The alarm sounded on my bedside table but there was absolutely no way I was getting up this early in the morning just to go to school. I smashed the snooze button and fell back asleep. Definitely should've just thrown the thing out because ten minutes later, it's blaring in my ears again! With an angry groan, I stretched and pulled the plug out of the outlet, effectively silencing the torture device, but at least it didn't play Nickelback on repeat. One of the only upsides to even owning such a device.
Then, because that's just my luck, my phone started ringing with the only country ringtone it carried. Reserved for the one person I trusted the least, I hated country even more than I despised Nickelback. I considered whether I even wanted to hear from him today. I could be petty and just ignore it or I could be a good son and accept the call. Nah, petty it is. I ignored it while searching through my mess of a room for something clean to wear and eventually came upon some black jeans, a white-ish t-shirt, and my somewhat paint-stained jean jacket. I had just stumbled into the jeans when the ringtone abruptly ended . . . but not two seconds later, started again!
I seriously couldn't listen to any more country without chucking my phone at a wall and seriously damaging it so I accepted the call with an angry smash to the green button and put it on speaker. "Speak." I demanded, knowing it wouldn't respond like a human because it had to go through an automated voice message first.
"Will you accept a call from 'Lawrence Docker' at the Dallas Department of Corrections Facility?"
"Yes." I responded monotonously.
My dad's voice came over the line, "hey, champ!"
"What is it this time?" I asked with a tired sigh.
"See, the thing is. I got stabbed during a prison riot yesterday and figured I oughta call you and let you know."
I unconsciously glare at the phone, "why? Why would you care about me now after what you did to get yourself in that situation in the first place?"
"Champ, you're my son! I figured you had a right to know what happened to your old man before it was blasted all over the news." He was practically begging, "just don't hang up yet, I know you have questions."
It was true, I did have questions, but I didn't know if I necessarily wanted the answers. "No, I have all my answers from the papers about your actions and the reasons why. It wasn't that hard to find out, after . . . how many was it again? Forty-three?"
"I'm only convicted on twenty of those." He tried to defend himself but I knew my father, or at least, I thought I did.
"I hope it was worth it. I have to get to class. Bye." I hung up and leaned tiredly against the wall. Maybe today wasn't a good day to go to school after all. I let my weight pull me down and sat with my head in my hands, defeated.
YOU ARE READING
Frantic Thoughts With Fanatic
Short StoryDear Wattpad, This book is a sneak peak into how my brain works. Full disclosure: it does get a little weird up there sometimes. Mostly just ideas and fanfiction that I don't have plans for but wanted to write down. So . . . yeah. In order from olde...
