Post by elvira lyris fawkes on Mar 31, 2020 10:42:38 GMT -5
Sullivan’s birthday used to be a time when Elvira would get drunk out of her mind and end up being carried home by the birthday boy himself. It didn’t matter then that she was underage, that it was a “school night, or that vodka was the devil on her shoulder. It was just what was done. Now, Sullivan’s birthday still included the vodka, but it was swigged from the bottle at his graveside. Sully was buried with his parents, and while Elvira was okay with being alone in the world, this was only one of two days each year when she actually felt lonely. Her brother had been her best friend, her confidant. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t tell him; even if he cringed and said he didn’t need to know that about his little sister. He was there for her when their parents didn’t give a damn where they were. On the handful of nights she had found herself locked out of the family home, he had cancelled his own plans to come and get her, or called her names from the window while he fumbled in the dark for his door keys.
The world wasn’t the same without him in it. Elvira felt like every day she was still here was another day where she tried to do something he’d laugh his head off at, or would have done himself. Six Feet Under had been his dream, his seed that she planted in the underground of New York City. In her office was her favourite photo of him, plus the only surviving photo of the two of them; baby faced teenagers with bad haircuts and too much denim. She had lost almost everything in the fire that killed her parents, but she had been smart enough to grab her backpack when she escaped which was the only reason why she had these physical tokens of the brother she would give anything to see again. His roughed up old black beanie was pulled tight over her messy brown hair, and she tucked her knees to her chest. The dampness of the morning dew crept through her jeans, but Elvira didn’t care. She would spend the day at his graveside, drinking the small bottle of vodka and feeling emptier and emptier as the hours ticked by.
Elvira still saw Sullivan’s murder in her dreams. It came less now than it had once before, but she still woke up tangled in her sheets, able to smell the salty air of the docks. It wasn’t an image she could easily remove from her mind. It screamed, roared, and hurt just as much now as it had the night Sully had been killed. She sat quietly in the cemetery, rage and sorrow coming over her in waves. She was pissed that the gang were still out there and hadn’t been punished for killing her brother. She was devastated that Sully wasn’t here, that his supposed best friend had fucked her over for the boys who had put a bullet between Sullivan’s eyes. Elvira sniffed loudly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand before bringing the bottle back to her lips. The vodka had stopped burning on the way down by now, but it had yet to numb the ache in her chest, the longing for Sullivan to be there, for the world to feel a little less lonely. She was starting to think vodka might not offer her the same magic cure that it had done in previous years. She’d finish the bottle regardless.
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TAGGED! Tiberius Deacon Hargreaves
WORDS! 593!
LYRICS! Roses - - - Against the Current
NOTES! <3