Pogshots!

Hello.

Cool idea pog. I want you all to try and guess who's who. Didn't make it too hard...

Trigger warnings at bottom of the chapter. 

Song of the chapter: Sound of silence-Disturbed

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"Why don't you try writing down your thoughts? Or at least every time you think of whatever is troubling you at the time. Maybe even show them to a trusted person, it could help you."


1

I guess this is hello, is it not? It is the first time we've talked, I don't exactly know why I've asked that. My name is- it's not really important. You can call me Red, I have been rather taken with that color. It reminds me of blood, I like blood. Do you like blood?

I was told to write my thought down in you if they ever bother me. She doesn't understand that nothing ever truly bothers me, not since I've-

She wants me to talk about my family life. I wouldn't exactly call it life. It's more like living with others that are related to you, not being able to escape them till some old rich white men deem you're "mature enough to leave the nest". 

Shit, she's looking over. 

Mother isn't there, Father says she died in childbirth with me. I know better, know differently. She left when I was 5, with the excuse of "I can't take care of you, you'll be fine with your brothers and father!" They were only 10 and she expected them to raise me. 10 for christ's sake. 

Father wasn't there either, but not in the way Mother wasn't. He was there physically, yes, I could see him passing by every so often. But he never came up to care for his youngest and most frail son. She had left because of how brittle I am. Or was. He just didn't know how to take care of a boy who could catch a cold and almost die, so he just let me be. 

I am grateful that he didn't take Mother's leaving out on me, don't think I'd survive it. But I just wish my birth father was there for me when I had my first tooth out. When I had first gained those dastardly appendages that seem to run in his side of the family. The pain I felt for weeks in my backside and the amount of that pretty red blood that stained my white sheets.

My second elder brother, who I like to call yellow, had taken after mother. Badly. He inherited Mother's toxic personality, something that I wish he hadn't. He has his good days, man do I love the days where the three of us would just listen to him play his silly little toons. 

The bad days were just that-bad. He was ruthless, dry, and sarcastic, and not in a good way. He managed to impregnate this girl, killing her in the process of birth. I've taken it upon myself to raise the poor child, trying my best to give them the life they deserve. He gains addictions, lately, he's taken up with smoking. He knows there is a young child in the house and yet still does it. 

Father has stopped trying to help him long ago. Dad hasn't had the time, not like anyone has time for us now. 

Dad is, busy. Always busy. Father forces him to be busy, seeing as how Dad is his favorite son. Dad helps me raise the little fighter, my own little flame, something that I'm always thanking him for every time we're alone or just with the child.

I am grateful for the times we've had together, the songs we'd sing, and the things we've played. But sometimes I yearn for a better family. 

There is this person, I like to call them Bee. Bee had what I'd call a worse childhood than myself. Their mother also leaving, but this time not willingly. Death claimed her as soon as she laid her eyes on her child, the only thing they heard her say was "I love you, my child. Be strong, for me and your father." 

Bee's father didn't exactly take her death too well. Did the one thing any sane grieving father with addiction would do. He took comfort in drinking and took pleasure in abusing his child, his own flesh and blood. If I wasn't so young, so weak and frail, I would've dealt with him myself. 

Bee's father married again when Bee was 7. Bee loved their father's new husband, someone who I like to call Duckie. Or Duck. We had all thought that with another adult in his life, Bee's father wouldn't go on and drink, and abuse them. 

It was true for only a few months, peaceful bliss. 

I remember the day it took a turn for the worst. Duck had dropped off Bee for our weekly playdate, yet didn't come back until well past nightfall. Father thought nothing of it. Yellow was too deep, not even fully there. And Dad. Dad noticed. He had smelt the blood, the lingering alcohol, and the smell of goat. 

Dad had turned around, looking towards us three on the couch. How I was protectively holding Bee in my arms, how my wings cocooned the younger ones. 

Dad came back with a cool head ornament that I still keep in my room to this day and the independence for my favorite person. Bee and Duck went off to live with two other men, those men turning out to be Duck's husbands. The tallest who I've dubbed the name Bright, for whenever I've seen him he's had this huge bright smile. The other being dubbed Arson, the love of fire being something that we share even to this day. 

Bee now had three men who would kill and take care of them, something that I still to this day envy. I'm 17 for Prime's sake, almost an adult. Why am I wanting something that I will never have? 

Is it the fact that at the age of 9 I had become a father, caring for my own nephew? Or was it the fact that my birth father paid me little to no mind. Maybe it was the days where I'd be scared to leave my room, Yellows mood being completely sour the whole time. Maybe it was the fact that I consider my eldest brother more of a father than anyone else. 

Or maybe he is right. I am pretty selfish. 

Father of a flame
-Red

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Don't hurt me, there will be more of these promise.

Make sure you comment and vote, and if requests are open request!

Trigger Warnings://
Death
Abuse (implied)
Child neglect
Child abandonment
Addiction
Rape

Words: 1049