A/N: Language warning. Some Zeus-bashing. Focused on an OC. CC welcome, revenge flames ignored.
Insert witty disclaimer here.
Cry.
Llorar.
I cry.
Lloro.
You cry.
Lloras.
We cry.
Lloramos.
They cry.
Lloran.
A drop of water lands on the paper. She wipes it off hurriedly, glancing around to see if anyone notices. No one does. They're all too absorbed in their own papers, huddled over in little groups of four or five, in their own little blissful world of schoolwork.
She sits alone.
No one comforts her.
No one pays attention to her.
She is alone.
The classroom is quiet, the languorous buzz of busy pupils floating in the air. It's not silent, and she is grateful for that. She can't bear silence right now.
The words on her paper blur. Everything is gray, fuzzy around the edges. Another drop of water falls on to the paper, but she doesn't care. More would follow soon. Her paper was all but ruined.
Through the haze, she looks around the classroom. No one notices her. No one cares. They're all too self-absorbed, stuck in their own little worlds of egotistical adventures and self-absorbed friends.
She glances to her left, at the seat which was always unfailingly occupied. Where a comforting smile always awaited her. Where she knew that, no matter what happened, everything would be all right.
But it's empty now. No smiles are left for her. No reassurance was given. Nothing will ever be all right again.
Another drop of water falls down on the page. She glares at it as it slowly sinks into the grey-white paper. She blinks, and two more droplets join the previous three. She still glares at them, and barely even register another five that leave her eyes.
She blames the goat-man. She blames him for taking away her brother. She blames him for not taking her away too.
She blames the horse-man. She blames him for telling the goat-man to take away her brother. She blames him for turning her brother into a pawn with sweet, enticing words and sweet, enticing promises. They're all fakes.
She blames her father. She blames him for dying, and leaving her with a real mother and a fake brother. She blames him for allowing her to become close to her fake brother.
She blames the gods. See, she hates them so much that she won't even capitalize their names in her thoughts. She blames zeus – she won't capitalize his name, no matter how many lightning bolts he sends at her – for seducing her mother. She blames him for not taking her into account. She blames him for ruining her life.
Her navy blue bag is open at her feet. A blank piece of paper calls to her, and so does her pencils. Hesitantly, she reaches down to pick it up, keeping a bleary eye on the teacher. She doesn't want him to notice. He hates it when kids draw or writes in his class.
The new, white paper is drawn out slowly, but surely. The electric blue pencil follows suit.
Then, it's shoved back down. She swallows the rising anger in the back of her throat. No. That's zeus' color. That's the color of her fake brother's eyes. She won't use it, never, ever, ever again. He doesn't deserve it.
A black pencil comes out instead. Slowly, she puts it down on the paper.
She begins to draw.
The lines are vague at first; blurry outlines even more blurred by residue tears. A dash here – a curve there. Then, she starts realizing what she has drawn.
It's chaotic. It's a mess. But she can tell that there's a face, a face which she could recognize anywhere. It's a face that used to occupy the seat to her left.
There's also a goat. It's a man-goat, and its eyes are empty and hollow. Devil's horns sprout out from its ragged black hair. She realizes this as her interpretation of the man-goat who took her brother away.
There's a man. A big, giant man, with a large, overgrown beard and a savage expression. He's holding something jagged – a lightning bolt – and everything is whirling around him. She doesn't know who he is (maybe she does) but she hates him, hates him for everything he's ever done and every right he's ever wronged and for taking her brother away.
Her throat closes up. It suddenly feels parched, dry as the Arizonian desert. Her emotions well up. She can identify frustration and sadness. Those aren't powerful enough to make her blood boil. The back of her eyes begin to burn. Her stomach does a triple flip, and she suddenly feels like she's about to throw up.
Then, the anger explodes.
She grabs the paper, scribbles all over the sonuvabitch's face, and lets out a primeval scream of frustration. The paper crinkles under her grasp – she can't see can't see can't see red red red anger anger desk slips pencil falls people rush over tears fall hurt scream cry cry cry cry hazy fog scream scream scream cry cry crycrycrycrycrycrycry…
She's vaguely aware of everyone crowded around her, but she doesn't care. Nothing's real anymore, not the cold ground under her knees or the soft skin of someone rubbing her back or the concerned voice of the teacher or the pieces of paper crumpled tightly in her fists. There's only her, and her raw vortex of emotions and her voice screaming and crying and she doesn't even care if she's living anymore she just cares if she can get her brother she needs her brother give him back you stupid morons power-hungry idiots just give him back give him back GIVE HIM BACK!
The last part is screamed out loud, amidst a bubble of tears and snot. Some detached part of her consciousness is surprised at how uplifting it feels.
Now words are mingles with her screams, semi-coherent shouts and pleas, and they're all crazy and chaotic and she knows that it doesn't make sense. She doesn't care anymore, she's beyond caring, it's all the same, it's still anger and hope and sadness and despair. She's just voicing it differently.
A pair of arms encircle her. Slowly, she stops, the screams subdued into sobs, the sobs subdued into sniffles. She looks into the eyes of one of her classmates.
"Come on," the girl says softly. "You all right now?"
She knows that she's not all right, that she'll never be all right, that some part of her heart has been wrenched away forever and will never come back, never ever, no matter what happens. But she pretends, and she puts on a brief, watery smile.
"Yes," she says. It's an outright lie.
The girl smiles as well, and laughs a little. "Sometimes you just need a good cry."
She nods, as if she agrees.
Two days later, she breaks down again, in the safety of her house. It's the same kind, howling, screaming, never-ending sobs that disturbed the neighbor's dog and brought his howls into the chorus as well. When she comes back to her senses, she realizes that one of the shelves had been tipped over, and its glass contents were now spilling all over the floor, shattered.
Her mother sends her to see a psychiatrist. It doesn't help.
It isn't until almost a year later when another goat-man comes. This one is almost nervous, the curls in his hair almost jiggling with anxiety.
She has changed over the year. Her soft, youthful, innocent face has hardened, exhausted by the frequent breakdowns. Her eyes are stone, her face is set. There is no more playing around. Her brother is now more of a nightmare than a reality. She curses every thunderstorm that passes near her house.
The goat-man seems to realize this, and is very edgy near her. She snaps at him. She sneers, and smirks, and taunts, asking which asylum he came from and which cell they locked her brother in. She isn't even sure if she's serious or not when she asks it.
When she's told that she's the daughter of Mania, she doesn't react. She just stands there, her jaw squared, her eyes blazing. There is no truth in those words for her. It is too late for truths.
She flips him off, calls him an egomaniacal bastard, and tells him to rot in hell. She calls him out on his lie, tells him to shut up with his fucking excuses already, and to leave her family the fuck alone.
It's then when the monster comes.
By then, she so far gone that she doesn't even realize it. She laughs, loudly, forcefully, a mad cackle over the rolling thunder. She tells them all to go rot in hell, and curses out zeus for ruining her life.
Then she plunges headfirst into the monster. She barely even registers the pain as her head is sliced clean off.
She soon realizes that it's impossible for the dead to cry. It doesn't stop her from trying.
Thanks for reading.