Why Am I Here?

Cold rain drops poured from the dark sky above alike heavy tears, crashing down on the muddy ground while thunder shook the Earth. A sure forewarning given by the Heavens of what was to be brought upon by a baby boy being born in that city. It was November of 1969 when Scotty was brought into this world. He was met with parents that loved him and his older sister, Carol. Not much long after that he was surrounded with three younger siblings. Twins, Ricky and Rebecca, and the youngest, Sara. They created many memories together and grew up as close as any group of siblings. Scotty was an energetic, determined boy with a lot of spirit in him. He, however, had a strained relationship with his father the older he got. Complete opposite of who his dad was, the average patriotic, traditional, country man. Whilst Scotty was a music loving, artistic, skateboarder filled with creativity and life. Breaking bones, rebelling, getting bad grades, lying, setting things on fire, or in other words, the total norm of a young boy. Scotty did love his family and life regardless of the dumb things he did. His father, however, did not find his actions acceptable most of the time, which led him to doing terrible things to Scotty. Story goes that Scotty’s dad would chain him to a tree, bounding him from being able to block the hits and punches being thrown by his father. When his sisters got into trouble, his father avoided Ricky, but would make way for Scotty to punish him for his sister’s crimes. These things over time crushed Scotty’s spirit, and created a cold, lost and bitter man.

When Scotty moved out of his parents' house, he found himself living with friends in a trailer, creating music, discovering the power of drugs and alcohol and gaining some of his spirit back. The small town he lived in had very limited jobs to choose from so Scotty found himself following in his father's footsteps becoming a prison guard. It is said that he did some horrible acts to some prisoners. When he would go home, he would find himself depending on drinks and drugs more and more. During this time the communication between Scotty and his family grew more strained.

He did however keep his communication open to his brother, Ricky. They stayed close even with the age gap between them. Scotty was in his twenties and Ricky was nineteen. On a random sunny beautiful day in 1994 Ricky met up with Scotty to get some alcohol from his older brother. They met at a local grocery store and he helped pack the drinks into Rickie's friend’s jeep. They chatted for a moment, laughing at things and sharing smiles. Scotty hugged his brother and they drove off in separate directions. He was on his way to work and during the drive reminisced on the fond memories he shared with his brother. Ricky was very special to him.

Scotty didn’t necessarily love being a prison guard. It was mentally exhausting and took a lot out of him with every shift. This shift however was going better than most. He talked to his coworkers and spread his humor over the staff. He was almost done with his shift and looking forward to going home to drink when one of his coworkers came into the room he was working in, he looked up and knew at the moment he met her eyes that something was wrong.

“Scotty”, the woman choked, “you have a phone call.”

He didn’t waste a second rushing into the office to meet the news waiting on the line. With each stumbling footstep heading towards that office his heartbeat pounded harder and harder. Scotty knew already. He could feel it.

“What is it?” he spat into the phone.

“Scotty I-”

“What is it!” he pleaded.

“It’s Ricky. Scotty, he got into a car accident. Oh God. It’s bad Scotty, he didn’t make it”, the man cried on the other end, but the world around Scotty faded, including the sounds coming through the phone.

He fought for each breath, unable to catch them.

He didn’t say anything to anyone, instead he walked out, got into his car and started driving home.

He stared out at the road unable to untangle the thoughts in his head. Some sounded like “This is your fault; you gave him the drinks.” Some sounded like “Be strong, be strong, be strong.” Others sounded like plans to end his life. Scotty focused on these. He was going to get home, lock the door and find the gun he hid in his room. He knew this is what he wanted. He didn’t want to live this life without Ricky.

Scotty went inside his house and knew his roommates were not there, he knew that he had to do this fast before the chance expired. He fondled through his belongings and gripped the gun. He paced around, sobbing, cursing the world, screaming and trying the breath. He sat down on his couch, looked at the gun that he was holding in his lap in front of him and accepted his fate.

He sighed out and lifted the gun up to his temple. His hands are now shaking, he’s sobbing with tears falling down his cheeks. He started counting down.

“Five..four..three..” he choked back tears, “two”, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

A loud ring snapped him out of it right as his finger started to apply pressure to the trigger. He looked over and saw his phone ringing. He debated for a moment to ignore it and pull the trigger before it was too late, but instead he picked the phone up and answered.

“Hello?”

“Baby, please don’t do anything, I need you right now.” His mother cried desperately.

Scotty sobbed and put the gun away, then he headed to his parents' house to grieve with his now broken family.

Several years later.

Scotty was now in his late twenties. The hole that now lives inside him has stolen his empathy, compassion and any signs of life. He was as cold, bitter, naive and ignorant as one can be. He still made music, but now it was angry and heavy. He still made jokes, but now they were ugly and offensive. He still liked to create art, but now it was twisted, dark, and haunting. He still enjoyed his drinks and drugs, but now it was the only way he could get through the day. He picked up new hobbies like using women, joining gangs, reckless driving, covering himself in tattoos and motorcycles. Anything to get rid of his old self. He found a new family in strangers that shared his interests. It didn’t matter if they truly cared about his wellbeing as long as they treated him as their own.

He had done some questionable things, landing him in court ordered therapy sessions. Ironic enough, as much as Billy struggled with mental health he didn’t believe in psychology or anything that goes with it. He spent his sessions sitting in silence, being stubborn, and giving his therapist a hard time until he reached his mandatory hours. He held onto his troubles and let them eat him alive. Happily consumed with torment.

In 1998 he was at a bar in his local town. He and his friends were used to getting rowdy, sloppy drunk and making trouble. He was already drunk and chatting with his friends when he decided it was about time to pick a girl to take home. He began laughing with his friends, tearing some women down and praising others depending on their bodies. He helped set his friends up with some of the girls dancing around and he began to accept defeat as he realized no girls in this bar were good enough for him, or would give him the time of day. He finished his drink and decided to head home. He grabbed his jacket off of the back of the barstool he occupied and turned towards the door. He lifted his arms up to slide his jacket on and looked up. A girl he had seen once at the one liquor store in town walked in with her friends. He half smirked with bad intentions and took his jacket back off, placing it back onto the barstool.