Author's Note: Cuz I'm really sad :,( That, and Jack needs more misery.
Chapter Title: Cold
Chapter Song: So I Thought, by Flyleaf (even though this chapter has virtually nothing to do with the song B[ it's pretty. Whaddayawantfromme.)
A heavy sigh filled the frigid night air as the winter sprite waltzed along one of the rooftops. He was weakly dragging his shepherds crook along behind him and freezing the tiles of the roof, tired bloodshot eyes glowering at his handiwork sullenly. His bare, pale feet were achy and sore, the enchanting chill that he cast upon the air causing him to shiver. His frail skinny legs had begun to quiver, straining with effort to keep him standing up much less walking around. He was chewing his lower lip aggressively, the familiar metallic taste of blood filling his mouth as the bitten flesh throbbed. One of his bony hands were jammed in his pocket, whilst the other limply gripped his crook at his side. His sleeves were pulled up to his elbow, revealing a number of bruises and scrapes and self-inflicted injuries. The spirit's head was drooped forward, his white hair concealing his eyes and the uppermost part of his face. His bright red cheeks contrasted the dead gray shade of his skin. The bright red blood slowly meandering down his palms and dripping off his fingertips from his wrists stood out on his pale cold arms. The blood that found its way to the center of his palm slowly began to freeze as he unknowingly frosted over it. While blood ran down his arms, frozen streams of tears ran down his cheeks.
The soft sound of his sobbing couldn't be made out by the sound of the frantic, busy traffic below him. His heaving chest couldn't be seen under his blue hoodie, rapidly rising and falling as he sniffled. His neck strained as he allowed his head to limply dangle from his shoulders. Just beneath where his hair covered his eyes, frost had already begun to accumulate over his skin, creating a thin layer of cold over the already frozen over tearstains. His body did this when it felt threatened or weak.
But it was cold.
The spirit hated the aching sensation brought on by the ice, and hated the numbness that came after it even more so. However, maybe this was best. You couldn't feel pain if you were numb. On the outside, that is.
He groaned, legs finally buckling under his weight and giving in. He collapsed onto his hands and knees, and released a heart-wrenching sob.
Jack Frost.
What a joke.
What a sick, cruel joke. He wasn't like this before; of course, Jack didn't know this for sure, seeing that he couldn't remember anything prior to waking up beneath the ice. But he felt it, something told him that he wasn't always cold and weak and invisible. No, he was like them: the normal people who strolled across the sidewalk on their way homes after a long day of work. The normal people who didn't accidentally freeze themselves or the things around them when they felt alone or disheartened. The normal people who hugged their friends and relatives, and could be hugged back. Their hands didn't go right through each other upon contact, and if they wanted to, they could cut themselves, and they were capable of bleeding to death.
Not Jack, though. No, he could spend all day slicing the skin on his wrists, and all he got in return was pain and scars. There was no escape for him. He was trapped in a cage. No, he was stuck. He was stuck here, not really living, but not really dead either. In the middle, it seemed. Well, the middle was a horrible place to be. Was this a punishment? Was it a nightmare? Was there something he had to do, something he had to say?
He'd done everything in his power, said to the Moon everything that was on his mind and anything he could think of. He'd spend weeks at a time playing with the children, bringing snow days, instigating snowball fights. He'd said aloud to the Moon his greatest fears, his wishes, his hopes, his dreams, his longing for a memory, his yearning for an answer to any of his questions. He'd reasoned, threatened, pleaded to MiM for a reason, a threat, an answer. He pleaded for anything to be spoken to him. Anything at all.
It had gotten him nowhere. And bit by bit, day after day of being ignored and being too cold to bear, everything started to collapse within him. His fears got the best of him, lulling him to sleep only to wake him up gasping for air in a cold sweat. His wonder and wishes simply faded away, replaced with a sickening dread. His hope withered into nothingness, and in its wake, a sorrowful emptiness was created. There were no more sweet dreams, all replaced by bone chilling nightmares. The nightmares got so intense to the point where he succumbed to not sleeping at all, explaining the blue bags beneath his glassy skyblue eyes.
You're name is Jack Frost. Who was Jack Frost anyway? No one, that's who.
Jack thought to himself, desperately trying to wipe the frozen tearstains away without much success.
Who is Jack Frost? Some sniveling, hopeless, useless freak who's only good at freezing people to death.
Jack pulled his knees up and burrowed into them.
Who is Jack Frost? It doesn't even matter. He's a waste of space… but who he is, I don't know…it can't be me, that's for sure.
But who am I? MiM said I'm…Jack Frost…
Jack sobbed.
Author's Note: And with that, the feels take over. D: Yup. Depression sucks.
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