When Lily's Cry: Puppet Strings

Chapter X. What Is "Normal"

Sorry it's late. Also, sorry about the cliff hanger. Forgive me y'all 
D: anyway, if you're still sticking with this story even though the updates are slow, then thank you❤️❤️❤️ love y'all, and enjoy the chapter~!

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Being rather detached after being raped by his father, Alfred was "brought back to reality" due to his grandmothers death. Eleven at the time, it would be his first plane ride, his first funeral, and his first panic attack. (In order of importance to Alfred.) Never getting the chance to know his grandmother, he didn't feel much of anything. It's like going to the birthday party of a great aunt or uncle that you only met once. His grandmother was practically a stranger, but since it was an open casket funeral, seeing a dead body in real life would surely have an effect on any child.
He felt an odd chill run down his spine when he saw the old lady, crows feet at the edges of her eyes, caved in after the eyeballs had been removed. Or maybe that was Alfred's imagination. He swore he saw the woman's fingers twitch, and wondered momentarily if they would bury her alive. Young and naive, the full severity of such a thing as that, had not yet caught up to him. He giggled, and received a slap on the wrist from his cousin -on his mother's side- who scowled down at him. She was a nice girl, a year younger than Matthew, and daughter of his mothers younger brother. Elizabeta Héderváry was her name, and because of her early childhood being spent in Hungary, she had a thick accent.
Alfred enjoyed the sound of her voice, and the look of her chestnut locks cascading over the back of her floral dresses. Though she had dressed him in girls clothing more than once, he hadn't minded, since the idea of gender had never quite clicked with him.

"Hey Eliza," Alfred looked up at the girl, "what does it mean to be dead?" Elizabeta frowned, pausing to think of an answer. "It means your heart stops beating," she shrugged, "your organs shut down, and you just..."

"Die?" Alfred inquired. Elizabeta nodded, walking away from the small boy and towards her mother. Alfred glanced back at the body, and scrutinized the drawn on features such as her rosy lips and peachy skin. It was sad, since it looked so fake. The foundation was clotted in her wrinkles, and the lipstick was applied poorly. The only decent thing about it all was the hair. It was clean, and looked soft, with wisps of grey and white flowing through it as it sat in a neat bun.
He imagined them plucking out her hair, and putting in new ones, like a Barbie. It was a little unsettling, but Alfred chose to abandon this train of thought, and instead ask someone what had really been done to the woman. He pulled at the sleeve of the person closest to him, which just so happened to be Mr. Berruto. Since it was customary to introduce your children to other attendees of these events, Alfred had found out that he was the father of twins. Boys three years older than himself, and born in Italy. He wondered why they had moved, but decided it wasn't appropriate to ask. Mr. Berruto glanced down at Alfred, trying to put him at ease with a soft smile.
"Sí? What is it Alfredo?" The man rubbed at his stubble, looking back to the coffin. Alfred giggled a bit, "My names not Alfredo. That's a sauce you put on noodles."
Mr. Berruto rose an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh? Well anyway, Alfred, what did you need?" The blond frowned a bit, twiddling his thumbs. "Well.... Wh-Why does she look like that? It's just really.... I don't know. She just doesn't look..."
"Normal?" Mr. Berruto asked what he knew Alfred was probably thinking, and the look of guilt that drowned out his previously curious stare, proved that his suspicions were correct. Alfred hated using the word normal, since that word was quite controlling in his opinion. If you aren't normal, you're an outcast. But if you're normal, you're boring. The standards set in society are like double edged swords, and Alfred hated having to conform to them. Their was no normal in his opinion. Everyone is different, so there really can't be a norm, even if everyone wants there to be one. The norm for women is a thin waist, big butt, big boobs, and an overall satisfying -but greatly unhealthy- geometrical shape, an hourglass. For men it is broad shoulders, a six pack, and plenty of muscle to go around. Alfred found it displeasing both ways, with men eating nothing but vitamins and testosterone pills, and women not eating at all. He frowned a bit before correcting Mr. Berruto.
"No... she just doesn't look... alive..." The older man tapped his foot, chuckling a bit. "Well she's dead, so she can't really look alive, now can she?" Alfred, though shocked by this harsh statement, understood that it was simply to lighten the mood.
However, that attempt was in vain, as a controlling hand landed possessively atop Alfreds shoulder. The boys body tensed, and he could practically hear the bones in his shoulder creak beneath the immense pressure. He glanced up at the owner of the hand, and a chill ran down his spine. Blue eyes met with dull grey ones as Alfred released a quivering breath. "Hello, father." The blood had rushed to Alfreds head, and his cheeks now burned with an unknown embarrassment. He lightly tapped at his fathers hairy knuckles with his own fragile fingers, beckoning for him to release his shoulder. The elder did not do what the boy had expected, and yanked Alfreds hand into the air, nearly lifting him off the ground. He held Alfreds tiny fist within his powerful hand, and Alfred felt a pop in his index finger, and realization that the finger had been dislocated dawned on him. Pain crawled up his arm, and he winced as his father tugged him towards the coffin. Mr. Berruto took a step forward, but one glare from Alfreds father made him cringe. Something about the look in his eyes told Mr. Berruto that Mr. Jones did not see Alfred as his child, but as a play thing to throw away later in life.
He had noticed the way Alfred and his mother both flinched whenever Mr. Jones would make loud noises, or abrupt movements. He had assumed it was just reflex like any other person, but he was now beginning to doubt that. If the look of terror on Alfreds face wasn't enough, the thing that came next would surely be enough to make Mr. Berruto more than suspicious.