Moonforest was brooding. She didn’t like her name, it was just like everyone else’s, her father had almost k!lled her for trying to change it, so there was not much she could do about it. In her head Moonforest would often call her self Cynthia. THAT was a name she liked, it was stuck in her head and wasn’t coming out. It was dark and cold and quiet in the tiny, dusty gap between the floor and the slab of stone she was supposed to call a bed. She used to think there were monsters down there. But Cynthia would like to think now of them as her friends. Misunderstood, scared of being different and strange and scary. Seeking quiet, dark places to be alone and safe, seeking a warm threshold that they could only dream of. Kids were scared of sharp teeth and bulging eyes. Sallow faces and deathly pale skin. But the only thing wrong was their defect, the weakest chain in the link. But they wanted, lusted for maybe payback or a taste of a different medicine, and the hunger Cynthia would feel and understand more than she trusted herself to know. It scared her. Well, if there were monsters under some people’s beds, there certainly weren’t any under HERS. Cynthia would have loved to have someone to live with her, even if they might growl and snap and occasionally eat a toenail or two. She would even make up imaginary monsters to love her and be her friends while her father left to get drunk and do stupid things or while her father went into the kitchen to get drunk and do stupid things. But they weren’t real, just projections of her imagination, they faded into dust as soon as she lost interest. Cynthia shook her head, feeling the water seep through her near-waterproof fur and into her ears. If she kept falling into thinking trances like that one day she was afraid she would simply drift off into the sunset and get stranded somewhere where she would stay until she rotted. She swam out her window, praying her father wouldn’t come looking for her, and struggled upwards to the surface, feeling the pressure lessen and her ears work harder to adjust to the lowering pressure. Cynthia gasped as she opened her mouth to breathe instead of her gills. Unsurprisingly, her friend America was waiting above with a snide comment on her lips. That, at least, was good about today. America was annoying but certainly a lot better to be around than her father. Or a snide comment, Cynthia THOUGHT. As soon as she caught her breath America seized her wrist. “What’s up, America?” Cynthia asked, a little more light-headedly than she meant to. “Cyn, you have to run,” America whispered quickly. She rubbed her snout and glanced overhead. “Why? Is this about Startree?” Cynthia asked, confused and slightly mortified by the sudden remembrance of the horrifying memory. She’d slip under her bed and think about it later, she decided. “What about Startree? You know what, no, never mind. Cyn, you’ve been classified as a monster. “They’re after you now.”
idk how much you’ll like this but hey, being emo is very fun.
