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TM # 200: Now How Did That Happen?
When Ray’s grandfather died, he cried.
His Pop had sneered at him over a brandy glass and told him to grow up, that everybody dies sooner or later, and that men don’t show their emotions if they want to stay men.
Ray couldn’t understand it.
Grandpop Vecchio had just keeled over dead, one minute he was there, the next he was gone, and Ray’s Pop didn’t seem to give a damn.
“Better him than me, the interfering old bastard had it coming.”
How could someone deserve death?
“Least I got the house.”
Ray had heard stories about his grandfather but he didn’t believe them. Tales of how he’d whip off his belt and beat his son seven shades of blue if he didn’t say his pleases and thank yous. How he’d come home drunk and the next morning, Grandma Vecchio would have somehow fallen down the stairs again in the middle of the night and have an almighty bruise right across her cheek. Stories of drunken brawls with neighbours, nights spent locked up in a cell, how hard his Pop had had it when he was growing up.
Ray wondered if it was a sin to not believe a word your father says.
No-one could be that mean.
Ray was five when his grandfather died.
He was seven before he learned that people could.
***
Ray was twenty-eight when his own Pop died. He knew it was a sin not to cry.
But at least he got the house.
ooc: I apologise for how crap this is, but Ray needed a prompt response for the month by TOMORROW and since I have an essay in for tomorrow afternoon, I had to bang something out in five minutes. So yes. It's crap. I don't like having to post it. But I had to do something >.< Sorry!
His Pop had sneered at him over a brandy glass and told him to grow up, that everybody dies sooner or later, and that men don’t show their emotions if they want to stay men.
Ray couldn’t understand it.
Grandpop Vecchio had just keeled over dead, one minute he was there, the next he was gone, and Ray’s Pop didn’t seem to give a damn.
“Better him than me, the interfering old bastard had it coming.”
How could someone deserve death?
“Least I got the house.”
Ray had heard stories about his grandfather but he didn’t believe them. Tales of how he’d whip off his belt and beat his son seven shades of blue if he didn’t say his pleases and thank yous. How he’d come home drunk and the next morning, Grandma Vecchio would have somehow fallen down the stairs again in the middle of the night and have an almighty bruise right across her cheek. Stories of drunken brawls with neighbours, nights spent locked up in a cell, how hard his Pop had had it when he was growing up.
Ray wondered if it was a sin to not believe a word your father says.
No-one could be that mean.
Ray was five when his grandfather died.
He was seven before he learned that people could.
***
Ray was twenty-eight when his own Pop died. He knew it was a sin not to cry.
But at least he got the house.
ooc: I apologise for how crap this is, but Ray needed a prompt response for the month by TOMORROW and since I have an essay in for tomorrow afternoon, I had to bang something out in five minutes. So yes. It's crap. I don't like having to post it. But I had to do something >.< Sorry!
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Thank you kindly for your lovely comments! *pets seven year old Ray* Me thinks me wants to write more kid!Ray fic tooooo!
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(also, the other comments in this post are scaring me. Just so you know. ;P)
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(Lol! Well, Ray hasn't hit anyone in a long long time. Langoustini is getting bored in there, all alone in Ray's head! He controls the fists so whooooooo, watch out!)
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(well, I don't mind the hitting. ;) I'm just scared for Ray and Ren, wooooe.)
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See? Ren's making my fingers type this....
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You lie! :P
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I do not! Ever! Ren's being all happy and playful and breaking the forth wall. See? I think it's the fish teddies Ray got him, put him in a good mood.