y/n name was in bed.
It was 7:54
y/n was supposed to be asleep.
y/n was meant to be asleep.
But y/n couldn't. The words from the day circled y/n's brain. Like a carousel of dread. y/n had always spoken in third person. Like a broken down elmo. But y/n knew that wasn't normal. Father made y/n know it wasn't normal, feel it wasn't normal, believe it wasn't normal and make y/n act.... normal. But were the comments by the local children required?
I mean, mocking y/n was harsh. telling y/n how weird they were. Making it known that the world had no place for humans who talked that way.
under bed covers y/n was safe. But y/n didn't feel safe. y/n felt alone, but a good alone. An alone that said "no one is here, if no one is here.. no one can hurt you." of course that excused y/n's mind. y/n didn't belong outside in the day with their older sister and younger brother. Or picking alley-way fights with her eldest sibling. y/n didn't belong with Mother in the living room and kitchen. y/n name did not belong with Father at work.
y/n knew where they belonged.
In the darkness of a bedroom, forgotten and unharmed by humanity who judged them.
y/n wanted the darkness to swallow them and take them somewhere else. Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere empty.
y/n's head was so thought filled, so trauma filled and filled with so much hurt that could never be erased. y/n knew this ongoing war of self doubt would continue until y/n grew to tired to think.
It would already be bright by then.
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Crack-Filled Afton Insert for a Friend
HorrorIm writing this for a friend. y/n is the second youngest afton who died first, when your ball rolled onto the road. You were hit and died right there. Your somewhat abusive father was, suprisingly, sad over your death. So he trapped your soul in a...
