When Lily's Cry: Puppet Strings

Chapter VII. I'm Not Her

Then, what does he do when he sees you?

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People often ask in times of misfortune, "Why?"

Why? Usually no answer is provided, and when the asker is not satisfied, they turn to blame. After all, there is always someone or something to blame. Right?

Alfred, unfortunately, received his grieving families blame. Without time to mourn, he was immediately thrown into a cage of lies and abuse, two vicious carnivores, aiming to devour him and all his broken parts.

Alfred didn't realize it then, maybe he was too shattered to notice. But the hateful remarks, the jabs at his mind and body, were already present before alcohol ever dared to enter his fathers system.

He was a sober man most of his life, with the occasional beer here and there. Until the company he worked for began layoffs, at least. Luckily, Alfred's father wasn't on the chopping block, but the stress still got to him, and when he was stressed, he turned to alcohol for the solution. And when he drank, he was no longer a 'father', instead, he was a horrific beast who desired nothing more than to tear Alfred apart.

With body and soul broken, Alfred was left with only a shell of himself. Every bit of the person he used to be was stolen away by the monster that claimed itself to be 'Dad.'

Grey puffs of smoke choked his cries for help, as his father touched him like no adult should ever touch a child. He treated Alfred as his own personal prostitute, drugging the boy up and using him to pleasure himself. In his eyes Alfred was his mother, not a 9 year old boy biting his lip to the point of drawing blood, as tears flooded his bright blue eyes. He didn't want to scream, he didn't want to blame his father, so he blamed himself instead. He convinced himself that it was him who did something wrong, not the satanic creature attacking him.

Too weak to fight back, Alfred's fragile body was bruised and beaten, as his fathers delusions completely took over his wasted brain. The man Alfred knew and loved was gone, and he realized that. However, instead of acknowledging the fact that his father was no longer himself, he added that sickening awareness to the warehouse of nightmares that resides within the depths of his mind.

Both internally and externally scarred, Alfred was left alone on his fathers bed, tremors racking his body. He sobbed, but no noise left his mouth. His throat was far too warn by the shrieks of terror from the night before. The ones Alfred had tried so hard to hold back.

After an hour of quivering in fear, twitching at each creak of wood which Alfred automatically assumed was his father, he gained back enough strength to limp down the hall. He reached his room, frantically trying to open the door.

He hobbled into his 'safe place', slamming the door behind himself, and locking it.

He stared blankly at the open window on the other side of his bed, the sky, a blue and orange hue, as the sun rose from beneath the horizon. Leaves quivered, and animals scampered, as Alfred examined the outside world. He reached out to it, hoping that someone, anyone, would take his hand, and pull him out of this nightmare.

And that's what he's been doing ever since, holding out his hand, forever awaiting the day that he would be tugged away from his father, and the evil that took root in his mind.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

"So.... what are you gonna write about?"

Alfred's head perked up, as he gave his blond friend a dull glance.

"Not sure yet," Alfred stretched, "maybe an imagine?"

Francis tilted his head, unfamiliar with that phrase.

"Basically a second point of view story, where you kinda ask the reader to imagine," Alfred made quotes with his fingers, "And then they just, imagine. You know, saying stuff like 'You wake up to the sound of footsteps, but the loud sound is nothing compared to the hurricane inside of your mind.' That sort of thing. There's a lot of metaphorical stuff in imagines, but I like that sort of thing."

Francis huffed, staring out the window, gaze fixated on a pair of squirrels playing an intense game of tag.

"Sounds complicated."

"I'm used to complicated."

Francis hummed, staring at his blue eyed companion with curiosity.

"You're-" Francis jumped at the buzz in his pocket, "Jesus Christ, scared the shit outta me."

The younger chuckled.

"Haha, your accents funny when you get scared."

"Whatever," Francis pulled the phone from his pocket, "damn."

"What's up?"

"Wrinkly French fry."

"Pfft- that's what you call him? More like a creepy pedo croissant salesman, in my opinion at least."

Francis chuckled, "Pretty much."

The latter stood from his seat, brushing the crumbs from his 'secret snacks' off of his light blue jeans. Alfred pouted, and began to absentmindedly spin in his swivel chair as Francis packed his school stuff. Once the older was done, he watched in amusement as Alfred quickened his pace. One would assume Alfred was attempting to become the first human tornado,  but no, he was just bored, and looking for stimulation. Even that of nausea would be enough to get him up and running. Stimuli like this was coffee to Alfred, because once he got the wheels in his head moving, he was a nonstop smartass machine.

It was no wonder he was top of his grade whenever exams came around. Both physically and mentally gifted, he was what anyone would consider 'perfect.' But the perfect man does not always live the perfect life. And Alfred was no exception, being given a rather shitty hand as some would say.

To Be Continued

Bet a lot of you are thinking wtf but I'm continuing this chapter through this month. Sorry again about not updating last month, but I hope two updates this month will suffice. Technically it is only one update, but still, I got down 1400 fucking words, and that's good enough for me. Anywho, see you dudes next chapter❤️ \(>3•)/