Work Text:
I’m not afraid of him. I’m afraid of something else.
This place is nothing like I know.
It has talking cats,
and a choir of flowers,
and a rabbit in a waistcoat.
They speak in riddles, in tongues, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Even here where everything is different, everything is the same.
And then he turns to me and gives me a smile, and it’s not so scary anymore.
He doesn’t really seem to want anything anymore.
His smile reminds me of what I see when I look in the mirror.
And he turns back to the rabbit, and I wake up.
◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟❤️🩹🩸❤️🩹◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟
It’s like this.
People are a means to an end.
They make me jump through hoops instead of giving me what I want; I owe them all nothing.
They are all faceless; voids of nothingness made flesh.
Their words, their actions, their lives — it’s all empty.
And there is nothing of myself I see in them.
◞꒷◟ ͜ ͜ ◞ྀི◟❤️🩹🩸❤️🩹◞ྀི◟ ͜ ͜ ◞꒷◟
The next time I see him, I run into his arms.
He doesn’t refuse me; hugs me; pulls back and twirls me in a spin until I’m laughing.
I wish him a very merry unbirthday.
He wishes me a very merry unbirthday.
I say it’s curious that he never ages.
He says it’s curious that I’ve stopped.
The dog meows.
The cat barks.
I turn to the fancy, luxurious tea party, pick up a cupcake, and throw it at his face.
When it slides off and plops onto the ground, he grins at me.
He takes my face in his hands and gives me a kiss.
I grin into it.
Flashes.
Knife. Mine.
Screams. All of them.
Blood. Oceans of it.
When I step forward into his embrace and there’s a squelch, it doesn’t matter if it’s a heart or a cupcake.