Hi, God, i guess.
I don't want to talk to you. I mean, I survived 26 years without you, i can survive another 70 years without you. But the stupid retreat preacher and Mo are making me do this, so whatever. I have zero interest in talking to you. The only reason I'm even in a "Christian" band is cause Luke forced me to. I'd rather be mainstream.
I mean, I'll complain. I got no problems doing that.
Where were you in Australia, when I was a young 5-year-old problem child being yelled and screamed at? Always on the verge of tears...where were you?
The only good thing were Nana and Gramps. They raised me in the apartment above (and to be honest, in) their bakery. The next two years were the best ones in my life.
Then Helen and David, or Mum and Dad, whatever, moved all of us to the US. To live in poverty. Me and a bunch of people I barely knew, missing the only people that ever seemed to care about me. They hadn't wanted me to go, either.
I continued to act up, hoping they'd send me back to Australia. They didn't. They sent me to boarding school in Minnesota, where it was as cold as my heart. I survived the loneliness, becoming popular, yet empty. Funny how that works. Graduated. Worked with Rebecca, then Toby. Started the band with Luke. Struggled for years. We didn't get anywhere, didn't make money. Luke would rather hook up with his girlfriend than work, rekindling our enmity. Then we finally struck gold. Luke got married, I met Mo. Then Mo and I had relationship problems, really bad ones. I ended up spending most of my nights drunk and crying. Now we're getting that fixed.
I survived. Maybe that was you, I don't know. I don't remember ever saying a prayer begging for help. But whatever. I don't need you. But writing this all down made me feel better. Maybe I'll do more of it. Who knows.
Sincerely, Joel
YOU ARE READING
Forki One-Shots
FanfictionJust a collection of fkac one-shots because I'm incapable of writing a full-length story.
