Isak Gunnar Cederström (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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muserevival2016-11-26 11:15 pm
isak_cederstrom) wrote in muserevival2016-11-26 11:15 pm
Entry tags:
MR #133.1 | Lyrics
"Every new beginning
comes from some other
beginning's end."
- "Closing Time," Semisonic
It was another call in the middle of the night, the same as it had been the first time. Fumbling in the dark for the vibrating, screaming device on his nightstand, Isak tried to pick it up but ended up flinging it a few feet away from the bed. With a disgruntled grumble, he kicked the covers off, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and dragged his feet over to where the phone was. By the time he'd picked it up, it had gone to voicemail.
"Jävlar!" he shouted, squinting his eyes at the brightness of the screen. He saw that it had been his mother, as he had suspected. She was one of the only people disregard what time it was in New York whenever she decided to call. He made his way back over to the bed and plopped down on the edge of it, debating in his mentally fuzzy state whether to wait for the voicemail or simply call her back. He decided to wait.
After three, then four, then five minutes passed, he realized she wasn't leaving a voicemail. Another utterance of displeasure escaped him as he decided to call her back, laying back down in the bed. He folded one arm behind his head and closed his eyes, sleep threatening to steal him back into the deep, peaceful slumber he'd been in only moments before. He knew what the call was about. Still, he knew that he had to hear the words come from his mother's mouth to believe it.
After three rings, she finally picked up.
"Åh, Isak," she sniffled into the phone.
"Ja, mor, det är jag."
There was silence on the other end. Isak almost had his toes into the pool of the sleeping when his mother snatched him away with her voice.
"Det äntligen hänt. Han är död."
Isak opened his eyes at the words. A chill ran through him, followed by a strange, sharp sensation in his stomach. He stared at the dark ceiling, his vision playing tricks on him as he saw shadows, figures dancing along the plaster. He cleared his throat to let his mother know that he was still there; he just needed time to silently process.
He opened his mouth to ask whether she was crying tears of sadness or tears of joy at his father's passing, but decided that he didn't really want to know. It didn't really matter, he supposed. He could feel the faint stinging of tears at the backs of his eyes, and he knew for certain that they were tears of joy. There was no doubt about that.
"När?" he managed to ask.
"Ungefär en timme sedan." He could have argued about her waiting an entire hour before calling him, but he knew it was a fruitless battle to undertake. There was no reason for it other than him simply feeling vaguely combative in light of the news.
"Mm, okej," he muttered, a hand coming up to rub at his eyes. "När vill du att jag tillbaka?" It felt like he'd only just left for the second time this year, but he figured his mother would probably want some help making the arrangements. Elina and Elis could certainly help her, but as the eldest, he knew the bulk of the responsibility fell on his shoulders. "Jag kommer att vara tillbaka i en månad; kan du vänta tills dess?" He heard some sniffling and her blowing her nose. Isak was going to be back in Stockholm by the time Christmas came around, and given that the traditional Swedish funeral didn't take place until 20 or more days after the person died, he figured it would not have been too terrible to have them wait an extra ten. But it mostly depended on what his mother wanted to do; she was the widow, after all.
"Ja. Det är okej. Vi kommer att vänta tills dess." When Isak stepped foot on Swedish soil again, they could discuss what needed to be done. He imagined there was a will that needed to be examined by the family lawyer, there would be items at the office and around the house that would need to be distributed as requested, and family members would need to be contacted about the services. But for now, he didn't need to think about it. All he wanted was to get back to sleep, knowing that the world was rid of one more monster.
"Okej. Vi kan prata när tiden närmar sig. Tack för att jag fick veta." There was a soft sigh from his mother at his words. Instead of saying goodbye or wishing him a good rest of the night, she simply hummed a sound and hung up the phone. Isak exhaled an annoyed breath, but was happy to place the phone back down on the nightstand. He rubbed at his eyes again, pressing the heels of his palms into them.
It had finally happened. The man was finally gone. A lifetime of fear, and pain, and anguish -- gone with his father's last breath. He made a mental note to contact his siblings once he woke in the morning. With a yawn, he settled back under the covers and drifted back off to sleep, a faint smile spread across his face.
Word Count | 885
comes from some other
beginning's end."
- "Closing Time," Semisonic
It was another call in the middle of the night, the same as it had been the first time. Fumbling in the dark for the vibrating, screaming device on his nightstand, Isak tried to pick it up but ended up flinging it a few feet away from the bed. With a disgruntled grumble, he kicked the covers off, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and dragged his feet over to where the phone was. By the time he'd picked it up, it had gone to voicemail.
"Jävlar!" he shouted, squinting his eyes at the brightness of the screen. He saw that it had been his mother, as he had suspected. She was one of the only people disregard what time it was in New York whenever she decided to call. He made his way back over to the bed and plopped down on the edge of it, debating in his mentally fuzzy state whether to wait for the voicemail or simply call her back. He decided to wait.
After three, then four, then five minutes passed, he realized she wasn't leaving a voicemail. Another utterance of displeasure escaped him as he decided to call her back, laying back down in the bed. He folded one arm behind his head and closed his eyes, sleep threatening to steal him back into the deep, peaceful slumber he'd been in only moments before. He knew what the call was about. Still, he knew that he had to hear the words come from his mother's mouth to believe it.
After three rings, she finally picked up.
"Åh, Isak," she sniffled into the phone.
"Ja, mor, det är jag."
There was silence on the other end. Isak almost had his toes into the pool of the sleeping when his mother snatched him away with her voice.
"Det äntligen hänt. Han är död."
Isak opened his eyes at the words. A chill ran through him, followed by a strange, sharp sensation in his stomach. He stared at the dark ceiling, his vision playing tricks on him as he saw shadows, figures dancing along the plaster. He cleared his throat to let his mother know that he was still there; he just needed time to silently process.
He opened his mouth to ask whether she was crying tears of sadness or tears of joy at his father's passing, but decided that he didn't really want to know. It didn't really matter, he supposed. He could feel the faint stinging of tears at the backs of his eyes, and he knew for certain that they were tears of joy. There was no doubt about that.
"När?" he managed to ask.
"Ungefär en timme sedan." He could have argued about her waiting an entire hour before calling him, but he knew it was a fruitless battle to undertake. There was no reason for it other than him simply feeling vaguely combative in light of the news.
"Mm, okej," he muttered, a hand coming up to rub at his eyes. "När vill du att jag tillbaka?" It felt like he'd only just left for the second time this year, but he figured his mother would probably want some help making the arrangements. Elina and Elis could certainly help her, but as the eldest, he knew the bulk of the responsibility fell on his shoulders. "Jag kommer att vara tillbaka i en månad; kan du vänta tills dess?" He heard some sniffling and her blowing her nose. Isak was going to be back in Stockholm by the time Christmas came around, and given that the traditional Swedish funeral didn't take place until 20 or more days after the person died, he figured it would not have been too terrible to have them wait an extra ten. But it mostly depended on what his mother wanted to do; she was the widow, after all.
"Ja. Det är okej. Vi kommer att vänta tills dess." When Isak stepped foot on Swedish soil again, they could discuss what needed to be done. He imagined there was a will that needed to be examined by the family lawyer, there would be items at the office and around the house that would need to be distributed as requested, and family members would need to be contacted about the services. But for now, he didn't need to think about it. All he wanted was to get back to sleep, knowing that the world was rid of one more monster.
"Okej. Vi kan prata när tiden närmar sig. Tack för att jag fick veta." There was a soft sigh from his mother at his words. Instead of saying goodbye or wishing him a good rest of the night, she simply hummed a sound and hung up the phone. Isak exhaled an annoyed breath, but was happy to place the phone back down on the nightstand. He rubbed at his eyes again, pressing the heels of his palms into them.
It had finally happened. The man was finally gone. A lifetime of fear, and pain, and anguish -- gone with his father's last breath. He made a mental note to contact his siblings once he woke in the morning. With a yawn, he settled back under the covers and drifted back off to sleep, a faint smile spread across his face.
Word Count | 885