your whispers are voiceless

Death Dance

Death Dance ( o n e - s h o t )

ps: I've already posted this here, but I deleted my other account and I really don't have anything to do with this, so . . . 

I knew I shouldn't have come here.

I knew I should've just stayed in my house and indulged myself with cookies and a warm cup of chocolate. But unfortunately, this stupid senior prom was compulsory – I have no say whatsoever on attending it. Damn it.

I huffed as I barged out of the gym where the masquerade-themed party was being held, tears stinging my eyes. The cold night winter air immediately stung my face, but I didn't care. This was better than having to be ignored as if you weren't even alive. The ground was layered in a thin sheet of snow on which I trudged on, crisp beneath my feet. I took a seat on a wooden bench right behind a leafless tree with fairy lights spiraled around it. Sighing, I bowed my head, regretting every single second of this night – or, well, every single second of my whole life.

Of course this night had gone wrong. What had I honestly expected? That my peers would finally accept me for who I am? For being gay? I laughed bitterly as I re-adjusted my light blue masquerade mask.

I've been attending to this stupid school for over six years, and all I’ve really received was words that stung at me every time.

They were narrow-minded gits, is what they are.

I mean, sure, I was different. Sure I liked guys, and that’s unnatural for a boy to say. But really, were those things, those traits that made me different and an outsider, were they enough for my classmates to treat me the way they do? Were they enough reasons to make them hate me? They look at me as if I was the most disgusting creature alive.

After years of being treated like absolute crap, you'd expect me to somehow get used to it. I didn't. Every time they'd go the other way, or turn their heads in disgust, or slap the fact right in my face that I was a work of crap, it would still inflict a new, fresh wound. Every day I'd still go home broken.

That's why I got out of the gym, because I needed to get away. It was too much.

"Hi."

I whipped my head to the boy standing right in front of me. He was beautiful.

Perfect sharp features, pink plump lips and gorgeous brown eyes that were bordered by a simple black masquerade mask. The black suit and tie he wore made him look extremely smart and hot, and his serious expression only added to his appeal.

Who was he?

I mentally shook my head disapprovingly.

He was gorgeous, yes, but that's exactly why he won't like me. He's too perfect and I'm too below-normal. He’s probably straight.

"Hi," I muttered, hopefully as equally as emotionless as he had greeted me.

"Can I . . . ?" He motioned to the open seat beside me.

"Oh, yeah, sure," I said as I scooted to the side to give him more space.

Silence overtook us once he slid beside me. It was a small bench, so I was painfully aware of our close distance -- only about a centimeter of space separating us. I could still hear the soft hum of the slow music coming from the gym, but other than that, it was dead silent.

In hopes of ignoring the gorgeous stranger beside me, I took interest on the paint of breath that I elicited in front of my face. I wondered how it felt like to just float into the cold air and disappear, leaving no trace whatsoever. I imagined myself being the mist, letting everything loose and just enjoying my freedom.