Fictional Stories of a Repaired Youth

Fictional stories of semi-fictional events from Lucy's childhood, if she could go back and be the older sister her younger self needed.

A young child sits at their desk on the first day of some year of grade school. They're staring down at the assigned introduction sheet in frustration – they cannot answer the question “Who is your hero? Why?”.

“Davey Havok”, says Lucy.

“Who?”, responds the child, startled. “Both you, and... whoever you just said.”

“Davey Havok. He's a straight-edge vegan punk singer...”

The child stares blankly at the adult stranger that nobody else seems to be acknowledging.

Lucy cuts herself off, “You know that song, Miss Murder, that you like to play on Guitar Hero: On Tour on your DS?”

The child continues to stare at Lucy, failing to hide their awe (and fear).

“He sings it.”, Lucy stammers, as she pulls out a BlackBerry Torch 9800 and proceeds to show the child a photo of Davey Havok from the 2006 MTV Movie Awards, “And he looks like this.”

The child barely glances at the photo before they exclaim, “I want to look like him!”

Lucy flashes a burdened smile in response.

“How do you spell his name?”

“D-A-V-E-Y space H-A-V-O-K.”

“And, other than being pretty and singing the only good song on Guitar Hero: On Tour, why is he... our hero?”

“He's anti-drugs... and vegan... and-”

They cut her off, “What does that mean? Vegan?”

“He does not eat meat or use animal products like leather.”

“Mhm.”

“And he's a really really good singer.”

The child writes their response to the question, “Davey Havok. He is a really good singer, and he is against drugs, and he does not use animal products. And he is very pretty and I want to look like him one day.”

Just as the child finishes writing, Lucy says “We take his surname one day.” But when the child looks back up to respond, the stranger is nowhere to be seen.

“I need you to call your grandfather and tell him that if your mother wants you for Thanksgiving, she will have to come and get you.”, a deep-voiced man commanded of his preteen child.

The tween responds, with a confused expression on their face, “Isn't that indirect communication?”

“I don't think it is.”

Lucy steps in front of the tween and speaks up, “If it is coming out of your mouth, and intended to be heard by...”, she hesitates for a moment, “...their mother, it's indirect communication.” The tween smiles, as Lucy speaks in an equally powerful and deep, but brighter voice. “It doesn't matter how many hops are between you and her.”

“Who the fuck are you?”, the man exclaims.

Lucy slowly approaches the man, backing him into the corner of the kitchen.

“𐑛𐑧𐑛𐑯𐑱𐑥, get your BB gun!”

The tween snerks.

“I'm serious!”

Lucy leans toward the man and whispers “I am your only offspring.” The man stammers out, in terrified befuddlement, “What is tha-...?”, but he is interrupted by a shout, “Don't use your child for inter-parental politics!”

Lucy takes a step back, turns around, and approaches the tween. The tween runs up to her and hugs her tightly, closing their eyes just as tight.

When the tween opens their eyes, they find themself hugging not but the air.