Crooked World
...A world where the crooked man walked a crooked mile, found a crooked sixpence on a crooked stile, bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse. and they all lived together in a little crooked house.
But there was already a little crooked child who lived in that house, who only knew a crooked love. Discolored, uncolored, pale and seemingly ill, the child never left that house. He couldn't.
They called him a witch, the way the sun burned his skin. They called him a vampire with his red colored eyes, his lack of palor and avoidance of light. They called him a freak, a disgusting varmint born of a whore with no father.
They called him a monster who bled the liquid of the night.
"You poor, suffering child." The crooked man crooned, patting the little crooked child's head. "What do you see when you dream at night?"
Of blood and war, of deaths and famines, outcasts and unwanted, of crosses and crowns of thorns.
Of Noahs and Exorcists.
"I see the world ending, mister." And he cried little crooked tears. "A terrible, terrible ending. I see people I don't know, places I've never been, things I never knew existed. I see the world falling apart in front of my eyes, and I can't do a thing to help."
"I can change that for you, dear child. Come with me, and we'll fix this world."
"But I'm a monster. Why would you help a monster?"
"My dear boy, what have you ever done to be called such a horrid name?"
"...I burn in the sun, I'm plagued by illness, my eyes.. the eyes of a monster-- I'm a monster."
"Nonsense, child. You are not a monster. You are like us."
"Like you?"
"Like us. Come. We will accept you as you are. We'll not push you away. You are family, child."
Family. A crooked little family. Crooked sisters, crooked brothers, crooked man. Crooked child.
A crooked girl, a crown of thorns, touching his face, his forehead, the black blood staining his skin.
"Family, little brother."
He cried.
"Family."
But there was already a little crooked child who lived in that house, who only knew a crooked love. Discolored, uncolored, pale and seemingly ill, the child never left that house. He couldn't.
They called him a witch, the way the sun burned his skin. They called him a vampire with his red colored eyes, his lack of palor and avoidance of light. They called him a freak, a disgusting varmint born of a whore with no father.
They called him a monster who bled the liquid of the night.
"You poor, suffering child." The crooked man crooned, patting the little crooked child's head. "What do you see when you dream at night?"
Of blood and war, of deaths and famines, outcasts and unwanted, of crosses and crowns of thorns.
Of Noahs and Exorcists.
"I see the world ending, mister." And he cried little crooked tears. "A terrible, terrible ending. I see people I don't know, places I've never been, things I never knew existed. I see the world falling apart in front of my eyes, and I can't do a thing to help."
"I can change that for you, dear child. Come with me, and we'll fix this world."
"But I'm a monster. Why would you help a monster?"
"My dear boy, what have you ever done to be called such a horrid name?"
"...I burn in the sun, I'm plagued by illness, my eyes.. the eyes of a monster-- I'm a monster."
"Nonsense, child. You are not a monster. You are like us."
"Like you?"
"Like us. Come. We will accept you as you are. We'll not push you away. You are family, child."
Family. A crooked little family. Crooked sisters, crooked brothers, crooked man. Crooked child.
A crooked girl, a crown of thorns, touching his face, his forehead, the black blood staining his skin.
"Family, little brother."
He cried.
"Family."