Work Header


Chapter Text

Crybaby is alone on the playground, again.

Not that she plays at the playground, it's just that she sits here a lot, on that bench, to avoid everyone, and to stay out of the house. The house is toxic. She would know, she lives there. Poor girl, outspoken and misunderstood, and overemotional. That is her namesake, after all. Crybaby's brother named her, and he won't say whether it was on purpose or not. All everyone knows is that her name is Crybaby, and no one is willing to change it.

"Crybaby! Crybaby! Crybaby!" Another day of taunting, teasing, and bullying.

She's never really gotten used to it, a side effect of being overemotional. Though the teasing gets old, and eventually the charm wears off, the chanting and outing always gets to her. She gets up, and moves to a new spot, but the chants are never far behind.

"Oh, are you going to cry? Cry your eyes out, little baby!" A pretty blonde pulls on Crybaby's pig tails.

Her name is Annie, the princess of the playground. Everyone loved her, no matter what she did. She could beat up and infant and she would be praised as a hero. Crybaby could feel the tears welling up in her eyes, ready to come pouring out at any second.

"Are you going to cry, Crybaby?" Annie sneered again. That was the breaking point.

Crybaby cried, and cried, kicking and screaming, wailing like a banshee, until she was sent home from school, again. She didn't go home though. Instead, she went to the playground, and sat on the bench, tears still dripping from her doll-like eyes, staining her pale-blue dress.

Her heart is too big for her body, is what people would tell her.

Thicken your skin, Crybaby.

Get used to it, Crybaby.

Stand up for yourself, Crybaby.

Fight back, Crybaby.

They never understood her. Words were thrown her way all the time, but the people saying them never understood her. They don't get her feelings, why she can't fight back or get it together. She cried and cried, these words shakign her to her core.

They don't understand me, and they never will.

Whatever, screw them. They can all just drown, for what I care.

They can all just drown.

Chapter Text

A street full of picturesque, quaint little homes.

All a different shade of pastel, it looks like the scene is straight out of a Disney movie. She would like to say that it is all true, but there is one, cotton-candy pink house on the corner that is the harbour for a bad fortune and secrets.

In this house, lives a successful buisnessman, and his wonderful wife and children. The wife is a popular social butterfly who is part of many local women's clubs and is well known for being obedient, a good mother, and a skilled craftswoman.She always dresses for the best and impresses many. Her children are sweet and charming, and are ideal students who always get along well with their peers. Many other families look up to them.

She would like to say that this is the case, and there is nothing underneath the surface but a happy family and a good life. She would like to say that all is well underneath this roof, nothing to see here. Unfortunately for her, that isn't true.

The buisnessman is out late almost every night of the week, taking buisness trips every weekend. This may seem normal, but he is actually seeing another woman. Crybaby knows this becuase she has seen him pull in to the driveway and kiss her on the way out of the car. She avoids him, he reeks of lies and expensive rosewater perfume.

Her social-butterfly mother watches the affair from afar, sipping from a flask all the way through. She is the one who gives Crybaby all sorts of bumps and bruises, from her drunken rants. Crybaby avoids her too, but she doesn't do much anyways.

In her brother's room is a cannabis plant, that he smokes routinely and fogs up the house with his fumes. He says it's to relieve stress, but Crybaby knows that it's for the high. She knows the way that her brother plays, and she can see through his games. She isn't a complete idiot, after all.

Crybaby watches alone from her room, observing sanity turn to madness and love turn to despair. The smashed pieces are getting farther apart, and the picture won't tape itself back up that easily. The threads that hold a family together are breaking, and no onw was willing to mend them back up. Though she acted unfazed, deep inside, it was hurting her to see them all fall into disrepair.

On the outside, Crybaby's family looked ideal, perfect even. The American Dream. Underneath the several layers of makeup and lies, Her family was damaged goods, a broken mess. They were people made of mirrors; they reflected what everyone saw of them, and hid the shattered pieces behind them.

We are a mess, a collection of people not meant to be together.

Please, don't let them see what goes down in the kitchen...

Chapter Text

Crybaby lay awake in her bed, tears staining her pink pillowcase. Daddy was gone again, Momma was passed out at the table, and her Brother was stoned to the point of being unresponsive. What a day to be alive. She heard the door creak open, and faint laughter.

"It's daddy and his girlfriend. I wonder why that bag of meat and plastic is here tonight." She whispered to herself, getting out of her bed and poking her head out of the doorway. She saw the Barbie-like girl stumble up the stairs, too fixated on her father to notice the 13-year-old head sticking out of the doorway. Her father didn't seem to notice her either, which was normal. He was fumbling with the doorknob of the master bedroom door. They slippd inside, and the door was shut haphazardly. She closed her own door quietly and crawled back into her bed, unfazed by what she saw.

"The cheater and his slut, how stupid does he think I am?" Crybaby heard grumbling, and loud plodding.

She poked her head out of the door again, and saw her mother, pacing around in the kitchen. She had a pink sippy cup with a heart on it in one hand, and was rifling through a drawer with the other.

"He thinks he can bring his bag of meat with a vagina into my house without me noticing?" She pulled a knife out of the drawer, ad set it on the table. Her mother took a swig out of the sippy cup, and thumped down on a chair at the table.

"I hope he dies. I hope all of them just die."

She slammed her fist to the table and stood up, and promptly collapsed to the ground. This wasn't an unusual sight. She closed her door again, now too intrigued to go back to sleep. Instead, she lay in her bed, looking at the light patterns on the wall. She did this for a while, and sure as sugar, she heard a clicking sound, like heels on hardwood. She poked her head out of the doorway, and she saw her father and his girlfriend stumbling down the hallway, leaning on each other. They resembled a pair of baby deer taking their first steps. They tottered down the stairs, and into the kitchen, where her mother was on the floor. Her mother seemed half-concious, her eyes open, but not moving. She retreated to her room, and continued observing lights on the wall. There were a few odd thumps and groans, but she thought nothing of it.

"Hey, Hey! Relax!" She heard her fathers voice, desperately yelling. She poked her head out of the door, but saw nothing.

The sounds of stuggling, screaming and fear were getting louder, intriguing Crybaby. She crept out of her room, careful not to make any noise. The wails were getting louder still, to the point of them being feral. Her mother was likely in a volatile mood, and if she saw this, it would put her in a hitting mood. She shuffled down the stairs slowly, and slipped around the corner.

"Sweet lord, save us." Crybaby whispered to herself, staring at the horrifying scene before her.

Blood was everywhere, especially on two of the dining chairs with some rope on the seats. Behind the chairs, was a white bedsheet, drenched in blood. There were two humanoid shapes underneath, and two pairs of feet, a woman and a man, poking out of the bottom. She creeped over, making and effort not to stain her stockings with blood. Her mind raced with possibilities. Did Father's girlfriend beat them up and hide them? Did Father beat both of them up, and put his shoes on one? She knelt down, and lifted up the corner of the sheet. She gasped, her mind screeching to a halt. Father and his girlfriend lay under the sheet, with multiple stab wounds on both of them. The knife, the threats, the chairs. It was all coming together!

"Shhhh, darling..." An odd-smelling cloth was held to her nose, and she inhaled, everything slowing down. Slower, slower, slower, black.

Cry baby awoke, her vision fuzzy and nauseous. She could see the faint outline of her mother, kneeling over her, holding the pink sippy cup. She held it to Crybaby's lips, Crybaby too weak to push it away.

"Drink, darling, drink the syrup..." Her mother's word were like golden honey, smooth and sweet. She tried not to, but soon, the sweet taste of strawberry syrup with a bitter twinge invaded her mouth.

"Drink it all darling, drink it all...yes, go on...good job, Baby girl." Crybaby's eyes fluttered shut, and she dreamed of a singing angel.

Chapter Text

Crybaby stared blanky at the front of the class, waiting for the teacher to arrive so she could start the immensly boring lesson, and Crybaby could fantasize about moving away to go live somewhere in Holland, owning a pink windmill, and wrting stories for living. Crybaby groaned silently as the teacher half-skipped into the room, and clapped her hands, signifying an announcement.

"We have a new student coming in, class!" Crybaby perked up, hoping they were someone decent with low standards when it came to personal life.

A boy walked in, with blonde hair and blue eyes. He looked like a younger Ken doll, and he immediatly clicked with Crybaby. He told the class that his name was Wendall, and sat down near the front of the room.

The day sort off passed in fast forward, Crybaby spending most of it looking at the back of Wendall's head. She couldn't get Wendall off her mind. He had become her everything, like every new boy did. That was the thing with Crybaby. She always let people take over her, whether they knew they had control or not.

A few weeks later, Crybaby found herself sitting with Wendall on the bench, with no one there but him. They sat there for a while, not speaking, but Crybaby could feel the connection.

"Hi, Wen." She said quietly, after a while, staring at her feet. She swung her legs a bit, kicked the pebbles on the ground. She assumed he wouldn't respond, so she stood up, and started to walk away.

"Stay a little longer, Crybaby. You seem good at listening." She could hear Wen call her back, and she sat down.

They talked, and weirdly enough, he said nothing degrading about her. As they days went on, they became better and better friends. Not good enought though, because he was completely unaware of Crybaby's feelings for him. It was like she was trapped on a carousel. He was holding his heart on a platter, bust she just couldn't reach it. Around and around they went, Crybaby trying to catch up to him and him not realising he was being chased.

"I'm stuck in a hellish roundabout with my own feelings and a boy, How pathetic am I." Crybaby whispered to herself at night.

At school, everyday, she watched him, looking for and oppertunity. There never was one, though. The carousel just spun around and around, Crybaby strapped on tight, and Wen holding his heart in his hand.

"I want off this horse..." Crybaby whispered before she went to sleep, and tossed and turned all night.