Let Candra know what you think of her story at the bottom of the page...

Monster
by
Candra Hope

So, you want to know about me? You want to hear my story? Some terrible thing that makes me the monster you think I am? Fine. I’ll tell you a story. No frills, straight down the line. Just as it happened. Then, you can decide for yourself.
    When I was young I was scared of everything and everyone. The home I lived in, an orphanage that pretended to care, was a three storey brick building sandwiched between a barber shop on one side and a pizzeria on the other. It had bars on the windows and pull down fire escapes on the outside and it looked right onto the street.
    I hated that building. I spent most of my time hiding out in the old rail yard at the end of the street. Listening to freight trains screeching over the points outside. The noise soothed me, I suppose. Better than the noises people made. Screaming insults. Always shouting. I hate shouting. It sets my teeth on edge. And it was the only place I could get away from the other kids and the adults who were supposed to look after us but didn’t. They didn’t care about a bunch of useless orphans like us. They beat us every chance they got. And since I was small and couldn’t fight back, the other kids used to take their pain out on me.
    Even though I hated the home, I was terrified of the world outside it. I knew that one day I’d have to go out into the noise and the madness. Into a world where people hated themselves and everyone around them. A world that made the Children’s Home I lived in look like a paradise.
    I suppose I was so scared because I knew, deep down in the bottom of me that I was different. As different from the people around me as cats are from dogs, or rocks from trees. I was going to grow up into something those people would hate and fear and that terrified me. And made me hate them in turn. But at the same time, more than anything in the world, I wanted to fit in. I wanted to be normal. I wanted to be just like everyone else. I wanted to wear pretty dresses like the girls who sometimes walked past on their lunch breaks. I wanted to have nice jobs like they did and meet for lunch with friends like they did. I wanted to have friends.
    I only started realising how different I was when I turned thirteen. Things started changing quite a bit after that. Funnily enough, I stopped being scared then. I left the home the first chance I got and just kind of drifted around, looking for something or someone who didn’t mind. Looking for someone like me. But the minute they saw the real me they would run a mile. I couldn’t handle that so I just wandered about. I never spent long in any one place, never stopped to make friends with the people I met. As I got older I started getting lonely, so lonely that I used to cry myself to sleep at night because there was no-one I could talk to, no-one in the world I could tell my story to. The second I let them get close enough, they would freak out. Some of them tried to hurt me. Some of them I hurt, but only by accident and never bad enough to get in trouble. But mostly, they just ran away and left me alone again.
    It was when I was like this, more sad and lonely and pathetic than I’d ever been, that I met him. I’d been hiding out in a bar out in the Badlands. A run down affair that kind of hunched next to the highway like it couldn’t decide if it wanted people to come inside or if it just wanted to fall down and be done with it. It was one of those days when it was so cold, the ground was harder than concrete and it hurt to walk on it. Peoples’ breath froze before it even got out their mouths, the air was so cold. It looked like everyone had suddenly started smoking.
    Anyway, I’d been sitting in the corner of this scruffy old roadside bar all morning trying to get warm. I wasn’t thinking about much of anything, just watching smoke swirl in the dirty shafts of light filtering through two tiny windows. And in he walked. The most beautiful man I’d ever seen. He had black hair, shiny like a crow’s wing and the darkest blue eyes. They reminded me of the colour of the sky on midsummer night. And it seemed like he noticed me as soon as I noticed him so I encouraged him with a smile and he came over with his drink. We spent the rest of the afternoon talking, finding out about each other, laughing.
    He said he didn’t do things like this very often. Things like picking up strange girls in roadhouses. He talked about how lonely he was. That he was an orphan too, had never been able to settle down or fit in so spent most of his life on the road. Just like me. He was friendly and sweet and it wasn’t long before we left the bar for the privacy of a motel room across the highway.
    Later that night I sat on the bed and watched him sleep. I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay in that grubby motel room with its orange carpet and mustard drapes forever. My world focussed into one moment in which I lived a whole lifetime. A life with him. A life where I could be myself and he loved me anyway. I rested my hand on his chest and felt his heart beating. A slow steady thump, thump. For a second I thought my own heart would burst from sheer happiness. Sounds stupid, I know, but back then I was lonely. And needy. Haven’t you ever wanted someone to love you? Tell you everything would be ok?
    Anyway, he opened his eyes and looked at me, his lips spreading in a gentle smile. I smiled back and leaned over to kiss him, but his expression made me stop. He looked surprised. He seemed to be trying to say something but couldn’t get enough air to speak. He coughed and I frowned and looked down and realised why. My hand where it lay on his chest, had changed and the nails had punched through flesh and bone and pierced his heart. I hadn’t even noticed. Hadn’t felt a thing. Nothing like this had happened before. I’d always known when it would happen. The change. Like a tight feeling in my stomach. How could I not have felt it?
    I snatched my hand away but it was too late. There was blood on my fingers, under my nails. It dripped onto the white sheet. I remember being fascinated by the contrast of red on white. It seemed so clean. Pretty. He grabbed my hand like he could bring himself back to life that way. But he couldn’t. I didn’t know what to do so I sat with him and he died in front of me, his dark blue eyes glazing over, the look of surprise still on his face.
    I left him there in that motel room and ran. Ran as fast and as far away as I could get. Away from what I had done. I kept away from people after that. I hated myself. I’d been so lonely. I thought I could find happiness. But I couldn’t even get that right. Once I even tried to kill myself. I didn’t deserve to live, I told myself. But I couldn’t do it. Funny thing, guilt. It sneaks up on you. Eats you away from the inside.
    So I’m out here in the middle of nowhere. As far north as I could get and it never gets dark in summer. It’s a beautiful thing, seeing the sun hanging on the horizon in a bath of gold. It hovers around there for a while then just heads right on back up into the sky again. No-one lives out here. I can be myself at last. I spend all my time in my own skin. Its so cold that if I didn’t, I’d freeze to death. Funny thing is though, the more time I spend this way the less I want to be human. I’m already starting to forget. Not him though. I don’t think I’ll ever forget him.
    This morning I went outside and stretched in the new sun. After the long dark winter it felt good on my skin. I flexed my shoulders, bunched my hindquarters and spread my wings out full. I swear I could hear the joints clicking and cracking. Like I was an old crone. Been inside too long. I needed to fly, so I jumped out from the cliff and let the updraft catch me. My wings boomed like drums and I caught the warmer air drifting up from below and glided in spirals.
    The ground always looks better from above. It was still covered in snow and ice and looked like someone had spread a crumpled white blanket over everything. It glinted and sparkled in the low yellow light and I chased my shadow over it. A long thin shadow with wings that spread forever. I think I got confused. I believed I could be like other people. But I’m not. To them, to you, I’m a monster. A freak from a fairy tale.
    I soared around like that for hours not thinking about anything. Inside, I’m quiet now. The wind and the silence took everything, my guilt, my loneliness, everything. Now? Well, I’m just me. And I saw you looking at me like you saw a ghost maybe. What? Did you think Dragons weren’t real? Bet you’re wondering why I look like you though. Well, if you find the answer to that one, come back and tell me.
    So I told you my story. Or one of many anyway. I been around for a while you know. Tell me something. After hearing my little tale, do you still think I’m a monster?

(c) Candra Hope 2008

Now tell Candra what you think of her story...

    
  




Here's some feedback for Candra's story:

"This story had you thinking right from the beginning, a love story gone wrong, but no, it had a dark, unexpected twist. Enjoyed it." - Linda Moyes

"I thought the standard of your writing was very good. As good as anything i've read in Dark Tales (which is very good). There were no onvious typos and the story seemed structured well. It flowed well, too. I didn't think it was the strongest storyline, however. But i wouldnt worry about that. Ideas come and go. You'll get some that are better than others. The quality of your writing is the main thing and i thought it was very good. This almost read like a condensed version of a much longer piece. Well done, though, i enjoyed reading this and will look out for your name in the future." - Paul Johnson

Go here to get your own story critiqued via post, or click the relevant button below if you would like to request a critique online. If you like, we can then post your piece online so that you can get some valuable feedback from visitors to this site.

If you have a story of 2000 words or less it's only £5 - once your payment has gone through you will be taken to a simple-to-use online form with which you can email your piece:

 

If your story is between 2001 and 3000 words it's £7.50 - click here:

If your story is between 3001 and 4000 words it's £10 - click here:

Your critique will be emailed to you as a PDF file, or a printed version can be posted to you.