CREEPY-CRAWLIES ; yugbam

intro

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bjork; i remember you

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  there was a difference between fear and disgust. 

through the years, the line between those two concepts had blurred beyond repair. at first, it had been fear that kept humans and monsters separated. but as generations were born, teaching themselves to disregard the warnings of their elders, more and more people ventured into the darkest forests and highest mountains. slowly, more and more monster hybrids were born, because the humans had seen something in the monsters; whether it be kindness, humility, knowing, or simply a wondrous possibility of adventure, of something new.

of course, not everyone was so welcoming of monsters. it was rare to see them walking around in plain sight, though it was no longer illegal. they were different; they didn't fit in and they knew it.

their fear had turned to disgust.

but worse were the children, born of flesh and bone and magic. they were much more isolated; they didn't fit with the humans nor the monsters. they were their own, and being your own was not as amazing as it sounded.

the taunts, the insults, the bigotry. the refusal to be served in certain places, the disregard and plain out rudeness in others. they had to suffer it all, outcast most times by their own peers, their own parents. there were few places in the world a monster hybrid could go and feel like their self.

it had been two weeks. two weeks since the accident that had destroyed bambam's life. he sat on what would soon be his old bed in his old home. the once lively walls were bare, the bookshelves empty, the plants left behind to shrivel up, just as he felt inside.

he stared at his callused hands, the shattered pieces of himself falling around him in the poetical lines of lyric he sang softly. it was a song his mother used to sing to him. he flinched. the words were foreign in his mind; used to.

be still, my child.

think of me in the darkest hours.

think of me in the lightest days.

think of me in the nightmares, think of me in the flowers that pass you by.

cold won't touch you, we're here together.

this path is beaten with our shared footsteps.

be still, my child.

a tear slipped down his cheek. he'd never felt so cold.

he was just standing up, his lips pressed together in unmovable silence and arms moving to wrap around his shivering arms, when the door opened. his aunt stood there, looking as stern as ever. she'd never liked him. a curse-castor, she'd call him. words bambam heard muttered in the street, words that struck him to the core.

words his mother would never say.

"are you done?", his aunt asked, voice cold. bambam knew she was suffering as much as he, but she would never feel sympathy for her hybrid nephew.

bambam nodded. he didn't feel like talking.

"then let's go." she ushered him to her old station wagon, barely giving him time to glance around the empty house. once it had been warm and welcoming, a fire always burning in the fireplace and incense smoke floating through the air. there was always a pot of tea boiling on the stove; bambam missed the familiar hiss of the pot. he wondered if they had tea pots where he was going. probably not.

the house was empty now. most of his mothers belongings had been taken by relatives, the rest donated. all bambam had left of her was one box, holding all their secret, special things. the memories that were theirs, and would always belong to only them.

as bambam sat in the back of his aunt's station wagon, listening to the sound of ben harper's melodic voice playing faintly from the stereo, he focused his chakra and reached out to his patron god cybele, muttering a prayer through his lips as silently as possible.

cybele, please let me feel her. i can't do this without her. let me see her in the flowers, in the sun, in the magicians fruit. let me feel her comfort in the dark, in the lost place, in the nightmares. don't leave me alone. i can't be alone. i offer you my worship, and my power, cybele.

bambam didn't open his eyes. it was going to be a long, silent drive, and he was exhausted. he hoped cybele would answer his prayer, even after how things had happened the last time he reached out to her.

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disclaimers;

this fic is set in the 80s-90s, but i dont know much abt that time so excuse any mistakes

also excuse any mistakes i make with wiccan practices or religion, im trying my hardest

please enjoy!

(796 words)