Hard Hearts



Original poster
[Simple intro, I want the posters to have as much of a say in the relationship with the father as they want to have. Father died at age 68, lived with his wife, the mother of his children. A once respected business-owner, his career went down as he got older and was pushed to retire. He felt that by retiring he was giving up and lost a reason to go on living. His wife and him had become distant, and living with her was like living with a stranger. Unable to handle the stress, he ended his life with a shot to the head. The story begins with the funeral being a day away and they are all preparing for it. Whether it be on a plane flight, a train ride, or just sitting at their house getting ready (if they still live near him). How they heard about the death is up to the poster.

Basic Information that doesn't change:
Stephen Lochwood (Father's name)
Patricia Lochwood (Mother's name)
Meeting a funeral home the next day
5 Children Max, otherwise they can be any member of the family that they wish to be.]

I held the pencil in my hand, trying to write the words that wouldn't come about the man I didn't love. As one of his children I was expected to write a eulogy about him and how it was growing up with him as a father. I laughed softly to myself and knew that I'd have to lie, as I didn't really remember seeing him much when I was growing up. He was always busy with one thing or another, whether it be one of my brothers or sisters or work. Thrown by the wayside most of the time, I never got to really know him. I suppose now I never will.

I looked at the paper and sighed at how little I had written. Hardly beyond writing my name, I couldn't think of the words to say. The paper became blurry and I gripped my pencil hard before throwing it across the room. I grabbed the paper and tore it into pieces, hardly able to rip it twice before my emotions overcame me and I buried my head in my hands. I shook and tried to keep myself quiet, not wanting to admit to myself that he was truly gone.

I threw the torn paper to the floor and grabbed my face hard, pushing against my temples and trying to regain my composure. I struck the desk with my fist, ignoring the pain and wishing I could just make it all go away. I struck it again, this time recoiling back and squeezing my bruised hand. I cried harder, no longer trying to hold it back. For the first time in years, I cried like a child.
Derrigan scoffed. He scoffed, and spat, and made sickening faces whenever his father was mentioned. He believed that's all he's expected to do anyway. He was the middle child. The ghost. The one no one ever payed attention to. Not even his own parents. On Christmas, all the others got what they wanted, but him? Derrigan? "Oh, you wanted a skateboard? Oh, I'm sorry for the t-shirt. Well, maybe next year you'll get it." And on his birthday? "You wanted a party at Sea World? I'm so sorry, honey. I have a board meeting to attend in less than an hour. We'll do that next year." For Derrigan, next year never came. Everyone always passed him by like freight trains. And all beacause he was the middle child. The forgotten kid. The one that gets treated like crap. The only attention he had ever gotten from his parents was when he would get in trouble at school and the principal would call home. "Derrigan! Why did you do that?! You should know better! I got called out from a very important board meeting, for this?! *sigh* Get in the car! I have to get back to work!" This is what his whole childhood consisted of. Once he had graduated, Derrigan was pretty much pissed off. As soon as he was able to afford himself a car, he drove off to L.A., and never came back. He was now in college, an Art major. He had his own part-time job, his own apartment, and his own girlfriend, who lived with him. He had a real life now, and every year on his birthday, Evangeline, his girlfriend, would throw huge parties for him. All his friends would be there, and everyone actually cared about him.

And now he gets a phone call from his mother (who he hadn't talked to in 7 years). His father was dead.

Not the type of dead where you humbly die in a hospital bed, gracefully leaving this world on nature's accord, but dead. Suicide. The man who had made his whole childhood a living nightmare, was dead.

All Derrigan could do was just sit there. He couldn't frown. He couldn't scoff. He couldn't make a disgusted face. He definitely couldn't cry. All he could do was sit there. His face was expressionless. His whole body, stiff. As if he couldn't move from off his living room couch. As Evangeline came in from work, she saw her boyfriend sitting there on the living room sofa looking......gone. Evangeline shook him, but Derrigan wouldn't budge. He was busy. Well, at least his mind was. Thinking of all the heart ache and pain his parents had put him through, when all he ever wanted was a pat on the back. A hug. Or something at least. He hadn't heard from anyone in his family in 7 years. He had avoided all forms of contact with anyone in his family. Not his parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, NOBODY. And all just so he could make his life a little easier......a little.....happier......And now this comes up. Derrigan turned towards his now panicked girlfriend, and looked at her. "I have to go home." was all he could say. Derrigan didn't feel anything about the news. Nothing at all.