Disclaimer: I do not own ROTG
Your name is Jack Frost and sometimes not even you're sure that you exist.
You try to ignore it. You try to bury all of the "What if's? " under a layer of self-constructed reassurances as thick as the ice you're so fond of. Yet the possibility that you're as fake as they believe you to be lingers like the breath of a child on a cold day. It's a weight that you carry on your back and it's heavy.
Sometimes it makes you angry. Sometimes it makes you so angry you want to scream until your throat is scraped raw from the severity of your words.
You want to deconstruct yourself, tear into your skin and prove that beneath it there are bones and blood and something real.
You want so much more than what the world is willing to give and maybe it's selfish, but you can't help it because even if you don't exist you certainly feel.
But you're strong, you can carry it. Even if it clings to your skin and embeds dark thoughts in your head, you can carry it. Even if the space you put between yourself and the children to keep them from passing through you is growing wider. Even if the stars sometimes look like they know something (everything), that you don't. Even if you are the only one that hears your voice. Even if anything. You can carry it all because you have to.
You're waiting though. You're waiting for the weight to shift and snap, leaving you smothered under an ocean of thoughts that will absolutely ruin you because you're not ready.
You're not ready to face the possibility head on. The possibility that you're not real, that you... Made yourself up?
I'm just going to shove all of my incomplete ideas here. It's not a one shot collection so much as it is proof of my inability to produce anything of real substance. Most of them will be short.
This one was an experiment. Wanted to see if I could write using "you" without it being a readerxcharacter thing. Don't think it worked.
If anyone does happen to read this then thanks a bunch.