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[img]https://i.pinimg.com/originals/b5/1b/b3/b51bb390b5c44578f2c65e636def3cd6.gif[/img][/center][/cell][/row][/table][center][right][color=gray][sub][color=5A9D39][b]Location[/b][/color] [color=white]—[/color] [i]Pines Holler Fairgrounds 
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[center][b][color=red]TRIGGER WARNING: MISCARRIAGE[/color][/b][/center]


The Fourth of July had always held fond memories for Isaiah. 

Growing up as a kid in Pines, he had attended the Fourth of July festival with his family. 

Things had been more simple then. 

Ma and Pa footed the bill for it all. Granted, there was never much spare cash to go around, but there was always enough to make sure the boys had a funnel cake to split while they watched the fireworks go off. On a few occasions, someone would win one of the cash prizes betting on one of the livestock games, or turn their dollar into five while betting on the rodeo. In those years, they’d splurge for a lemonade or maybe buy a funnel cake for Ma and Pa to return their favor. It wasn’t ever much, but it was enough to make some good memories. 

Each year, Isaiah would call up each of his younger brothers in an attempt to try and make new memories at the festival now that they were adults. He wanted to see his nieces and nephews playing the same stupid carnival games that he used to. Sometimes, one of the three could make it. On better years, two of the three. They never all got lucky enough to visit each other at the same time. 

This year, none of them got lucky enough to visit at all. 

It wasn’t the first year that it happened, but it was the first year that it actually stung. 

With today being the anniversary of losing their little girl, Isaiah and Liz could use all the support they could get. 

Both of them had spent the weeks leading up to the Fourth suffering in silence. Neither of them dared to want to bring up ‘the event’, but he knew how much Liz was over thinking things right now. Worrying herself near sick. He could see it in the way the lines in her forehead appeared more frequently; the tightness in her shoulders. If he would have asked, she would have made up a lie about pregnancy posture, so he decided to support her in silent acts of love instead - the same way she supported him. 

This last week, however, he had thrown himself into work. Isaiah had been lucky enough to land a gig helping set up the Festival this year. It wasn’t anything near what he brought home from Partons, but it would be enough to help out with groceries, pay the water, and maybe a few other small things like gas for the truck throughout the month. He hoped that him having to spend the majority of the day away from her hadn’t affected them too negatively, as he had been making it a point to try and be there for her when he wasn’t stuck in the sun. 

Or drinking. 

Or standing aimlessly in the middle of the nursery, staring at the walls he still had yet to paint over. 

To say that Isaiah was looking forward to the birth of his son would be an understatement, but that didn’t make painting over the walls that were meant to be pink any easier. He had spent more time in the nursery this week than he had in the entirety of the time since their daughter's death, promising Liz that he would get the crib put together and everything else that was needed ready for the arrival of their son. 

Not much progress had been made. 

Each time Isaiah stepped foot into that room, he was taken back to the night that Liz lost the baby. 

He had woken up to her shaking him awake. 

[i]Something’s wrong![/i] Liz kept saying. Isaiah kept insisting that everything was okay, that everything was fine. He made his way to the light switch, forcing his eyes to adjust as he made his way back across the room to his wife. At this point, she was already telling him to grab the car keys. The man listened to his wife, doing as told and putting on his slippers in the process. He could hear her attempts to muffle her cries of pain while he rushed through their house. Isaiah cursed himself for always putting the keys on the hook by the front door, finally making his way back into their bedroom. He scooped Liz up bridal style in his arms. Something warm and sticky covers his hands, but in his memories he never thinks twice of it. 

Placing her in the passenger seat of their vehicle, Isaiah wasted little time climbing in the drivers side and starting their journey to the hospital. 

The bad thing about living in the sticks was that the hospital was forty minutes away. 

They made it in thirteen. 

Nurses and doctors rushed around, trying to get Liz stabilized and check on the baby. Isaiah held her hand while standing at the top of her hospital bed, holding her hand and still repeating that things were going to be okay. Over, and over again. At one point, he wasn’t quite who he was reassuring anymore - himself or Liz? 

Then the news came. 

The sound that came out of his wife is not one that Isaiah ever thinks he’ll be able to ever forget. 
That scream - the way it silenced the room. The whole birthing ward, it seemed. He remembered how the hair stood on his arms and the back of his neck. How she clung to him, her tears soaking through his shirt while he cursed a god that he used to worship under his breath. Hospital staff tried to comfort them in the best way that their professionalism would allow, even while he snapped at them. 

Thirteen minutes. 

Thirteen minutes too long. 

He still hadn’t even washed their blood from his hands. 

It was this memory that plagued him in that room, and even now, as he finished setting up the Festival. 

He thought people could only get that PTSD thing from war. 

He guessed he thought wrong. 

With the final swing of his hammer, Isaiah returned to his truck for a deep breath and to put up his tools before hunting down the boss man for his paycheck. He reached under the drivers seat, feeling around for the bottle of whiskey he had stashed there the night before. There was just enough left for one good gulp - just enough to start numbing the pain. 

Once he had collected his money, the man was sure to stop and grab a cold lemonade for both him and Liz. He was trying to cover the alcohol on his breath - she just deserved something cold to drink. 

No matter what memories that plagued him, it didn’t give him an excuse to be drinking as heavily as he was lately. Deep down, Isaiah knew this, and even judged himself for it. His previous healthy gulp of whiskey was enough to help him decide that that was something for him to work through at a later date. 

With his hands full of lemonade, Isaiah headed off into the crowd to find his wife. 

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[right][sub][color=5A9D39][b]Interacting With[/b][/color][color=white] — N/A[/color]
[b][color=5A9D39]Mentions:[/color][/b][color=white] — [/color][color=lightgray]Liz[/color][/sub][/right]