A/N This took me about an hour to make. I was listening to Concrete Angel, and it was so sad. I also love Chrome to pieces, so I had to write about her. Can you guess who the crazy uncle is? I bet you know!
Disclaimer: I don't own this song, nor Chrome
Parings: N/A (surprising, considering this is me and all.)
She walks to school with the lunch she packed
Nobody knows what she's holding back
Wearing the same dress she wore yesterday
She hides the bruises with the linen and lace, oh
Don't tell anyone, but I think my Uncle is the scariest thing on earth. He's young, but he has the white hair of old man. Don't tell anyone that I said he looked like an old man either. Please?
Nobody knows how he hits me. At least, I don't think they do. I hope they don't. If they did, they would try to get involved. And if they got involved, well, things could get messy. I know I shouldn't take it. I'm 15 already. But I can't stop it. He's just too... strong.
It was good that by the time he came home, I was in my nightgown. Because the things he did to me, they made me bleed. And I only have one pair of things to wear to school. Though they're dirty, my jacket with the long sleeves and skirt with long leggings are what I'm wearing today. But it's okay, it really is. I don't mind. Not at all.
The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask
It's hard to see the pain behind the mask
Bearing the burden of a secret storm
Sometimes she wishes she was never born
Reborn-sensei gives me a look when he walks by my desk. I think he might suspect something. He saw me once. I was being careless, and he saw a bruise on my arm. I passed it off as just a bruise from bumping into a desk, but I know he doesn't believe me. Reborn-sensei is smarter than that.
"Are you okay, Chrome-chan?" A brunette named Tsuna asks me. He's a nice kid. I admire how he always is caring about others. I wish I had an Uncle more like him. Maybe then, my life would be better. He worries about me, but he doesn't know anything. You see, I have a very good mask to make sure no one sees my pain.
I am determined to bear this storm all by myself. Like I said, if other people got involved, they would just end up hurt. That isn't what I want.
I'll tell you a secret. I wish I wasn't born sometimes. I wouldn't have this pain. I was given this life, but now it's being torn painfully into a million pieces. Don't you see that it would have better to just have not have it in the first place? It's like that high-power or something went; "This girl is good enough for life." But then that higher-power changed it's mind. I don't say God because after what I have been through, I can't bring myself to believe in one. I don't think I've anything to deserve this treatment.
Through the wind and the rain she stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings and she flies to a place
Where she's loved concrete angel
Through this storm of my life, though, I dream of a better place. Those dreams, they give me wings to fly there.
The place I dream of has friends in it. They're Tsuna-kun's friends. A baseball player, a bomber, a boxer, two nice girls, a little cow boy, a bird, and a man with miss-matched eyes. In my dreams, the miss-matched man is the one that takes me away from my personal hell.
Together, we stay in a pretty meadow. We are all happy, and we play together. There are no bad Uncle's who hit for something you didn't do.
But my life is not a dream. I am stuck to this earth like concrete. But I will become the first concrete angel.
Somebody cries in the middle of the night
The neighbors hear but they turn out the light
A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate
When morning comes it will be too late
Through the wind and the rain she stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings and she flies to a place
Where she's loved concrete angel
My Uncle came home very late tonight. He was drunk as usual. He called for me, and even though I was terrified, I went to him. On the way, I saw someone watching me. I felt tears fall from my eyes, mixing with the feelings of dread and terror. I mouthed the words, "Help Me!" But they ignored me.'
What a cruel, cruel world.
"Bitch, where have you been?!" He yells. I don't reply. Silence is the art I have mastered over the years. Without waiting any longer, his fist hits my face, and all I really feel is pain. The abuse continues as he hits me against the book self in the living room, laughing hysterically as he sees my blood.
It makes him happy, I think.
I guess it has to, because through the pain I see him lift a knife.
"Your blood is so pretty~"
No.
Please.
Please don't.
Out of all the things I am ready to do, dying is not one of them.
Please don't kill me.
I want friends.
I want to be happy.
I want to kiss a boy.
I want dance at a prom.
I want to go on to college.
I want to grow up and have children.
I don't want to die.
I'm not ready.
Please.
Please don't kill me.
But my words don't stop you.
Neither do my tears.
Nothing will stop you from putting this knife in my gut, straight through my soul.
And nothing does.
A statue stands in a shaded place
An angel girl with an upturned face
A name is written on a polished rock
A broken heart that the world forgot
Through the wind and the rain she stands hard as a stone
In a world that she can't rise above
But her dreams give her wings and she flies to a place
Where she's loved concrete angel
It was too late, when they arrived. It didn't seem fair to Lal as she looked at the body of the young girl, not even 16.
The funeral was a small one. Barely anyone had come. No one really cared about her, no one really knew her. A group of friends had come though. They hadn't known her, but they had cared. Maybe if they had cared a little more, she wouldn't have had to die. Maybe this little girl's heart wouldn't have been forgotten.
"But that didn't happen." Lal mussed. It seemed wrong though, to muse. "28 year old man, found guilty of one count of first degree murder."
Maybe that little girl no older than 16 found herself a home. Maybe she floated above the clouds into a meadow, where nothing could hurt her. Because maybe dreams could give you wings, even to a concrete angel like her.