FNaF One-Shots

Hiring (1)

TWs: Violence, Verbal Abuse, Homophobia

~ Memory ~ Y/n's Pov ~ 6:03 AM ~         Mar 11, 1986

  FLICK

  The lights turn on, illuminating the stage of the dark room. A porcelain figure stands lifeless on the stage, pink tutu and blue bikini unmoving. Small, nude-colored dolls stand around it, as if waiting for a cue. 

  That cue came when music began playing from the taller's body. 

  The porcelain figure began twirling.

  The dolls began dancing.

  "Why do you hide inside your walls . . ." Its voice was . . . enchanting.

  "When there is music in my halls . . ." Haunting.

  "All I see is an empty room . . ." Beautiful.

  "No more joy, an empty tomb . . .

    It's so good to sing all day . . .

   To dance, to spin, to fly away . . ." The figure slows to a stop, the dolls around it slowing as well. 

  You're entranced.

  "Beautiful . . ." It's eyes pop open, and its body twists to face you. Your own eyes widen at the action.

  "Is someone there?" No, there's not a room full of people watching you perform. Not a single person in the room. Not one.

  Not a single person speaks or moves, afraid of her small, purple eyes.

  "I can hear someone creeping through my room." There's a beat of silence before it speaks again, closing its eyes.

  "Perhaps not." The curtains close, and everyone stands up to begin filing out of the room. I'm in the front of the room, so I end up leaving as one of the last, right hand clutched in my aunt's firm grasp. As she pulls me through the doors, I risk one last glance at the stage.

  An empty-eyed doll stares back, before closing the curtain and scuttling back to its original place on the stage.

  That was the first time you had seen them out of performance.

~ Time Skip ~ Y/n's Pov ~ 4:38 PM ~         Mar 12, 1993

  "Get out of my house." You stare in shock at your father, waiting for him to tell you it was some kind of sick joke. He stays where he is, lips unmoving and fists clenching.

  "Dad, please-"

  "I'M NOT GONNA HAVE SOME SICK FUCK WHO THINKS THEY LIKE THEIR OWN GENDER IN MY HOUSE! YOU'RE DISGUSTING, YOU FILTHY FUCKING FREAK!" Your lip quivers. Tears begin pouring from your eyes, but your pride keeps you from begging to stay. You're tired of listening to his shit all of the time.

  "FUCK. YOU. ONE DAY, YOU'RE GOING TO NEED ME AGAIN, WHEN YOUR MONEY CAN'T PAY FOR Y-YOU'RE BOOZE AND THE HOUSE ALL AT O-ONCE. YOU'LL COME CRAWLING MY WAY, AND Y-YOU KNOW WHAT? I. WON'T. GIVE. A. DAMN." His hand comes flying up to your face, too fast for reflexes and too fast for a proper reaction.

  SMACK

  The sting burns, but you don't care. You're thankful, because it's the last time you'll ever need to see him, or talk to him, or even look at him. This will remind you that he's a piece of shit and he won't ever deserve you.

  You run to your room, shoving a chair under the doorknob and picking up the backpack under your bed. You grab the stack of boxes and as you're pushing it towards your window, the door starts getting pounded on.

  "Y/N, DON'T LEAVE! PLEASE, DON'T LEAVE ME HERE! I CAN'T PROVIDE FOR MYSELF ON MY OWN! COME BACK!" His pitiful whines and pleas allow you to hesitate, but not for long. He had hurt you again, and he wasn't ever going to stop.

  You push your window open, ignoring his begs and threats, and climb out of the house. You start walking, not going in any particular direction. The day slowly fades to night, and you find yourself wishing you had brought a jacket. Your somewhat thin pants and tank-top just weren't cutting it. You had brought an extra shirt, long-sleeved. You duck into an alley and open your backpack, pull the shirt out, and slide it over your head. You get some card-board boxes from beside the dumpster and lay them flat on the ground, grateful that they're clean. 

~ Time Skip ~ Y/n's Pov ~ 7:23 AM ~         Mar 18, 1993

  It had only been a little over a week and you were already tired of it. 

  You were out of water, you were pretty sure you had a cold, and you were almost out of food. You needed money, and a place to live. Cardboard boxes weren't going to cut it for much longer. 

  You needed a job.

  As you walk down the street, a newspaper catches your eye. You turn the pages, landing on job listings.

  Circus Baby's Pizza World is hiring.

~A/n~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

801 words

Sorry for the wait. I'll try to make part two come out faster, but I give you no promises. I'm not able to be online as much right now. However, I do promise that part two will be longer, if you would like to stick around for that.

I officially adopt anyone who continues to read the story, and you are all my children now.

Drink water and get some sleep, unlike your sleep deprived mother.