Requested by Anonymous
"Such a cry baby, it's not that big of a deal."
"Why do we always have to step around eggshells with this guy?"
"Why do you cry so much?"
They don't know. They don't know the hardships that you've gone through.
That's why you just shut yourself away, never really opening up to anyone.
Flaky was one of the people that would try to help, but would always fall short with comforting with their spines.
But with all the attempts, it always falls short.
You looked like into the mirror.
Seeing that you hadn't gotten enough sleep in the past week, your bags seemed to get heavier.
On one eye the dark bag had grossly stretched out your scar to the part where it seemed to be a stretch mark.
You looked in disgust.
A broken young man.
Ugly wasn't the only thing you called yourself.
It was also weak.
'Why didn't you fight back when those bullies in elementary school beat you up? Maybe if you did you wouldn't have ended up with that scar.'
You thought.
'Why didn't you do better in school? Maybe your foster parents would of noticed you in a better light than some troublemaker.'
...'why were you born? You would still have a mom if you wouldn't have killed her coming into this world...'
It haunts you...'why can't I like myself?'
It brought so many memories just by looking at yourself.
So many mirrors you've broken...
And yet, the one in your bathroom is what remains.
Your eyes watered, tears had started to fall and from right there you fell to the ground and wept until there were no more tears you could produce.
Flippy understands.
Flippy has PTSD. Just like you.
Although, not as severe, when triggered you don't go into a killing spree.
It started one day, when you were moving furniture around with Flippy in his place, when you accidentally broke a picture frame.
Your eyes widened in horror, the broken glass was scattered against the floor and the picture in the frame looked rippled as it made impact to the wooden floor board.
You automatically looked at it and frozen for a second and glanced at Flippy.
He was surprised that it had happened, and walked over to the area of the glass and where you stood.
As he got closer, you dropped to your knees and a loud crunch of glass under your legs could be heard.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please I didn't mean to break it!" You cried
Your voice crackled, and your mind had started to flash images of when similar events that had happened.
When you were in foster care, you had switched around in families around the country.
You've never really told anyone this, but you were taught that in this world you were thrown away for a reason.
You have no real purpose, but to live and waste air like any other person with no purpose.
You won't go far.
Your foster parents beat you and neglected you on occasion, but really it was when they ignored you for weeks and would only remember you when it was time for your chores.
One faithful day, while dusting the collection of picture frames on the mantle, you accidentally dropped a ceramic frame onto the tile floor.
It echoed throughout the entire house.
Immediately your foster mother came to see, and was horrified to see her most prized possession had broke in the care of you.
In a fit of rage she beat you with a fire poker.
And everything went black...
Now...twenty years later.
You're here.
Blood was gushing from underneath you.
You were frightened, this must have triggered Fliqpy.
It's over. And you are to blame.
But rather than a knife to the head, or any sort of brutality, there was silence.
You didn't dare to look up, he was probably just waiting for you to, so he could just stab your eyes out.
A pair of footsteps had walked away for a second, and in moments they were back.
Flippy placed a hand on your shoulder.
You flinch to the sudden contact, and suddenly look up.
Flippy gave you a reassuring smile, and brushed glass out of the way so he could sit down with you.
"I know it was an accident... no need to throw yourself on to it..." he reassured, genuinely concerned with a light hearted laugh.
"You're not...mad?" You sniffled, wiping your nose with your sleeve.
"Of course not! It was an accident!"
Flippy glanced down to your legs and pulled out a first aid kit.
"No more alligator tears, alright?" He cooed,
You nod slowly and sniffed again.
He started to pick the glass shard out of your legs and quickly started to fix you up and clean up the mess.
Afterwards he took a step back to admire his work.
"All better."
You looked still shaken.
Flippy still notices this, and leans towards you.
"Let's take a break."
