(A/N: So...guess who's suddenly become unexplainably, bizarrely, yet wildly obsessed with a severely deformed man who lived back in the late 1800s? *thumb points to myself* THIS GIRL :P
Yeah... I have no clue why Joseph Merrick is my newest muse/special interest- he just is. No judgment of it, please lol It's NOT a fetish or anything- let's get THAT straight lol It's strictly just a high admiration of him and his amazing story and character. The more I learn about him, the more I find him incredibly endearing and sweet. He had so much courage and dignity to face the world despite his horrible deformities- and I'm just in awe of how he remained so kind and gentle towards all despite how he was barely ever treated that same way.
...And call us nuts, but I found I'm surprisingly not the only one that fawns over him! There's a small but strong group of us Joseph Merrick enthusiasts over on DeviantArt- some who have created some GORGEOUS art of him. (Seriously amazing art. If you're a fan of Joseph Merrick and/or "The Elephant Man" movie, check it out! Simply AMAZING- ofc it could just me being biased lol ;D)
Long story short, I'm still going to write fanfics for Wreck-It Ralph...but I'm adding to my writing repertoire by publishing some fanfics about Joseph Merrick/"The Elephant Man" movie (both I've labeled TEM) as well. Random, I know lol
(And to the fellow Joseph Merrick fans reading: a few things about this one-shot. I've read conflicting ages on exactly how old he was when his mother passed away, so I went with what one reference said and made him about 10 or so in this one-shot. And I'm not sure as to when Joseph's father met his soon-to-be new wife after Joseph's mother died, but in this one-shot, she and her kids were at the funeral- and it's hinted that something was happening between them before she even died. Also, I know Joseph's deformities reached their crippling peak as an adult, but in this one-shot, he still bore quite a lot of them even as a child. (Last one lol): And I know that he wasn't technically dubbed "The Elephant Man" until he became touring in the freak show. Buuuuutttt...I like the idea of him gaining the title "The Elephant Boy" as a child. One that he often resented- but that ended up molding him into the man he became.)
Anywho, hope all enjoy this really depressing, angsty one-shot! :D)
His soft brown eyes slowly blinking downward, the child did his best to ignore the light mist falling from the clouds above him. The sky was the darkest he'd ever seen it with it being daytime- and although he loved the darkness of night, seeing it that way in the daylight hours made his unsettled stomach churn all the more.
Forcing his eyes upwards, the boy saw with each passing moment the sky only grew that much darker, being so cloudy that completely blocked the sun from sharing its' light. What is more, the vivid grey clouds threatened to pour out rain at any given moment- only adding to the eerieness and depression of the whole occasion.
As if the darkness of the sky and clouds weren't enough, the dark atmosphere around the boy, too, was far too thick...And yet it was an empty thickness, something the boy couldn't quite explain. The people gathered around him -mostly some adults he barely knew from church, with a few other children present- all bore a strange facade of sadness, as if it were only skin deep...And it seemed to the child as if the environment, the physical heavens themselves were sadder than the majority of people attending the funeral for Mary Jane Merrick.
His mind wincing at the thought -that all the people around him were just there at the funeral as a mere formality- the boy sought to gulp down the dry knot in his throat. It had been there for the past few days now- but there was something about this moment that made the knot more...real. More restrictive, more suffocating.
Unable to swallow the entire knot down (even unwilling to, perhaps), he just remained frozen in his place, wrapping himself up a little bit more in his small petty coat. He unnoticedly wiped his suddenly moist eyes, tricking himself into believing that they were wet from the mist around him and not from any internal source.
Desperate for a distraction from the dark sky and the darker emptiness he was engulfed in, the boy shifted his gaze from the numb-acting people around him and looked down at the small cane he walked with. His blurry eyes somehow pleaded with it to say something, anything that'd take his pain away, to weaken the turmoil inside him. The stick under his good set of fingertips, of course, said nothing- and although it aided him in lightening the physical pain he suffered from, the mental pain...or, worse yet, the emotional pain he was feeling then was a load beyond what he could bear.
In fact, the boy's mind, his emotions... everything weighing heavy on him felt just like...like...
An elephant had been placed on his back.
Wincing horribly at just the mental mention of the pachyderm, the boy quickly shut his eyes and tried to banish the thought immediately. There was something about the animal that made his stomach jerk, his skin crawl...and twist, swell, misshapen...
Forcibly shaking his enlargening head in an attempt to get the thought out of his mind, the boy made his shut eyes flash open. For a regrettable moment, he focused down on the reason he was present at the funeral- the very source of all his pain.
The grave itself, he observed, seemed so tiny, far too inconspicuous and humble to hold the decreased woman within it. The tombstone's inscription of her, he indignantly felt, was far too short, far too simple as well- merely stating her name, her birth and death date, reason of death, and a brief list of her few surviving relatives. That was it.
There was no mention on her header of the richening life she lead despite her being crippled, no insight that shared the example she never failed to set for others. The header failed to say that she was a faithful woman of God, a devout Christian...a vivid reader, a lover of all stories...shy yet full of valor, quiet yet eloquent and warm in words, intelligent yet remarkably humble...and essentially a source for all things good and hopeful to her lone surviving son.
But worse of all, the crumbly, rashly-put-together tombstone didn't even attempt to sum her up as a devoted wife...what is more, as an amazing mother...
The elephant on the boy seeming to weigh more than its share, the boy almost buckled forward- and would have if his cane not been rooted in the mud forming beneath his feet. Feeling even more hunched over than usual, he felt a silent whine of pain escape his deformed lips.
Within seconds, the crushing weight of agony, of misery became apparent on the ten years old's contorted face- yet no one around him dared to give him a consoling pat on the back, to offer him a kind, comforting word...the way they no doubt would had he been 'a normal child'. In fact, although they seemed to feel something imitating pity for his crippled little sister at his side, no one around seemed to be even aware of his personal distress.
Part of why, he knew, was due to his morphing face, one that was slowly making it harder and harder to read his emotions...no matter how close to the deformed surface they always were, no matter how often they poured out more than he ever cared to admit...
It didn't help, though, that almost all around him were people who were far too afraid to look at the boy as well- as if they'd somehow catch his terrible, loathsome disease by just a glance. Or worse yet, if they did happen to sneak a peek at him and saw a clear look of agony written on his face, most would instantly deem it as a mistake, as them just seeing things. Most believed the severely deformed boy was incapable of having (let alone showing) any feelings; most were convinced that he was completely unaware of what was happening...an unintelligent imbecile, after all.
If only that were the case, the boy couldn't help but bitterly think, leaning even more on his cane as it sunk a little deeper into the moist ground below him. If I'm not even deemed worthy of pity, then surely I'm not worthy of being the owner of a cognitive mind- able to fully understand just what is going on, just what all I've lost...
Forcing his mind off said list of what had perished with the death of his mother, the boy suddenly became bold enough to slyly peer up at the man standing at his side. More than anything else, the boy wished to see a shared sense of agonizing pain in the man's eyes, to feel a firm yet gentle hand grasping the boy's shoulder in solitary...Any outward show that the boy wasn't truly emotionally alone at this funeral...
But when peering into the man's eyes, the boy saw no mutual feeling of agony, distress- no shred of misery. No gentle hand was raised to squeeze the child's shoulder- which he knew he was a bit silly to think his own father would ever do that, anyways.
All the boy saw there in the adult's eyes was almost just a look of redemption- of peace, dare the boy say. His large, calloused hands didn't dare to brush up against his griefing son- and instead just rubbed over each other, seeming eager to leave the scene, to get on with his life, as it were...
And in horror, the boy realized that his own father's attitude was one that could be summed up as 'good riddance' when peering down at his deceased wife's grave... And the sickening realization only got that much more disturbing as the boy peered across the grave and saw that the attitude of his father's new female 'friend' almost mirrored the man's as well.
Sure, the two adults, the boy intuitively determined, had become close...dare the boy say, the horrible, wretched woman and her wretched kids across him had become closer to his father than even his slowly dying mother (or even himself) had been for years...But were the two adults really close enough to ignore -or worse yet, relish- the fact that an incredible, amazing...horribly deceased woman was laying between them now? Had they no respect for the life this amazing wife and mother had brought to the world?
In fact, it was as if the two adults now "closest" to the boy (a laughable choice of words, really) had no clue. No clue of the beautiful soul the world had just lost...no clue that the boy's own world had just crumbled, destroyed into pieces- even more than he already felt it was...
Unable to control the urge, the boy somehow balanced upright long enough to let go of his cane and fished around his petty coat pocket. His good set of fingers dancing across the small, squared object in his pocket, he slowly pulled it out -as he'd done far too many times already that morning.
In a clumsy motion, the boy gently placed the framed picture in his other hand, the swollen, fattened fingertips on this hand holding the frame as something beyond fragile. Seeing a few rare raindrops had already dared to fall from the cold sky and land on the picture, he somehow incredibly delicately wiped it clean with one huge index finger.
Unable to look anywhere else, the sentimental boy found himself staring down at the small photo- entranced by the picture of a young and beautiful (and might he add angelic) face staring back at him. The woman in the frame seemed to be ordinary, nothing more than average to anyone else who gazed at her picture...
But the boy knew better. The woman (the mother) captured in the photo was anything but original, everything but average...
And all at once, his mind's eye filled with so many more pictures- mental, sentimental...almost arguably living ones this time. And although they were now just strictly memories, the boy knew that they truly captured his beloved mother far better than any physical picture or tombstone ever could.
Her warm, tight hugs, completely unafraid of what his flesh was slowly morphing into as she'd pull him in close to her chest...her fond kisses, so soft and assuring as they'd grace his swollen forehead...her fingers that'd tickle him as they'd dance across his slowly misshaping sides...her gentle hand clutched in his at each and every doctor appointment they found themselves at...
Her gathering materials so that they could make paper models of the church she taught Sunday School at...her reading to him any chance they got, both giggling at all the different voices and tones she'd have to make the reading come alive and somehow even more magical than they both already found books...
Her calming words that never failed to soothe the invisible yet devastating mental cuts and bruises she knew the rest of the world inflicted on her boy... Her gazes (not of pity, disgust, fear, like all other eyes graced him with, but) of actually fondness, kindness, and what the boy dared called actual love as she'd stroke his deformed, swelling, tear-stained cheeks...
Her loving eyes going so soft after hearing himself cry in pain after a particularly rough day at school...Her unhesitantly cuddling him so close to her after hearing each taunt, each humiliating name the kids at school would call him...
Her gentle hands using her soft yet smudged apron to wipe away his tears from his misshapen cheeks...her cracked voice telling him the other kids were all wrong, that her son was no Elephant Boy...
Her having to run out of the room when she'd dwell on why her beloved son was the way he was, tears streaming down her face as she silently cursed the fact that she had decided to go to that circus 10 or so odd years ago...
Her taking the blame for her son's deformities, something the boy never once asked or even thought of wanting her to do...although maybe it was her strange way of stealing a part of the torment inflicting her beloved son, her way of sharing in her beautiful boy's eternal, irreversible pain...
A sharing, the unspoken but much-appreciated partnership of carrying the heavy, irreversible...elephant-sized load he bore as his deformation became more and more obvious...
His tears clouding up far more than the overcast sky above, the boy forced back a sniffle. His eyes stayed glued down at the beautiful woman captured in the photograph, his swollen fingers shaking slightly.
All of this woman's gentle touches, her reassuring words, her soft gazes...all of what got the sensitive, intelligent...yet severely deformed boy through the day...
Was now gone. Forced to be forever frozen in his tormented mind.
And as he slowly shifted his gaze from the photo to the very grave that forever held his mother, it hit the boy just all he had lost.
A beloved mother. A comforting friend. A trusted confident...the very light his small, deformed world happily revolved around.
For the first time since she passed, it occurred to him that he was practically an orphan now- maybe not physically, but certainly mentally and emotionally. He was friendless, having no one to truly trust...and was forced to reside in the dark. The shallows of deep, sorrowful darkness were what he'd forever called home now that his precious light was forever gone.
In fact, now all he had was the elephant. The stupid, crushing elephant he had to now carry alone- its weight that much heavier now that he'd lost the amazing woman who somehow loved him enough to share its load.
All at once, a painful gasp escaped from being trapped behind the knot in the boy's throat, making him sound almost as broken as he felt. Before he could even begin to stop himself, he slowly allowed the framed photo to drop at his feet- his deformed hand and fingers going numb.
And at feeling the elephant crush him more than ever before, the boy couldn't hold back the flood hidden behind his clouded eyes any longer. Weeping loudly and bitterly into his bad hand, he cried out loud- begging through practically unintelligible speech for someone to tell him that it wasn't all true, that he still had his dear, beloved mother alive and well...that he still had the very light he needed to survive...
And that's when his father -the adult who was supposed was there for the boy who was far too young to have already lost his mother, supposed to be there to support him during this time of agonizing loss...supposed to now share the heavy, agonizing load the boy carried- suddenly smacked the boy's cheek with the back of his hand. It was the first (yet sadly wouldn't be the last) time the man had stuck his son, his hand cold and harsh to the boy's already damp, raw skin.
In a tone all too familiar, the man harshly and coldly reprimanded his son, telling him that no matter the circumstances, real men didn't cry...and that if he couldn't control how awful his son looked, he was going to be bloody sure to control how awful said son acted in public.
Wincing at his father's callous touch -and even worse at the stinging blows of his words- the boy forced himself to stop crying and begging into the thick air, roughly wiping his tears away. Knowing no one around would care enough to do so for him, he slowly bent down and picked up the framed photo of his mother. And despite knowing said picture was going to be something he'd always turn to for a small ray of light, he quickly shoved it into his pocket before his father caught sight of it.
And right before the anguished dark heavens above finally caused a downpour that'd drive every attendee of the funeral to retreat to shelter, the boy swallowed the entire knot in his throat. Made himself stand a little taller.
Somewhere down inside, he made himself accept his unbearably long list of what all was lost. Forced the pain swelling deep in his heart to be muted. Forced himself to imitate the emptiness of those around him...
Forced himself alone to carry the weight of the elephant forever perched on his back.
And it was there at his mother's gravesite that a young deformed boy named Joseph Merrick realized that his mother had inarguably been right. He was no Elephant Boy...
But perhaps even saddest of all, at the tender age of 10, he was but a boy who was forced to grow up and to mature all too fast, forced to become a man all in one day...
Maybe forever marked in his own heart as The Elephant Man- not for the deformities he bore, but for the unimaginable weight he'd now forever carry alone.
(E/N: I've got a few other one-shot ideas floating in my mind featuring the Elephant Man that I plan on writing as well. So stay tuned lol :D)