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Monsters Don't Cry

Short story By: TheUnnamedOne
Young adult



Slightly inspired by a song. Non-descriptive self harm; rape; and suicide. Slight swearing.

He was always called a monster for something he didn't do. All he wanted was someone to love him... but did he had the right to be that selfish?


Submitted:Mar 13, 2013    Reads: 144    Comments: 3    Likes: 2   


***This was written a few years ago, and I don't have the heart to edit it :( so it is staying how it is.***

Once there was a woman who was raped by a man. Little is known about the details of this woman or this man. What is known is that a child was conceived from this rape. A little boy. A beautiful little boy. Anyone would be ecstatic to have a baby so beautiful and healthy. But the woman looked at the screaming child that had come from her womb and wept. One word was whispered over and over from the woman while she cradled her head in her hands.
"Monster…monster…monster…"

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The little boy was six years old and he had just found a baby bird in the back yard of his home. A tiny little bird that had fallen out of its nest. His little face filled with delight at the find and he held it gently to his chest and ran inside to show his mother.
"Mommy, mommy! Look what I found!"
The woman stared at the heap in his hands and a look of horror drew on her face.
"GET AWAY FROM ME!"
He didn't understand why she acted like that. He hadn't done anything wrong.
"MONSTER!!!"
He walked slowly back outside and set the baby bird in a small nest of grass. He sat and watched it for a while, how it wiggled around on its two skinny legs. The white silk feather that covered its body was stained with the dirt from the ground. The little boy wondered where its mommy was and why she hadn't gotten the baby bird off of the ground when it fell.
Without warning the baby bird fell in a heap on the nest, and didn't move again. The little boy stroked it gently, trying to get it to stand back up. The bird was dead, it had stopped breathing. The little boy felt streaming tears on his cheeks and they fell to the bird's body, making small puddle on its lifeless form.
"Am I really a monster?" The soft whisper rode the breeze.

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Ten years old. The little boy was moving to his grandma and grandpa's house because his mommy had gone to the doctors and hadn't come back. His grandma said that he was going to be going to school to get a proper education.
At school the kids teased him. It was a small town and a lot of them knew his family.
"Your mommy didn't want you."
"You're a monster."
"Everything dies when it's around you."
"Monster."
They pushed him and kicked him. But he just looked at them and walked on. He did his work and he got it right but the teachers all sneered at him and marked him as failing.
He asked for a dog but no one heard him. He asked for more dinner but he got smacked by his grandpa. Why did no one love him?
In his room he let himself cry. He let himself curl up and block out the world. He wanted only one thing.
"Love me…please someone love me…"

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The boy was 16. He was in high school and was top of all his classes. He had lived with his grandparents since his mother was admitted into the mental hospital. He sat alone at lunch and ate silently. When he got home he made his dinner and then locked himself in his room. There he did his homework and lay on his bed, staring at the windows. There were creatures outside his window, knocking on the glass, calling to him. One word was repeated over and over again from his grandparents and the creatures.
"Monster….monster….monster….monster…."
He had a desk that had a hidden draw. In the draw there were knives, he would grab one every day and go into the bathroom and lock the door. He had his own bathroom so that his grandparents would have even less time to remind them that he existed. When he was in the bathroom he would take all his clothes off and look at himself in the mirror. On his body there were words carved into his skin; fresh cuts, healing cuts and scars. They all said the same thing.
MONSTER
Every day he would carve a new one somewhere on his skin. He wore long sleeves and long pants during the day so no one would ever see them. He would carve each letter slowly, carefully, deeply.
M-O-N-S-T-E-R
He didn't feel anything anymore. He didn't feel the pain, didn't feel the hurt or the cut of the knife in his skin. So he would cut deeper, until he could feel it. Until he would cry and weep at the pain of it. And in the back of his mind he wondered what it would be like to have someone tell him that they loved him, how it would feel to feel anything other than pain. Wondered what it would feel like to touch someone else's skin.
MONSTER
No one would ever love him.
"Why won't any one love me?"

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Only one year later he met a girl. In his mind she was the most beautiful girl in the entire world. He loved her. But he would not go anywhere near her. He would not speak with her, would not look at her. She took one look at him and snarled.
"Monster. You're the reason Hannah is in the loony bin."
Staring into the mirror one night he frowned. The knife in his hand made its way to his heart, the only place that was unmarked. He carved in something different. Something else.
L-O-V-E M-E
"Love me….Love me…"
He had begged it when he was a child. Had prayed for that one thing. That was all he had asked for and instead everyone had called him monster.

That night he went to the place where she was partying. Waited until she was driving home and followed her. She was drunk and stopped in the parking lot of a nearby park so she would not have to face her parents. He walked over the door and yanked it open. She screamed and struggled but he would not let her get away. Her clothes were torn off and he touched her body, pulling on her legs until they were wide enough for him to go in between them. Then he pulled his pants down and thrust inside her. She was warm. Her hands kept trying to push him away push him off of her. But he grabbed her wrists and held them high above her head.
When he was finished she was sobbing and lying limp beneath him. He stared before feeling something deep in his heart, something dark and cold. His mouth was dry and his head was spinning. She was sobbing words and he tried not to listen.
"Monster…I hate you… I'll always hate you…fucking monster…"

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He was driving too fast, the trunk of his car filled with kerosene and a pillow. He drove to an old abandoned apartment building. The town officials were discussing tearing it down. He went to the ground level, dragged a tub from one apartment and filled it with the flammable liquid. He had three containers left over when the tub was filled to the brim so he poured the remaining liquid over the floor and the doors and the walls, everywhere that he could.
Then he took his clothes off and grabbed his knife. He carved the same word angrily all over his body, over and over ripping at the skin. He dropped the knife several times when the red blood ran over his hand but he picked it up each time and continued his assault on his body until he was nearly falling over with dizziness. Sinking into the bathtub he put the pillow behind his head and watched as his blood mixed with the kerosene. Holding a lighter in his hand he carefully lit it so that the flame didn't touch any of the liquid. The tears trickled down his cheeks and into the tub.
"Love me…I am a monster. All I asked for was someone to love me. But no one loved me. I am a monster. Monster."
Then he let his hand drop into the liquid, setting everything ablaze.

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Monsters don't cry.





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