a note, that said, "Please go back to being Lynn Loud Jr. XOXO Luna". Was she lying about dying, was it a bait to lure her out, was it all a lie to guilt her more?
Five months later...
The coffin was closed, and it made its descend under, surrounded by her loved ones, mourning her. Lynn looked over from afar, wearing a black shirt, she was afraid of the others. She wasn't lying. "Thanks, rock in peace Luna," she said as the box was laid under and the people left. Lynn walked over to the last resting place of her sister and poured a bottle of whiskey on it, "This is my last drink,"