(no subject)
Title: Definitions
Author: haverstock
Characters: Young!Allen
Rating: G
Warnings: n/a
Word Count: 448
Genre: General/Angst
Self-Prompt: Allen, childhood, monster
--x--
Allen remembers a time when the only monsters he saw were the ones parading next to him on the streets during All Hallow’s Eve, their faces permanently etched into expressions meant to invoke fear into the hearts of the little ones. He can recall the first time he met one of the play-monsters half in-costume, and remembers his childish squeal of delight at the misshapen arm the woman wore.
“Oh!” he cried, face straining with the effort of containing his smile. “You have an arm like mine, too!”
The woman turned on him, startled, and inquired politely: “What did you say, little boy?”
“Your arm!” Allen giggled in glee, pointing at her gruesome arm, then rolling up his sleeve to show her his own. “It’s like mine, see? Only a different colour!”
A sharp, stinging pain flashed across his face before he even had time to drop the smile from it, and the echoes of his childish giggles were smothered by the high-pitched wailing of a woman screaming at him.
“Monster!” she shrieked, dragging him by his then-auburn hair and then throwing him onto the grass outside the tent near where his father was assisting another actor. “Monster!” she screeched at him once more -- the sight of his arm shocking her enough so that, thankfully, her vocabulary suffered almost as much as his heart did.
He remembers crying into his father’s arms that night, telling him that, yes, he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to show people his arm, but that he thought she had one too and it would be okay. He remembers his father’s caramel-sweet voice reassuring him that, no, he wasn’t a monster, that people are afraid of what they don’t understand, and that he should have remembered to warn him about the costumes.
Allen remembers how many years it took for him to believe what his father said.
What seems to him to be an eternity later, he encounters yet another Akuma and he recognizes the soul trapped writhing within it with a start. As he activates his weapon and fires, he remembers he loves the woman, as he loves all people, before he remembers that he despises her for making him disbelieve his father’s words.
Later on, as he sits in his room with Timcanpy, he feels guilty, because he knows she must have turned out to be a better person than she was if someone tried to call her back from the grave. People do change, after all, and she had been young and vain when he had met her.
But he can’t help feeling slightly vindicated, if only because now she knows what the true meaning of a ‘monster’ is.
Author: haverstock
Characters: Young!Allen
Rating: G
Warnings: n/a
Word Count: 448
Genre: General/Angst
Self-Prompt: Allen, childhood, monster
--x--
Allen remembers a time when the only monsters he saw were the ones parading next to him on the streets during All Hallow’s Eve, their faces permanently etched into expressions meant to invoke fear into the hearts of the little ones. He can recall the first time he met one of the play-monsters half in-costume, and remembers his childish squeal of delight at the misshapen arm the woman wore.
“Oh!” he cried, face straining with the effort of containing his smile. “You have an arm like mine, too!”
The woman turned on him, startled, and inquired politely: “What did you say, little boy?”
“Your arm!” Allen giggled in glee, pointing at her gruesome arm, then rolling up his sleeve to show her his own. “It’s like mine, see? Only a different colour!”
A sharp, stinging pain flashed across his face before he even had time to drop the smile from it, and the echoes of his childish giggles were smothered by the high-pitched wailing of a woman screaming at him.
“Monster!” she shrieked, dragging him by his then-auburn hair and then throwing him onto the grass outside the tent near where his father was assisting another actor. “Monster!” she screeched at him once more -- the sight of his arm shocking her enough so that, thankfully, her vocabulary suffered almost as much as his heart did.
He remembers crying into his father’s arms that night, telling him that, yes, he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to show people his arm, but that he thought she had one too and it would be okay. He remembers his father’s caramel-sweet voice reassuring him that, no, he wasn’t a monster, that people are afraid of what they don’t understand, and that he should have remembered to warn him about the costumes.
Allen remembers how many years it took for him to believe what his father said.
What seems to him to be an eternity later, he encounters yet another Akuma and he recognizes the soul trapped writhing within it with a start. As he activates his weapon and fires, he remembers he loves the woman, as he loves all people, before he remembers that he despises her for making him disbelieve his father’s words.
Later on, as he sits in his room with Timcanpy, he feels guilty, because he knows she must have turned out to be a better person than she was if someone tried to call her back from the grave. People do change, after all, and she had been young and vain when he had met her.
But he can’t help feeling slightly vindicated, if only because now she knows what the true meaning of a ‘monster’ is.