Scotty Harris

sixwordstories

Mon, 20 Apr 2009 02:17:49 GMT

sixwordstories

Mon, 29 Dec 2008 22:40:10 GMT

Am I home? ~ RP for livingwithtruth

Thu, 11 Sep 2008 01:06:54 GMT

(Way overdue, prompting to come at some point.)

It had been a very long month for Scotty. Long, but good. Things had been crazy since leaving New York, that was for sure. As soon as he'd gotten to Portsmouth he'd gone with Zoe to look for her father and brother. Not something he regretted, of course.

Since getting back he'd been...hanging out. Spending every moment he could with Zoe, hanging out with Sam - before Sam had left for school, and of course helping Larry with the bar.

He was enjoying Portsmouth. And he wasn't letting himself think about New York at all. He wasn't letting himself think about his parents at all. And it was even easier since they hadn't given him one damn phone call. He wondered if they even noticed he was out of the city. He didn't care though. Really. He didn't.

He'd never thought of himself as a small town guy, he'd never thought of himself as a guy to settle into a normal relationship with a sweet girl...or at least he'd never let himself be that guy. And...all in all, he liked being that guy. He was finally feeling like himself.

Despite it all, he had started to feel like he was overstaying his time at Larry's house. Sure the man had the room, but they were both too old to be playing roommates. Especially if Parker was going to be showing up like she had.

So that day was dubbed...Find Scotty an Apartment Day. And of course, he wanted Zoe to help. He wandered into the flowershop around lunchtime, looking for her.

justprompts Bare Necessities

Sun, 20 Jul 2008 02:39:58 GMT

(For story purposes, this is an AU that follows that of lawyerlarry's running!verse. lawyerlarry used with permission..obviously.)

Look for the bare necessities
The simple bare necessities
Forget about your worries and your strife
I mean the bare necessities
That's why a bear can rest at ease
With just the bare necessities of life

Scotty sat up in his dark studio apartment and reached for the cigarettes on the wooden crate that served as his night stand. He slid one between his lips and struck a match, temporarily bringing a needed light to his home. He didn't look at the mess and confusion that it was. Weeks of not being cleaned - days of not getting far from bed. He lay back against the futon mattress and inhaled the smoke deeply. As he let it out, he ran his fingers over his eyes - his cigarette barely missing singeing his bangs. Halfway through the cigarette he was just laying there, staring into space. The ash had built up over the minutes and was threatening to fall.

His eyes blinked heavily - painfully - and he snapped back to. He ashed in the tray beside him and stabbed it out. He grabbed onto the bottle of gin beside him and took another swig, then rolled over onto his side. He didn't want to be sober. He didn't want to be awake. He didn't want to be.

Sometime later - minutes, maybe hours - his phone rang. It had been ringing for days, but he'd been ignoring it. For the hell of it he picked it up to glance at the caller ID. He sighed and flipped open the phone then held it to his ear.

"Hey Larry," he said.

"Thanks for answering," Larry greeted, not too kindly. Scotty sighed, but said nothing. When he continued being silent, Larry went on. "The bar called. You haven't been to work in almost a week. You haven't called them. You haven't been answering your phone or your door...what's going on?"

"What's it matter to you, Larry? You're not in New York anymore."

"I don't need that from you, too," Larry answered thickly.

"I didn't ask you to call," Scotty replied.

Larry sighed deeply. "What's going on?"

"Here's a thought. Let's talk about you." Scotty sat up, lighting another cigarette. "How about you explaining why the hell you took off to..wherever the fuck you are? And more, tell me what you weren't man enough to tell any of us until you were practically out the door?"

"We're not talking about me."

"Why not?"

"Okay, don't talk. Call when you want a friend, okay?"

"Why?" Scotty asked. "Would that be you?" Then he hung up.

He put out his cigarette and turned his phone off. He didn't need it. A pretend friend. The kind that are there, but aren't. Not when you really need someone. Not when you're feeling more alone than ever before.

He lay back in bed. He didn't give a shit. He didn't have real family, why expect having real friends? No, he was on his own. The times he stopped thinking that...he was only preparing to let himself down.

Scotty's eyes closed as the pain in his chest crawled up his throat. Choked him.

sixwordstories

Tue, 08 Jul 2008 14:40:53 GMT

Friday nights aren't what they were.

justprompts Elvis quote

Wed, 02 Jul 2008 21:03:53 GMT

Don't criticize what you don't understand, son. You never walked in that man's shoes. -Elvis Presley

Scotty didn't understand it. In fact he didn't want to try. All the shit he was dealing with - constantly - everything that he wanted to ignore but couldn't...and he was still there.

He slammed a chair against the floor as he swept the bar. So much for friends. The people that were supposed to be your family when you didn't have one to turn to. In the end, they're just as selfish and unreliable as the rest. And it's more of a let down, because at least they aren't leaving behind someone they're required to like.

He never thought Larry would actually go through with it. Maybe he was supposed to be supporting his friend, but he felt like he'd done plenty of that. It didn't matter. He threw his towel onto the bartop and moved to the back room. He didn't care. It's what people do. They stop giving a shit.

our_magic_place 3.C.1 - Train station

Tue, 06 May 2008 02:24:07 GMT

(photo prompt)

I ran away a lot growing up. First time I tried it I was seven. One of those cries for attention more than anything else. Once I got older I just wanted the hell out.

So here I am, seven years old. I leave my parents a note that sticks to the facts. Running away forever. Then I “accidentally” left a train schedule on my bed. I mean, I wanted them to come find me. Like in the movies when a kid runs away and his parents come running into the train station. Then they grab the kid and hug him and tell him they love him. All that bullshit. I wanted it. I wanted my Mom to hug me, I wanted my Dad to pat my shoulder and have a tear in his eye. Call me Sport. Anything.

I stood in that damn train station all day. They never came. Got myself home and heard Dad in his office. Mom was passed out on their bed. My note was keeping her martini from making water marks on the bedside table. It hadn't moved an inch.

188

sixwordstories

Sun, 20 Apr 2008 22:17:33 GMT

Work is more home than home.

our_magic_place 1.B.1

Sun, 20 Apr 2008 21:57:45 GMT

Your greatest moments of love...ever.

Elise Silva. Went to school with her most of my life and we knew of each other for years. Started hanging out more in high school when we both hated the place with a passion. Some point during it all we fell for each other, started dating, slept together...then I messed around with someone else and she dumped me. Me being a stupid teenager. Chick's name was...Pamela something. Heinous girl. One of the schools “it” kids. Hated her, really.

Laurie Richards. An amazing woman I met in Australia. Couldn't hold onto her.

98

Playing Adult (for carolineparker)

Tue, 15 Apr 2008 01:07:58 GMT

Scotty moved through the crowd of men in suits, women in expensive black dresses, and waiters carrying trays of shit that was supposed to be high class food. He really hated having to attend these functions, but there were certain rules between him and his father. And here - he had to show his face. Some stupid do-gooder event his father's boss was throwing to make them all look charitable.

He rolled his eyes and grabbed a glass of champagne and shot it back, then took another and headed over towards the door for the balcony, tugging slightly at the tie around his neck. He hated ties. He hated suits. He hated those people.

sixwordstories

Mon, 14 Apr 2008 18:27:40 GMT

Mondays always come too soon. Why?

App for musesonbroadway; April, C.3 - Cabaret

Sun, 13 Apr 2008 20:40:45 GMT

I don't tell people often, but I like shows. Broadway. Off-Broadway. Musical. Non-musical. Being at those things was the 'in' thing back in the day. Show up in your best, have the best seats, be seen. As a kid, though, I loved it. Except for the dressing up. And secretly I knew Mom loved it, too. Obviously she put on a show of enjoying it, but I remember times of her walking around the house humming Cabaret or whatever. Martini in hand, she'd turn to me and say, “Be my star, Scotty.” She only called me Scotty when it was just me and her. Never around Dad. Then it was always Scott. She'd say, “Be my star, Scotty,” and I'd laugh and shake my head. Have fun? In that house? I wasn't stupid. And she'd take a swig of her drink and smile and sway a bit under the spell of her alcohol and she'd start singing. “What good is sitting alone in your room?...”

“Come hear the music play,”I'd chuckle and sing along.

”Life is a cabaret, old chum. Come to the cabaret!” We'd bellow it out together. She'd laugh and pat my head.

“You're my star, Scotty.” Then I'd watch her stumble off to their room and slam the door shut, and I'd sit down with Lam - my toy Lamb - and softly hum the song to him.

If my mom taught me anything right, aside from how to mix a good drink, it's a love for theatre. And Cabaret.

264

Little Boy Blue And The Man In The Moon - A Fic

Wed, 02 Apr 2008 21:15:08 GMT

The front door of the Upper East Side apartment slammed shut. Scotty's five year old ears perked up and he sat up from where he'd been playing with his trucks on the floor. A familiar heavy footstep was coming down the hall and he knew what that meant. After a week of being away..

"Daddy's home!" He shouted it out loud for everyone (everyone being the help) to hear. He jumped to his feet and ran to meet his father in the hallway. Arms outstretched, he ran right into his father's legs and hugged them tightly. "Daddy!" His father detached the small arms from his legs and started down the hall. Scotty tilted his head and watched after his dad.

Peter Harris turned back to look at his son and anger lines quickly made their way to his forehead. "You're a mess. What have you been doing?" Peter turned and shouted into the large apartment. "Sarah! Sarah!" Scotty followed his father down the hallway slowly until they both came to a stop. A woman came out of the kitchen and dried her hands on her slacks.

"Yes sir?" She asked politely.

"I told you I wanted Scott ready when I returned!" He threw an accusatory finger to his son. "You call that ready?!"

Sarah glanced at the child dressed in formal dress pants, a white button down shirt, and a clip on bowtie. His shirt was untucked and his tie crooked, as well as his hair out of place, but otherwise she saw nothing wrong. "I'm...sorry, Mr. Harris I-I guess he was playing."

"He shouldn't have been! Not when he's dressed like that! Where's Patricia?"

Scotty watched the exchange with wide brown eyes and pulled uncomfortably at the collar of his shirt. He didn't know what had been wrong with playing with his trucks. What was he supposed to do? Nothing. Nothing was boring! He sucked on his bottom lip slightly as the conversation went on.

"Mrs. Harris is at one of her meetings. She said she would return by five," Sarah said softly.

"Right. Meeting," Peter sneered. "One of the margarita ones, no doubt," he added under his breath - too quietly for Scotty to hear. He looked at his watch with a huff. "If she isn't here in ten minutes, call her." Then he turned and walked towards the end of the hall where his office was. Scotty's eyes grew huge and he went after his father.

"Daddy! Wait! I gotta tell you stuff!" Scotty hadn't seen his father in over a week and there was so much to tell him. He went after Peter who stopped at his office door and opened it then looked down at Scotty.

"Not now, Scott." Then he went in his office and slammed the door shut. Scotty jumped at the sudden noise and froze.

"But Daddy!" He shouted at the door hoping for a response. "Daddy! I hafta talk to you!" When no response came Scotty's little chin began to shake and his eyes welled up. He held tightly to his toy lamb. Like Daddy said - boys don't cry. He sniffed loudly and turned around tensely. Sarah, his nanny, came over and knelt beside him. He wouldn't look at her.

"C'mon, Scotty. Let's get you changed and ready to go...you can tell me." Her kind eyes studied him as he brought his arm across his drippy nose. Tears started rolling down his cheeks and he shook his head. While the woman was his only friend some days, and the one person he could count on - he wanted nothing to do with her at that moment.

"I don't want to tell you!" He shouted in her face. "I want to tell my Daddy!" Then he took off down the hall and ran into him bedroom, slamming the door shut and locking it. Then he went to his large closet and tunneled into his corner he had set up and sat down with his arms hugging his knees. And when he was positive that he was alone - aside from Lam - he cried.

Cats In The Cradle - Ugly Kid Joe

681 words

sixwordstories

Tue, 01 Apr 2008 22:30:31 GMT

::hums:: "Layla, I'm beggin darlin, please.."