Ordinary, but Monsters
My name is Nico Robin, and I'm just an ordinary girl, going to an ordinary school, having ordinary friends, and leading an ordinary life.
Everyday is just a routine set in stone, a flurry of events that pass, and then the next one starts with brand new opportunities, along with homework and tests and exams. Every morning I wake up to the shrill call of my alarm clock, eat breakfast, go to school, come back home, do homework, go to sleep... You get the idea. In almost every possible way, I'm ordinary, very much so. In fact, so much so that I bet you wouldn't even notice me if you ever came to my school.
Picture this: just your typical girl, going to her local high school, straight A's, living out her life in a small ordinary town by the name of Ohara with her loving and supportive parents. Now, there's a catch, because in these stories, there's always a catch. Dear reader, you may have noticed that I had said "in almost every possible way, I'm ordinary". Well, there's one aspect of my life that isn't ordinary. So, now add this to your picture: a girl living out her life in a small ordinary house with a small ordinary closet, in which resided a monster.
He's not just any monster, he's my monster, my monster that I love, and that loves me. Now don't tell anyone else, this is our little secret.
Ok, I'm sure you're skeptical. A monster? That loves you? In your closet? Robin are you mad?! Those monsters are always, always evil incarnate! I can't say I blame you. All the books, stories, myths, they tell of tales as old as time and tunes as old as song, and in each and every one, the evil is curled away in a closet, an attic, under the bed, evil that will drain you soul and control your spirit. But my monster? He's different, very, very different, as different as I am ordinary.
He came to me a few months back, when I was doing homework in my room. At exactly 9:17pm, my closet door creaked open, brushing against the carpet and making a muted sliding noise. I had turned, and there he was, battered and bruised, in desperate need of medical care. I did not question why a wolf close to the size of a bear was in my closet, and I didn't need to, this poor thing needed help, so I was going to give it to him.
Somehow, somehow, I knew, from the moment he set foot into my room, that he was going to be my secret, that he was going to be my monster, and that I was going to love him from the bottom of my heart.
From the drawers I pulled out the first-aid kit, and though it was far, far less than what he needed, I didn't want to call for help.
It's a secret, our secret.
From that day forward he had lived in my closet, slinking away into the darkness whenever anyone was around, only coming out when I am alone.
At some point, I learned that he is not a beast, but a man. As a human, he was startling and undeniably handsome: his right eye was intense, and a scar slashed down his left, the pupils were hard to see, but if you looked closely enough, you can see that they're a very peculiar shade of green. His nose and mouth were refined, almost always set in a hard line, and his brows arched high into his temples, a few strands of his unruly hair always sticking out of his head.
My monster is handsome, in a stern, messy sort of way.
I don't know if my monster had that feeling since the beginning, I don't know whether I was alone in that sudden rush of "he is mine", but I know that as times ticked by, as days and months slowly trickled away, he began to return my affection.
I love my monster, and he loves me.
Interestingly, I had never known his name, and he had never told me, and I never felt the need to know it. He is my monster, and I am his girl.
Just a few days ago, my monster had padded out of the jungle of fabric that was my closet, came up behind me, and whispered some words to me.
I was saddened, and still am, by his departure. That day, he had stepped back into the closet, and never came back out. Over and over again I had slid open the door and rustled around in the mess and darkness, feeling for the soft and distinct texture of his fur, but the attempts were futile.
It makes me sad, and it makes me scared, that I might never see my monster again.
My dear monster, if you're reading this, do you still remember the girl that had loves you? Do you still remember the few much too short months that you had spent with her? Do you remember how beautiful that time had been?
My dear monster, there is a question that she is so afraid to ask you, for the fear of an answer that will shatter her heart.
My dear monster, do you still love me?
I have a monster, and he had lived in my closet. From the moment he walked into my life he had been mine, and even though he had walked out of it and not looked back, he still is, and he knows it. He also knows that I'm still his.
My monster is special, different, even among his own kind, and I don't care. I love him just the way he is.
He had once told me:
"They're all dark-pelted."
In his pack of shadows, my monster stood out like a sore thumb, or so he thought.
To me, he stands out like a thistle in a rose bush, in the most beautiful way possible.
In a hurricane of dark fur and a forest of black eyes, my monster is the most wonderfully soft and gentle shade of moss green.
Hellu, just cuz I was bored, I decided to make a little one-shot about Zorobin! And obviously it was Zorobin cuz I'm unhealthily obsessed with it :/. But do I do anything to change that? Naaahhhhh, pfffft, why would I?
Anyway, I know there isn't much context, but I think the mystery gives the story a pretty nice touch, don't you?
Please let me know whether you like these little one-shots once in a while by leaving a review (also just about the story in general), and I hope you enjoyed!
Byeeeeee