drabble . 015 -- forever
drabble . 015 -- word of the day: odd
fandom: castlevania: aria of sorrow
characters: soma cruz
title: forever
---
He couldn't help that he was a freak.
He was a tall, pretty boy from Portugal, which might as well have been a thousand worlds away for as much as the kids from Japan knew (or cared). Which made Soma Cruz an alien. He looked it; he was willowy, stick-thin like he'd bend in half helplessly with a strong wind, and albino. Japanese children were pale themselves, but the healthy pink sort, not chalk white accompanied by slate-grey eyes like him. Every day, he was taunted and teased and ostracized, the gaijin in a mass of conformity. Every day was another test of confidence, and he failed, walking home with his head down and angry tears stinging his eyes.
Then he came home to a mother, a mother he loved dearly, but she was suffocating with her meu filhos, and o que é irritados, a million questions never giving him pause to breathe before another was asked, kisses and hugs and promises to make everything better, it was just temporary until pai was finished with this job in Japan and they could go back to Portugal.
But she just didn't understand. The looks would be the same in Portugal or France or England or the United States. She would have to ask the same questions and make the same big fuss every day as he came home from school in Russia or Egypt or Argentina. It wasn't because it was Japan. It wasn't because his father had taken a job as a teacher. It wasn't just temporary.
Being a freak was forever, and he couldn't help it.
fandom: castlevania: aria of sorrow
characters: soma cruz
title: forever
---
He couldn't help that he was a freak.
He was a tall, pretty boy from Portugal, which might as well have been a thousand worlds away for as much as the kids from Japan knew (or cared). Which made Soma Cruz an alien. He looked it; he was willowy, stick-thin like he'd bend in half helplessly with a strong wind, and albino. Japanese children were pale themselves, but the healthy pink sort, not chalk white accompanied by slate-grey eyes like him. Every day, he was taunted and teased and ostracized, the gaijin in a mass of conformity. Every day was another test of confidence, and he failed, walking home with his head down and angry tears stinging his eyes.
Then he came home to a mother, a mother he loved dearly, but she was suffocating with her meu filhos, and o que é irritados, a million questions never giving him pause to breathe before another was asked, kisses and hugs and promises to make everything better, it was just temporary until pai was finished with this job in Japan and they could go back to Portugal.
But she just didn't understand. The looks would be the same in Portugal or France or England or the United States. She would have to ask the same questions and make the same big fuss every day as he came home from school in Russia or Egypt or Argentina. It wasn't because it was Japan. It wasn't because his father had taken a job as a teacher. It wasn't just temporary.
Being a freak was forever, and he couldn't help it.