Monster << (H.S)

He's different, not like anyone I've met. He thinks different, he talks different, and frankly, he looks different. His eyes can change quicker than anything, and his attitude is demanding. His heart is black, his soul is missing. The young boy his mum knew is now gone, black sits on his body, and his mind is smarter than the best hacker out there. But don't mistake him for some badass, Mr.Styles has a soft spot, and I wouldn't dare to cross it. ⓒ 2014 GIBBS Copyright



I look out my bedroom window, the dark sky staring back at me. Rain is pouring down from the clouds, pounding onto the rooftops and pavement. The Lightning shining, and the thundering clapping. It has been raining for weeks now, not even stopping to take a break. I glide my fingertips against the hard glass, loving the freezing cold. I notice something strange; a bird. A bird in a rainstorm?

"Madison, what are you doing?" Mother asks, apparently annoyed.

I ignore her, looking down at my finger nails. She rolls her eyes, walking away. I smile not taking my eyes off of the Blue Mocking bird. It's wings flapping sensibly, he wouldn't give up, he shouldn't give up. I hop up from my comfortable seat making my way to the bathroom, getting ready for the day.

I toss on a pair of black shorts, and a long white t-shirt. Not bothering to throw on shoes, I walk downstairs dreading to talk to my family, "look who decided to join the party." Jerry; my step dad mimics.

I roll my hazel eyes and plop down on the couch, the very expensive couch. It's black leather, and seats made of pillow, it is probably the most comfortable thing ever. Minutes pass by, and something comes to my mind.

"I'm going out, I will be back later." I announce not caring what their answer is.


Plop. Plop. Plop.

I feel the raindrops coming down quick, and hard on my bare skin. Wishing I had a jacket I begin picking up my pace, moving over, then moving again making sure I wouldn't get my feet drenched in a pool of liquids. Cars pass by and eventually I feel the need to count them; 29.

But then, my moment comes to a hault when I reach my destination. A little café in the corner of the end of town, surprisingly no one ever comes to this amazing place.

Red walls, black tile, little table tops with black chairs, stools and a bartender. "What would you like young lady?" The man asks, as his thick Irish accent chirps.

"A sweet tea, please." I smile, sending a few dollars that where stuffed in my coats pocket his way.

"Why such a beautiful girl down here? I think you should know this isn't the best part of town.."

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