Shattered Glass|| a phanfic

Chapter One- Dan

:) hope you enjoy - Vincent

Dan's Point of View

I trudged up the cold grey cobblestones to the office of the post. The light powder sugar dusting of snow on the steps entranced me. Wintertime was beautiful, everything seemed like it was taken out of the elegant display cases from the central shopping centre. The snow grazed my bony shoulders and wrapped me and my too small soft grey jumper in a protective sheen of white. Nonetheless, I was freezing and in realization that I had probably looked odd wherever I had stumbled off to, I snapped myself out of my midwinters dream and took in my surroundings. The dark alleyways consumed me. I swiveled around in fear and had realized I was entranced by a different dream, one much more horrifying. I was lost and afraid and I couldn't do anything except for gaze at the cold ashen faces of the strangers nearby.I shivered in fear and looked down at my calloused and bruised hands. My hands slowly trailed up my bare wrists and I shook my head. I didn't want to think about that now, I had work to do. My brain went back to my distressing location. None of the crowd looked very kind or accepting, especially not for a thin 17 year old dropout who looks like he can barely afford his own lunch. I sighed exasperatedly and continued to go up the stairs to retrieve my fathers mail.

My father never was one to do things on his own. The old man, with wispy brown and grey hair, always was quick to catch on to things that were untidy and out of place. I guess that was a fancy way of saying he liked to pick on me. He disrespected my mom to the point where she moved out, too poor to properly divorce him. He was a smoker and the smell always reminded me of old memories that were way too close, like an open wound. Everyone tells you when you're young that "hate" is such a strong word, but I can't think of anything else that could properly describe him. I had too many memories I'd like to forget with him being the main character in the awful nightmare.

One of them was just last month, when I came out to him as bisexual. I had imagined it being a good idea. He was drunk and driving, the alcohol smelling of molten plastic and it dripped down his chin like a slobbering dog with some sort of horrendous disease. I had assumed that his pea sized brain wouldn't take it in. He jerked the car over and stared at me, his pupils dilating and his mouth forming words I couldn't even imagining the scariest creatures saying. I had been taught to like women, and only women. My father was strictly catholic and needed to live as what "God had said."

I have been forced to read the Bible nearly four times, and even though that's not what I believe, I was sure that I knew one thing about God. He had loved everyone and wouldn't care who you are, just what you've done to other people because I'm sure that's what he would think makes you a good person.

He had lashed out on me and made me walk all 30 kilometers back home, throwing me out onto the street like a lone sweet wrapper. Of course I was scraped up and bruised, but I don't think it hurt me that much emotionally. He's done so much worse since then.

I had just assumed it was okay, after all he still fed me and provided me with a home.

A plum colored awning embraced me from the writhing cold. A gust of warm air flew into my face as I opened the door to the post. A plump woman with unkempt golden hair greeted me, I waved softly and murmured my address to her. My breath hitched, which caused a heated fog to glaze over the window separating our two distinct lives. She passed me the mail and smiled kindly at me. I waved back and continued on my way home slightly happier than I was before.