Static Shock Drabbles
Yes, I'm actually alive.
And writing - at least sometimes. Like when I go visiting rena_lime.
The following Drabbles are actually part of a much larger story, a story I won't even think about posting until it is done. So you might think of these as teasers for the (hopefully) upcoming story, but they can also be considered standalones:
Days
The first day no one had truly worried, both parties assuming their boy was visiting the other.
The second day they found out they weren’t.
The third day the police and press started their search for the two missed teens. The twenty-fourth day they gave up.
The fourth night Robert thought he saw a tall, dark form in front of Virgil’s window, but he might have been wrong.
The tenth day Adam told them about Virgil and Static. Sharon didn’t talk to him for a week.
The fortieth night Robert spent out drinking. Trina found him and he spent hours crying on her shoulder.
They both knew the statistics.
Months
The calendar is merciless in its display of passed time. It has been months.
He can’t help but look at the phone, like so often in the passed months. Silently begging it to ring and relay some news, any news, anything but the stifling silence.
Old newspaper-clips still litter the table: pictures and articles, a desperate attempt to find them.
It was every parent’s worst nightmare.
Slowly Robert Hawkins lowers his head into his hands, shoulders shaking with soundless sobs, silently begging whatever higher power was listening to protect his son.
Wherever he might be.
Return
It’s an afternoon when the call comes. A completely ordinary afternoon at the community centre, with broken arcade-games, near fights to mediate and finances to worry over.
It’s been four years.
The phone rings.
Robert answers distracted, trying to make sense of the papers in front of him.
He nearly drops the receiver a moment later.
The voice is different, grown-up. He would still recognize it everywhere.
“Pops?”
Robert doesn’t know if he should cry or laugh or faint. He decides on neither, relishing in the overwhelming feeling of jubilation and relieve.
His son is back.
And writing - at least sometimes. Like when I go visiting rena_lime.
The following Drabbles are actually part of a much larger story, a story I won't even think about posting until it is done. So you might think of these as teasers for the (hopefully) upcoming story, but they can also be considered standalones:
Days
The first day no one had truly worried, both parties assuming their boy was visiting the other.
The second day they found out they weren’t.
The third day the police and press started their search for the two missed teens. The twenty-fourth day they gave up.
The fourth night Robert thought he saw a tall, dark form in front of Virgil’s window, but he might have been wrong.
The tenth day Adam told them about Virgil and Static. Sharon didn’t talk to him for a week.
The fortieth night Robert spent out drinking. Trina found him and he spent hours crying on her shoulder.
They both knew the statistics.
Months
The calendar is merciless in its display of passed time. It has been months.
He can’t help but look at the phone, like so often in the passed months. Silently begging it to ring and relay some news, any news, anything but the stifling silence.
Old newspaper-clips still litter the table: pictures and articles, a desperate attempt to find them.
It was every parent’s worst nightmare.
Slowly Robert Hawkins lowers his head into his hands, shoulders shaking with soundless sobs, silently begging whatever higher power was listening to protect his son.
Wherever he might be.
Return
It’s an afternoon when the call comes. A completely ordinary afternoon at the community centre, with broken arcade-games, near fights to mediate and finances to worry over.
It’s been four years.
The phone rings.
Robert answers distracted, trying to make sense of the papers in front of him.
He nearly drops the receiver a moment later.
The voice is different, grown-up. He would still recognize it everywhere.
“Pops?”
Robert doesn’t know if he should cry or laugh or faint. He decides on neither, relishing in the overwhelming feeling of jubilation and relieve.
His son is back.