Friday, July 12, 1985
THIRTY DEAD ON INDEPENDANCE DAY, the journal your father was reading said. You stare at the pages without really seeing them, bringing a spoon full of cereal to your mouth without really feeling the metal against your skin nor the taste of the food.
Local Hero Dies Saving People In Mall Wildfire, the second article says, a picture of Hopper looking at you with his usual scowl underneath.
He did not come back from the expedition. The army swarmed the underground base right after the gate was closed and came back up with two Americans; Joyce and Murray.
They were about to destroy the machine when the hitman who had been purchasing them attacked. The fight continued in the engine room, and though Hopper won, he was stuck in there when it exploded.
Eleven lost her father that night.
You weren't sure what Hopper was for you, except for a grumpy man with a broken but huge heart. But seeing Joyce shake her head at Eleven in the parking lot that night, Eleven who was standing alone in the light rain, had the opposite effect you would have expected. You were shaking in pain, in Nancy's arms, and watching the scene unfold, you felt yourself grow numb.
Why?
That was the only thing, the single word you were able to think about. Why? It was a constant scream in the back of your mind, why, why, why, it kept interrupting your every action despite you already knowing the answer.
Because unfair things happen all the time. There is no award for your good actions, no karma, just life and accidents. You saved the world twice. You didn't deserve losing your best friend. Eleven did not deserve the loss of her father. Joyce lost Bob, then Hopper. Nancy lost Barb. Max lost Billy.
You weren't prepared for the way your heart was ripped out right off your chest that night, and now it felt empty. Empty and cold, and numb except for the occasional reminder that a big part of your life was now missing, like the lost piece of a puzzle. Kazuo was a central piece, and his absence was evident for the simple and good reason it ruined the whole picture. It caught your eyes everytime you did something.
When you look outside your window, you almost see him sitting on the roof in front of it. When you lay in bed, you felt him sleeping next to you like that night on New Year. Then, you turn around and find an empty spot. When you accidentally turned on your Hi-Fi yesterday, you heard him hum along to the song. You had turned the device off with furious kicking, and did not stop until Steve ran into your room, alerted by all the commotion. The destroyed engine was still on its shelf in your room, reminder of your fit of anger. You had insisted and told Steve you would take care of it later. For now, you had no will to.
"Finish your cereal," your father says. "You need to eat well."
Why?
You don't answer and direct your gaze from Hopper's paper eyes to the small particles of food floating in your bowl. It was colorful.
Today, the color was black.
"Not hungry anymore?" Steve asks as he walks past the kitchen table. You shake your head. "Okay. You can go. Mona's waiting outside."
He takes care of your bowl as you stand up and walk towards the door. Before you open it, you hear him reprimand your father in a quiet tone.
"Why are you reading this in front of her?"
"I read the news everyday."
"Whatever," he sighs. Then, after a pause: "You could at least come to the funeral. You knew the kid too."
YOU ARE READING
ain't it weird || stranger things x female reader (season 3)
Fanfiction"So you're saying there're Russians in Hawkins?" "Where else would they be?" "I don't know, Steve. Maybe Russia." "She's got a point. Why would Russians come to Hawkins?" "That's for us to find out." In which (Y/n) Harrington, her brother, two child...
