Don’t Fear The Reaper

write-it-motherfuckers:

writingring:

write-it-motherfuckers:

I sit alone in a diner. I bring the coffee cup to my lips as the jukebox switches to “Don’t Fear The Reaper.”
A fluorescent light near me starts flickering. I slowly, but calmly look out to the window, something catching my attention between the thick blanket of rain.

The teen watched as the cloaked figure entered the 50s style diner and casually took a seat a few barstools down- close enough that he would hear them if they spoke, but far enough that it almost seemed like they didn’t notice him.

The waitress slid some kind of pastry in front of the figure even though no words were spoken. A hand with fingertips of silver emerged from the cloak and made a motion the boy didn’t understand, earning a nod from the waitress, who put another pasty in front of the boy with a sympathetic smile.

He stared at the- admittedly delicious looking- pastry suspiciously, even though his stomach was growling after only having coffee for nearly twelve hours. “What’s this?”

“Pasticciotti,” 

Even though he had asked a question, he hadn’t expected the figure to respond. 

He stared as the figure brought the pastry up- presumably to their mouth, but their hood prevented him from seeing- and set it back down with a hum after they took a bite. “Not as good as home-made, of course, but still delicious.” He couldn’t tell from their voice if they were a boy or girl- well, he could, but his brain seemed to be malfunctioning at the moment. “You should eat.” Their tone said that they knew how long it had been since he’d had a proper meal and he couldn’t find it in himself to question how as he took a bite of his pastry.

He gave a pleased hum as custard flooded into his mouth, the treat warming his whole body. He quickly finished the whole pasticciotti and found himself feeling full even though it was no bigger than his palm. “You should go home.” He snapped his head up at the figure’s words.

“I’m never going back! That place was never home anyways…”

There was a distant voice in his head that questioned why he was revealing his plans to this stranger, but he found himself incapable to listen to it.

“I didn’t tell you to go back, darling. I said to go home.” He stared at them in confusion. They turned to him, revealing a skull mask made of black metal and accented with rubies, but he couldn’t fear them. They reached out to cup his cheek with a hand tipped in silver (armor? weapons? he couldn’t tell) and he let them. “You should never go back to that house- back to those people.” She- this motherly touch could only come from a woman- sighed, sounding disappointed. “Life is very cruel, darling. She asks a price for everything and even then may not give anything in return.” He hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes until he felt her trace his cheekbone. “She may be beautiful, but she is only a lie. I know it’s a lot, darling, but won’t you please come home with me? I promise you will be treated much better than she treats you.”

He didn’t need to think twice before he had his answer. In however long she had been there (a minute? an hour? he had no idea) she had already treated him better than anyone else ever had. After he nodded he heard the rustle of a mask being moved.

“Keep your eyes closed, darling. I promise it will feel better soon,”

Holy shit, this is really good Darling.