Wirik
Hero in the Making
Detective Sean Parker had joined the police force to catch bad guys. T.V shows in his youth had always had the dashing police officer catch the bad guy, sometimes at the last second, but they always were brought to justice. To bad reality had to ruin that little fantasy of his. Some cases went unsolved, no evidence, or so little that even attempting to bring it to court would get everyone laughed out of the building before they could even attempt to prove guilt. Or the children that were abducted and never found, except for the occasional body that would show up in a secluded wooden area. It didn't help that the last case he dealt with had been a murder/suicide. Open and shut case. No bad guy to catch, no damsel to rescue, just the grim harsh truth, and blood, lots of blood. It's one thing the shows never really prepared him for, and something he still had a hard time dealing with. At least he had come a long way from puking at the sight of a body.
Yes for Detective Parker, reality was just to awful of a place. He had one way to cope with that, and without it he probably would have gone insane. The drive home from work that night was taking forever. Traffic seemed backed up for miles and his car had only moved a few feet in the last ten minutes. Out of frustration he stared at himself in the mirror and studied his looks. His dirty blond hair was a mess from when he had run his hand through it multiple times during the open and shut homicide/suicide case. He swore he saw a grey hair poking out but when he checked again it was gone. Surely he wasn't going grey already, but the stress was definitely getting to him, and on some days he rarely felt like a twenty six year old man. His brown eyes traced the rest of his face, noticing how he seemed to have aged in the last two years since making detective. Maybe he should grow a beard, cover some of those lines that were starting to form instead of running around clean shaven all the time. It was a shame, that Detective Parker no longer fit the dashing police officer niche that he had always wanted to fill. Certainly people would find him good looking, but to himself, he was nothing like the heroes he grew up worshiping.
Traffic finally began to move and Sean shouted in triumph. Perhaps a little to loudly, and he unconsciously glance around to see if any of the other cars heard his sudden outburst. Satisfied that he hadn't just made a fool of himself, the man drove the rest of the way home in relative silence. His left leg tapped almost non stop, the anxiousness of his escape from reality tempting him to break the law and speed the rest of the way home. But then he would just be one of the bad guys, and even now he couldn't bring himself to do such a thing. His house was a quaint one bedroom affair that he had bought rather cheep as a fixer upper. The list of problems he had inherited was a mile long, but sometimes doing work on the house meant not thinking about his job. The neighborhood was nice at least, and the neighbors would always greet him and wish him a good day. Various Casseroles and baked goods had a way of finding their way to his front door, with a thank you for his work as a police officer. Overall he had at least something to be thankful for.
The house was in all respects as he left it, a mess. Various tools cluttered the living room, things he needed for this job or that around the house and either never finished or never bothered to put away. The hole in the wall connecting the living room and his bedroom was also still there, something Sean loved to use to get in and out of the bedroom instead of the actual door. It had always mystified him that the previous owner had somehow managed to get a rather large hole in such a place. Large enough for him to squeeze through without even a hint of discomfort. The bedroom's actual door was in a hall in the back of the house. Perhaps the only room free of clutter, although you could hardly call a hall a room, the hall connected the living room with his bedroom, a bathroom, a decent sized closet, and a weird open space that might of been another room if not for the entire missing wall. The last room of the house was his small kitchen, with the sink full of dirty dishes he still needed to clean. But there would be time for that later, for now his backyard was calling him.
IF a person viewed the back yard and the inside of his house separately they could hardly tell it was owned by the same person. The lawn was always kept mowed, and he even had a small garden that he tended, not a particularly large or grand thing, but it had a nice arrangement of flowers and provided some joy. But the one thing he cared about the most was his little wooden shack. Built by hand, and he had done it all by himself. There wasn't really much to say about it, it was a shack. Not very large, perhaps big enough for two people to sit comfortably in and drink a beer or two. Inside he had a table and a set of chairs, also made by his own hand. They were comfortable and occasionally he would switch which side of the table he sat at, no real reason, just a whim. Sean sat down and looked at the drink he had grabbed while walking through his kitchen. Coke Zero? He grimaced a little as he took in the can he held. When did he stock his fridge with Coke Zero? Then he remembered one of his neighbors giving him a case, and he couldn't just say no. He shrugged, he was here now, might as well drink the damn thing.
As he popped the tab and heard the familiar hiss of a canned drink he closed his eyes. The Detective allowed himself to drift, a process he really enjoyed. As he sat there the shack melted away and was replaced by a familiar common room. The sights and sounds of a tavern at full capacity drifted to him. Something good was being cooked, it was almost mouth watering, to bad he would never be able to taste what the cook was preparing. But it didn't matter, here he was, his favorite place in the world. There was no name for the place, just a tavern in a make believe world where people gathered and told stories, and Sean was perfectly fine just sitting there and listening to them all.
@The Lady Kitsunerisu
Yes for Detective Parker, reality was just to awful of a place. He had one way to cope with that, and without it he probably would have gone insane. The drive home from work that night was taking forever. Traffic seemed backed up for miles and his car had only moved a few feet in the last ten minutes. Out of frustration he stared at himself in the mirror and studied his looks. His dirty blond hair was a mess from when he had run his hand through it multiple times during the open and shut homicide/suicide case. He swore he saw a grey hair poking out but when he checked again it was gone. Surely he wasn't going grey already, but the stress was definitely getting to him, and on some days he rarely felt like a twenty six year old man. His brown eyes traced the rest of his face, noticing how he seemed to have aged in the last two years since making detective. Maybe he should grow a beard, cover some of those lines that were starting to form instead of running around clean shaven all the time. It was a shame, that Detective Parker no longer fit the dashing police officer niche that he had always wanted to fill. Certainly people would find him good looking, but to himself, he was nothing like the heroes he grew up worshiping.
Traffic finally began to move and Sean shouted in triumph. Perhaps a little to loudly, and he unconsciously glance around to see if any of the other cars heard his sudden outburst. Satisfied that he hadn't just made a fool of himself, the man drove the rest of the way home in relative silence. His left leg tapped almost non stop, the anxiousness of his escape from reality tempting him to break the law and speed the rest of the way home. But then he would just be one of the bad guys, and even now he couldn't bring himself to do such a thing. His house was a quaint one bedroom affair that he had bought rather cheep as a fixer upper. The list of problems he had inherited was a mile long, but sometimes doing work on the house meant not thinking about his job. The neighborhood was nice at least, and the neighbors would always greet him and wish him a good day. Various Casseroles and baked goods had a way of finding their way to his front door, with a thank you for his work as a police officer. Overall he had at least something to be thankful for.
The house was in all respects as he left it, a mess. Various tools cluttered the living room, things he needed for this job or that around the house and either never finished or never bothered to put away. The hole in the wall connecting the living room and his bedroom was also still there, something Sean loved to use to get in and out of the bedroom instead of the actual door. It had always mystified him that the previous owner had somehow managed to get a rather large hole in such a place. Large enough for him to squeeze through without even a hint of discomfort. The bedroom's actual door was in a hall in the back of the house. Perhaps the only room free of clutter, although you could hardly call a hall a room, the hall connected the living room with his bedroom, a bathroom, a decent sized closet, and a weird open space that might of been another room if not for the entire missing wall. The last room of the house was his small kitchen, with the sink full of dirty dishes he still needed to clean. But there would be time for that later, for now his backyard was calling him.
IF a person viewed the back yard and the inside of his house separately they could hardly tell it was owned by the same person. The lawn was always kept mowed, and he even had a small garden that he tended, not a particularly large or grand thing, but it had a nice arrangement of flowers and provided some joy. But the one thing he cared about the most was his little wooden shack. Built by hand, and he had done it all by himself. There wasn't really much to say about it, it was a shack. Not very large, perhaps big enough for two people to sit comfortably in and drink a beer or two. Inside he had a table and a set of chairs, also made by his own hand. They were comfortable and occasionally he would switch which side of the table he sat at, no real reason, just a whim. Sean sat down and looked at the drink he had grabbed while walking through his kitchen. Coke Zero? He grimaced a little as he took in the can he held. When did he stock his fridge with Coke Zero? Then he remembered one of his neighbors giving him a case, and he couldn't just say no. He shrugged, he was here now, might as well drink the damn thing.
As he popped the tab and heard the familiar hiss of a canned drink he closed his eyes. The Detective allowed himself to drift, a process he really enjoyed. As he sat there the shack melted away and was replaced by a familiar common room. The sights and sounds of a tavern at full capacity drifted to him. Something good was being cooked, it was almost mouth watering, to bad he would never be able to taste what the cook was preparing. But it didn't matter, here he was, his favorite place in the world. There was no name for the place, just a tavern in a make believe world where people gathered and told stories, and Sean was perfectly fine just sitting there and listening to them all.
@The Lady Kitsunerisu
