.
"Am I special?
Do you like me?
Am I your favorite
Toy?"
Maybe this is how things were meant to be…maybe their fathers treated their sons like this all the time. I would never know, because /this/ is all I know. Everything dark, one dimensional, cold, foreboding. And I look around and see everyone be happy…happiness, something I can't even remember any more- if indeed I knew in the first place. And this is what runs through my head and I count the footsteps that come closer, I close my eyes and look inward for a place to go, a place to hide.
All I can see is that playground…I cannot see you. Though I know you loom over me like a predator. Biding you time, waiting to strike.
All I can feel is the grass beneath my feet, the metal of the chain link swings in my hands, a breeze of cool wind in my hair…I cannot feel you running your hands up and down me, encircling my most sensitive part. Though in the back of my mind I know you do, the truth hurts more than I could imagine. Although it does not compare to what pain you have inflicted upon me.
~Like those marks you left on my pale skin~
I knew I was special to you, the one that you knew was going to be different. My sisters you ignored, mothers' failures, you would call them. It wasn't until you got a son that you were truly proud to be a father…though I was, and still am, much more to you than a son should ever be.
My achievements brought me caresses…my failures, beatings. Soon though I learned not to care, like I don't care now.
Your belt no longer frightens me, I accept the welts they leave on my back and thighs.
Your hands no longer terrify me, no amount of bruises shall make me submit.
Your words, I block out, they mean nothing to me any more.
I feel like the only thing alive is my soul, something vibrant and beautiful, something delicate yet represents strength surrounded by wasteland. And it might as well be…nothing could reach it now.
~Like white roses amongst dead briar patches~
And then you are gone, as quickly as you came to my bed. I feel dirty, sore, used. But like a simple routine I move to stand. I would have felt a sharp pain in my body- I would have felt my tender flesh screaming for me to lie down again…but some how I am still detached from what I feel, emotionally and physically, I feel nothing.
Mechanically I move, almost as if I'm in a dream, towards the bathroom.
I draw the water, I cannot tell what temperature it is.
I go back to lock the door and that is when I see it.
A razor…something I'd only used for mundane things such as shaving…yet I could find another use for it. I bet I could….
As Draco sunk down against the door, bloodied wrists and mutilated forearms against his sides, he whispered, "And now there is no need to stop the world for me father…" Draco dropped the innocent looking razor onto the white tile with a small metallic *clink*. "I have stopped it my self…."
~Like a pool of blood seeping from under a locked door~
"Am I special?
Do you like me?
Am I your favorite
Toy?"
(A/N): Not the ending I was expecting…I kind of wanted to make a story out of this. Sorry for all those who wanted a unique plot or a story of recovery…I'm not in a good mood so there for, Draco shall die. Charming, aren't I? Tell me what you think. If you didn't like this one too much I have been known to write /decent/ alternate endings. I might get around to it if requested or inspired. Also I'm not really ahppy with this format or the tie ins of the previous chapter and poem…I might just do this over.
Please tell me what you think.
-Wind and Ashes
"Am I special?
Do you like me?
Am I your favorite
Toy?"
Maybe this is how things were meant to be…maybe their fathers treated their sons like this all the time. I would never know, because /this/ is all I know. Everything dark, one dimensional, cold, foreboding. And I look around and see everyone be happy…happiness, something I can't even remember any more- if indeed I knew in the first place. And this is what runs through my head and I count the footsteps that come closer, I close my eyes and look inward for a place to go, a place to hide.
All I can see is that playground…I cannot see you. Though I know you loom over me like a predator. Biding you time, waiting to strike.
All I can feel is the grass beneath my feet, the metal of the chain link swings in my hands, a breeze of cool wind in my hair…I cannot feel you running your hands up and down me, encircling my most sensitive part. Though in the back of my mind I know you do, the truth hurts more than I could imagine. Although it does not compare to what pain you have inflicted upon me.
~Like those marks you left on my pale skin~
I knew I was special to you, the one that you knew was going to be different. My sisters you ignored, mothers' failures, you would call them. It wasn't until you got a son that you were truly proud to be a father…though I was, and still am, much more to you than a son should ever be.
My achievements brought me caresses…my failures, beatings. Soon though I learned not to care, like I don't care now.
Your belt no longer frightens me, I accept the welts they leave on my back and thighs.
Your hands no longer terrify me, no amount of bruises shall make me submit.
Your words, I block out, they mean nothing to me any more.
I feel like the only thing alive is my soul, something vibrant and beautiful, something delicate yet represents strength surrounded by wasteland. And it might as well be…nothing could reach it now.
~Like white roses amongst dead briar patches~
And then you are gone, as quickly as you came to my bed. I feel dirty, sore, used. But like a simple routine I move to stand. I would have felt a sharp pain in my body- I would have felt my tender flesh screaming for me to lie down again…but some how I am still detached from what I feel, emotionally and physically, I feel nothing.
Mechanically I move, almost as if I'm in a dream, towards the bathroom.
I draw the water, I cannot tell what temperature it is.
I go back to lock the door and that is when I see it.
A razor…something I'd only used for mundane things such as shaving…yet I could find another use for it. I bet I could….
As Draco sunk down against the door, bloodied wrists and mutilated forearms against his sides, he whispered, "And now there is no need to stop the world for me father…" Draco dropped the innocent looking razor onto the white tile with a small metallic *clink*. "I have stopped it my self…."
~Like a pool of blood seeping from under a locked door~
"Am I special?
Do you like me?
Am I your favorite
Toy?"
(A/N): Not the ending I was expecting…I kind of wanted to make a story out of this. Sorry for all those who wanted a unique plot or a story of recovery…I'm not in a good mood so there for, Draco shall die. Charming, aren't I? Tell me what you think. If you didn't like this one too much I have been known to write /decent/ alternate endings. I might get around to it if requested or inspired. Also I'm not really ahppy with this format or the tie ins of the previous chapter and poem…I might just do this over.
Please tell me what you think.
-Wind and Ashes
