Post by Audio Pineapple on Apr 21, 2007 0:55:38 GMT 1
Not entirely sure why I just wrote this but the idea came to me and I couldn't get it out of my head. This is set right after Lincoln's been sentanced to death because I wanted to explore more about how he ended up disowning his dad...
“Who do you think…?” LJ paused as his mother looked up from the thankless chore of organising the groceries, her gaze questioning.
“Who do I think what?”
LJ bit down on his tongue to stop the words from pouring out, even though he’s been desperate to ask the question for days. The question that had been praying on his mind every second that wasn’t occupied with wandering around and pretending to feel normal.
“Nothing.”
He saw his mother move away from the bags and he knew what was coming, the light kiss on the top of his head and the gentle ruffle of his hair before his mother would pull back, a semi-serene smile on her face and repeat the words he’d come to hate over the past few weeks; “I’m so proud of you, you’re coping so well.”
He smiled back as she returned to the groceries, putting apples into bowls like they were a perfectly normal family and like people wouldn’t have been whispering about her when she’d brought them.
LJ didn’t want to be normal; and he didn’t want to be coping. He wanted to do something to release the tension that was building in his brain. To grab a brick and throw it through the window or to pick up a plate and drop it to the floor. He wanted something to destroy, anything that would stop him thinking about the question.
“Can you pass me the frying pan please?”
“Get it yourself you selfish bitch,” he wasn’t sure who was more shocked at what he had just said. He stood there, suddenly feeling frozen as she recovered from the shock enough to glare daggers at him.
“What did you just call me?”
“Nothing,” it was a mumbled answer, not said in a tone pleading enough to be considered an apology and when she crossed the room for the second time that conversation he didn’t believe for one second that he was going to get a repeat of the kiss.
“I asked you what you called me. God damn it LJ do you really think it’s acceptable to talk to your own mother like that?” He didn’t reply, keeping his eyes focused on the floor, “we have to stick together right now.”
“Just like you stuck by him? Just like you didn’t give up on him?”
He heard his mother sighing and her voice became a lot calmer, “We’ve talked about this; what happened between me and your father…” she trailed off, searching for the right words, as if he hadn’t heard the excuse a hundred times before, “some people just aren’t meant to be together LJ.”
“You could have tried; you could have been there for him.”
“He stopped being there for me a long time before I stopped being there for him.”
He was about to reply when he heard the doorbell ringing and he groaned inwardly, knowing exactly what he was going to hear when his mother rushed to unlatch the house, “hey LJ.”
“Hey Uncle Mike.”
“Why don’t you go and talk with Michael for a while?” His mother ushered him into the small living room and he sat down on the couch, deliberately not looking at Michael. He blamed him as much as his mother; they had both given up on him.
“You okay?” The concern in Michael’s voice that would have felt touching a couple of months ago only served to make LJ even angrier and he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the thoughts of causing a fight to relieve the tension. “What’s wrong?”
He opened his eyes again, noticing that his mother had left and he chanced a look towards Michael, regretting it when he saw the kindness and worry splayed across his face.
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”
“Your dad?”
The anger began to burn again, Michael wasn’t even referring to him as ‘Lincoln’ or ‘brother’ anymore; he was just ‘LJ’s dad’ as though he had never been anything more than sperm in a plastic cup.
“You gave up on him.”
“I didn’t…”
“You gave up on him, she gave up on him, nobody cared about him.”
“Of course we cared about him, but you have to realise what he did LJ. He did a very bad thing…”
“I’m not six, I know that murder is,” he put on a false mocking tone, “a very bad thing but that doesn’t change the fact that nobody did anything!” He stood up, feeling too stressed to remain seated and Michael followed suit. “And nobody is going to be there to write it.”
“Write what?”
LJ shook his head, he wasn’t going to spill the question, not now.
“LJ?”
“His obituary,” LJ’s chastised himself for how weak his voice appeared, and for the fact that it had appeared at all, but Michael’s obvious confusion spurred him on, “mom won’t write one for him because they ‘grew apart’ and you won’t write one for him because you don’t even see him as your brother anymore…”
“LJ, it’s not like that. But I have to face that fact that he’s guilty and sometimes it’s just easier not to care.”
“Hey Mike? You staying for dinner?” LJ barely heard his mother, Michael’s words already swirling around in his head.
“Yeah,” Michael left the room, going through to the kitchen and leaving LJ alone.
He finally had the answer to his question. Nobody was going to write his obituary because he didn’t deserve one. He was going to write Lincoln Burrows out of his life, pretend that he didn’t even have a father and then he would be able to get to sleep at night. He finally had the answer to his question…
All he had to do was stop caring.
“Who do you think…?” LJ paused as his mother looked up from the thankless chore of organising the groceries, her gaze questioning.
“Who do I think what?”
LJ bit down on his tongue to stop the words from pouring out, even though he’s been desperate to ask the question for days. The question that had been praying on his mind every second that wasn’t occupied with wandering around and pretending to feel normal.
“Nothing.”
He saw his mother move away from the bags and he knew what was coming, the light kiss on the top of his head and the gentle ruffle of his hair before his mother would pull back, a semi-serene smile on her face and repeat the words he’d come to hate over the past few weeks; “I’m so proud of you, you’re coping so well.”
He smiled back as she returned to the groceries, putting apples into bowls like they were a perfectly normal family and like people wouldn’t have been whispering about her when she’d brought them.
LJ didn’t want to be normal; and he didn’t want to be coping. He wanted to do something to release the tension that was building in his brain. To grab a brick and throw it through the window or to pick up a plate and drop it to the floor. He wanted something to destroy, anything that would stop him thinking about the question.
“Can you pass me the frying pan please?”
“Get it yourself you selfish bitch,” he wasn’t sure who was more shocked at what he had just said. He stood there, suddenly feeling frozen as she recovered from the shock enough to glare daggers at him.
“What did you just call me?”
“Nothing,” it was a mumbled answer, not said in a tone pleading enough to be considered an apology and when she crossed the room for the second time that conversation he didn’t believe for one second that he was going to get a repeat of the kiss.
“I asked you what you called me. God damn it LJ do you really think it’s acceptable to talk to your own mother like that?” He didn’t reply, keeping his eyes focused on the floor, “we have to stick together right now.”
“Just like you stuck by him? Just like you didn’t give up on him?”
He heard his mother sighing and her voice became a lot calmer, “We’ve talked about this; what happened between me and your father…” she trailed off, searching for the right words, as if he hadn’t heard the excuse a hundred times before, “some people just aren’t meant to be together LJ.”
“You could have tried; you could have been there for him.”
“He stopped being there for me a long time before I stopped being there for him.”
He was about to reply when he heard the doorbell ringing and he groaned inwardly, knowing exactly what he was going to hear when his mother rushed to unlatch the house, “hey LJ.”
“Hey Uncle Mike.”
“Why don’t you go and talk with Michael for a while?” His mother ushered him into the small living room and he sat down on the couch, deliberately not looking at Michael. He blamed him as much as his mother; they had both given up on him.
“You okay?” The concern in Michael’s voice that would have felt touching a couple of months ago only served to make LJ even angrier and he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the thoughts of causing a fight to relieve the tension. “What’s wrong?”
He opened his eyes again, noticing that his mother had left and he chanced a look towards Michael, regretting it when he saw the kindness and worry splayed across his face.
“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”
“Your dad?”
The anger began to burn again, Michael wasn’t even referring to him as ‘Lincoln’ or ‘brother’ anymore; he was just ‘LJ’s dad’ as though he had never been anything more than sperm in a plastic cup.
“You gave up on him.”
“I didn’t…”
“You gave up on him, she gave up on him, nobody cared about him.”
“Of course we cared about him, but you have to realise what he did LJ. He did a very bad thing…”
“I’m not six, I know that murder is,” he put on a false mocking tone, “a very bad thing but that doesn’t change the fact that nobody did anything!” He stood up, feeling too stressed to remain seated and Michael followed suit. “And nobody is going to be there to write it.”
“Write what?”
LJ shook his head, he wasn’t going to spill the question, not now.
“LJ?”
“His obituary,” LJ’s chastised himself for how weak his voice appeared, and for the fact that it had appeared at all, but Michael’s obvious confusion spurred him on, “mom won’t write one for him because they ‘grew apart’ and you won’t write one for him because you don’t even see him as your brother anymore…”
“LJ, it’s not like that. But I have to face that fact that he’s guilty and sometimes it’s just easier not to care.”
“Hey Mike? You staying for dinner?” LJ barely heard his mother, Michael’s words already swirling around in his head.
“Yeah,” Michael left the room, going through to the kitchen and leaving LJ alone.
He finally had the answer to his question. Nobody was going to write his obituary because he didn’t deserve one. He was going to write Lincoln Burrows out of his life, pretend that he didn’t even have a father and then he would be able to get to sleep at night. He finally had the answer to his question…
All he had to do was stop caring.
Thanks! And I have no idea how I come up with my... well... ideas. Guess my brain just works that way lol.