hey :) this is my first EVER fic, and it came from a pretty dark place. i'm really not sure about it, and your opinions would be most appreciated and respected should you choose to review 3
please review? xx
Kj

Difference and Angles

I didn't put much stock in heaven. Or hell. Or anything, really. I refused to believe that there could ever be anything out there for me. For 'my kind'.

I'd grown up knowing I was different. I was constantly told that I didn't act like the others, or play with what was deemed appropriate. I didn't play football with the boys, but I didn't exactly play dolls with the girls either.

I was different.

I enjoyed sport, yet I preferred the company of females. I don't know why. It was probably something about their seemingly gentle natures that caused me to gravitate towards them. When I was with them, I yearned for the sillyness and sporadic behaviour of fellow boys. When I was apart from them, I missed their perceptive kindness and dramatic tendencies.

I was alone in the middle. Suspended between societies pressures and my own hearts knowledge. I shied away from the truth of myself. An opinionated comment here, a bigoted response there, and I was ready to retreat. To withdraw - to hide. I refused to allow myself to be me.

With good reason.

However difficult it got to shy away, to fade into the background, I reminded myself of the others like me that had been the same, only braver. Once strong, courageous people. Now faded names engraved in stone.

I liked to believe they were angels now. Not your usual divine, winged beauties that prowled the clouds. No. I didn't see beauty the same way others did. I saw individuality, 'abnormality', uniqueness, as true beauty. My angels were everything I am. They were everything I am, but more.

They did not reside in the kingdom of religious afterlife, nor dance on the coals of eternal damnation.

They were alone in the middle.

Suspended.

Yet they were there.

They were there listening when I discovered music. They were there holding me while I cried alone. They were there comforting me when I stood out too much, and faced the consequences.

My angels covered my black eyes. They reminded me not to look too long at a boy, lest someone take offence. They faded the scars left on my skin, and washed the blood and tears away.

They were my saviours. They were hideous, some might say. They loved their own kind as much as their supposed opposites. Sometimes even more, like me. They displayed faded lines at their wrists, rope burns at their throats, knife wounds in their sides. Not much like me, but close enough. Too close.

I was hanging over the precipice. I was ready to tip over the edge.

I could no longer be 'happy' with invisible friends. I could no longer ignore the looks of condemnation in people's eyes. I could no longer fool myself into believing I was beautiful, or that my angels were there, or even had been these past years.

I could no longer be untrue to myself.

My music wasn't enough to take away the pain. Nor was the glinting razor blade concealed under my bed, recently acquired, or the baggy hoodies replacing bowties, the dirty trainers replacing boots. The self inflicted burns and bruises. They were getting closer everyday.

I was ready to be what was supposedly preferred by others for the fate of 'my kind'.

I was ready to be nothing.

Nothing but a faded name.

I called to my angles, but they had left me. I called to my music, but it deserted me. I called to myself, but I hated me.

Alone.

Suspended.

Different.

Without truth, reason, courage. Without angles.

But it changed.

It changed in a whorl wind of blue green eyes, pale porcelain skin, coiffed auburn hair, sweet, sweet melodies of speech. It changed with him. My angel.

My saviour, my courage, my hope, my dreams. My love.

My angel.

My Kurt.

My beautiful, sarcastic, gentle, witty, stylish, different Kurt.

Then I was ready to step back. I was ready to open my eyes, look up. See all that I was missing. Once again I was able to hear my music, wear my bowties, love myself. Be true to myself.

My angels never came back. They stayed away, floating in the abyss; waiting to reach out to another soul, I'm sure.

But I don't mind. I have all the angels I need, and more.

As long as I have my Kurt, I'll sing, dance, laugh, and be silly.

I'll be something, and more.