Note: I don't own Everwood, although I wish the ever sexy Ephram was mine.
This has two curses in it, don't read if it'll get ya in trouble. This is
my first fanfic. Please read and review!
Chapter 1 I guess this is my suicide note. Haha, I never was too good at English, isn't it ironic? Like that Alanis Morissette song. Whatever. Ok, this is my note to everybody in general. In this whole stupid town, to everybody who looks at me and pities me. To everybody who whispers behind my back, to everybody who calls me 'the freak with the purple hair'. Fuck you. But anyway... here's a little insight into my head. Maybe you'll learn something. Yeah, my mom bought it. Yeah, my dad is a nutcase. Hell, tell me something I don't know. Or wait. That's my job. Here's what happened that day...the car crash.
I was late getting up, I had to grab jeans from the dirty clothes and wear my nightshirt. Although, I opened my boxers drawer and they were all neatly pressed, sitting next to the clean socks.
"That is so Mom," I thought, although I was secretly glad that she did stuff like that for me. My mom yelled at me that I was running late, even though I already knew that. I took the bus to school, managing to withstand the morons on the bus by putting on my headphones and listening to some of the old nirvana. School was ok, I managed not to fail an english test and I didn't have any homework in biology. I remember because I knew something was wrong that day. Oh, crap spilled some booze on the paper. Anyway, my friend Jeff gave me a ride to the concert. He was always joking about me being mozart or whatever, saying that the piano was for preppy pricks, even though he was my ride to every recital. He came every time, which is something my dad never did. I warmed up with the scales backstage, going thru my good luck rituals and all that. I used to look behind the curtain to see if mom and dad were there. I stopped that when I was about 12. I already knew the answer: Mom was always sitting by herself, an empty seat reserved with a coat in case my father decided to show up.
Anyway, I played great that day. I got a standing O, something that happens a lot at high school piano recitals but still makes you feel good. I looked into the crowd while bowing, and I was shocked to see my dad standing on the sides. I couldn't see him that well. But I could tell that he was crying.
As I left the stage, he ran to the wings. He told me, he told me that Mom was in a car crash. That she was dying. She was going to come see me play.
I couldn't cry that day, or the days following. I cried at the funeral, though. There was only one phrase running through my mind: It was my fault.
Now I'm in this stupid small town, but not for long. No, I'm leaving. For good. I'm putting all these stupid notes in a envelope along with the notes for amy ...delia...colin...bright...wendell...and lastly, my father. You all need to know some things.
Cya, small town losers. Sincerely, Ephram Brown.
Chapter 1 I guess this is my suicide note. Haha, I never was too good at English, isn't it ironic? Like that Alanis Morissette song. Whatever. Ok, this is my note to everybody in general. In this whole stupid town, to everybody who looks at me and pities me. To everybody who whispers behind my back, to everybody who calls me 'the freak with the purple hair'. Fuck you. But anyway... here's a little insight into my head. Maybe you'll learn something. Yeah, my mom bought it. Yeah, my dad is a nutcase. Hell, tell me something I don't know. Or wait. That's my job. Here's what happened that day...the car crash.
I was late getting up, I had to grab jeans from the dirty clothes and wear my nightshirt. Although, I opened my boxers drawer and they were all neatly pressed, sitting next to the clean socks.
"That is so Mom," I thought, although I was secretly glad that she did stuff like that for me. My mom yelled at me that I was running late, even though I already knew that. I took the bus to school, managing to withstand the morons on the bus by putting on my headphones and listening to some of the old nirvana. School was ok, I managed not to fail an english test and I didn't have any homework in biology. I remember because I knew something was wrong that day. Oh, crap spilled some booze on the paper. Anyway, my friend Jeff gave me a ride to the concert. He was always joking about me being mozart or whatever, saying that the piano was for preppy pricks, even though he was my ride to every recital. He came every time, which is something my dad never did. I warmed up with the scales backstage, going thru my good luck rituals and all that. I used to look behind the curtain to see if mom and dad were there. I stopped that when I was about 12. I already knew the answer: Mom was always sitting by herself, an empty seat reserved with a coat in case my father decided to show up.
Anyway, I played great that day. I got a standing O, something that happens a lot at high school piano recitals but still makes you feel good. I looked into the crowd while bowing, and I was shocked to see my dad standing on the sides. I couldn't see him that well. But I could tell that he was crying.
As I left the stage, he ran to the wings. He told me, he told me that Mom was in a car crash. That she was dying. She was going to come see me play.
I couldn't cry that day, or the days following. I cried at the funeral, though. There was only one phrase running through my mind: It was my fault.
Now I'm in this stupid small town, but not for long. No, I'm leaving. For good. I'm putting all these stupid notes in a envelope along with the notes for amy ...delia...colin...bright...wendell...and lastly, my father. You all need to know some things.
Cya, small town losers. Sincerely, Ephram Brown.