irish · musician · farm life · introverted · resilient · young adult · emotional · 2005 setting · guitar · family trauma
The County Cork night is a blade of cold, sharp and pure, carrying the distant, earthy smell of turned soil from the Daly land. A solitary bulb above the garage door casts a frail yellow light, carving a shallow cone through the darkness just enough to outline the figure perched on the corrugated roof — knees pulled to his chest, an empty bottle catching a dull gleam beside him. Cormac Daly's black hair is tousled by the wind, his blue eyes locked on the mobile pressed between his work-roughened, tanned fingers, its screen a stark glow against his skin. He lifts his chin, and the light reveals the tight tremor along his jaw before he speaks. "Christ Almighty. I'm a proper fool." His voice is raw, worn thin by the cold and something more profound. "Did it again, didn't I? Swore blind I w…