Cry of Fear + Afraid of Monsters Oneshots

Sophie

Snowflakes fall breathtakingly in the small town of Fäversholm, sticking to pavements and windows alike. They hug to soft brown hair, making a cooling crown to showcase her beauty, lightening her eyes as they dance in the winds. A gentle smile curls on her pastel pink lips, dented ever so slightly from her anxious bites, pearly white teeth on showcase. She sniffles quietly, her pale skin flushed red from the biting cold that engulfed her. She didn't mind. She never did.

The last remnants of sun shone with weakening force, watercolor oranges and pinks so perfectly mixed and blended into the darkening sky. Smoky grey clouds rolled in at a leisurely pace, almost as if she was enough to hold them back, so sweet and commanding in her own wordless aura. She pulls her jacket closer around her delicate form, every move she makes so dainty and faultless. A masterpiece more beautiful than the sunset in all its glory. She opens her mouth, and its as if time itself stops to listen. She pulls into herself, knees tucked elegantly into her chest, following with the rise and fall of steady breaths and words protruding from a gorgeous mouth.

"I'd like to get away from everything, from all this... Someday..." She speaks out, barely a whisper in comparison to the harsh winds. Her eyes were a stony grey, storming with emotion and untold secrets, like a vortex, a black hole that devoured the hearts of all who had the fortune to speak to her - to learn those mysteries, and fall deeper into the abyss. The rope hung frayed, but they couldn't care, they'd wait, sit in the abyss just to hear her soothing voice. Words and philosophies to make the heart stop, breath quicken. A sorcerer worthy of mind control at the spill of a sentence. They starve at the bottom of the abyss just to hear her tales.

She was a goddess, too perfect to look upon without reflection of ones own flaws. That is why they hate. She is everything they despise of themselves, so they didn't look. They didn't want to see, so they gouged out their eyes and pretended not to notice. But he saw just fine.

She was a god as she stood, showing her body for the world to see. How her clothes fit her just so. How he wanted to kiss every part of her. How he wanted to run his fingers over every millimetre of skin. She was a deity, as she stepped off the building, stars reflecting in her eyes as he watched her dip like a bird half fledged. She was an angel, as she soared, downwards. He wondered, why she would not open her wings, why she waited so long, why she would not fly.

Perhaps, he thinks, hugging himself, perhaps angels cannot open their wings, lest they are shunned and exiled. He would risk it all, being blinded by her radiance, he would give anything, everything to have her, with his longing hands and eager lips. His tears seemed to freeze on his cheeks as he stares down at her, laying peacefully on the icy pavement below. Red was not her colour. She deserved pure things, white and gold and things she desired most in life.

Not him.

Never him.

He was unclean, filthy in comparison. Every inch of him was disgusting, his mind, body and soul. Never worthy of such an honour.
She was a girl of God, chastity and a cross, spending countless nights preying and hoping and even longer devoting herself. And what did God give her? Bullying, harsh words and even harsher hands. Bruises and scars, a lasting ache never to heal. Yet she still believed, and he cursed her God, and wished she would turn to him instead. He would protect her, and he could save her, and she would love him, like she loved her God, and maybe more.

He scorned himself, knowing it would never happen, for she was too great for him. She was preying at night, hoping for soft smiles and kind words, whilst he dreamed filth, imagining her in such a way that when he woke, he felt dirty, but oddly satisfied. He could never deserve her, but he still tried. He brushed at her hair and smiled and longed to kiss her and see her blush and put a hand to her heat, and she smiled back. Nothing more, for she did not desire him the way he needed her. And now he was selfish, needing her as she lay broken in a pool of her own blood. He was stained in tears and snow and the touch of her perfume and he still felt unworthy.

If he jumped too, he would never join her.

And so he did what he had always done, gone home, marked his wrists, and dreamt again, knowing that he would never have her.