The people of Beacon Hills are a secretive bunch you’ll discover. They keep their blind shut and doors are decorated in bolt locks. They’ll stick close to one another, telling alibi’s wrapped in sweet soft lies.
“Wolves,” They’ll say in a dismissive tone, “Left Beacon Hills long ago.”
They turn blind eyes to silver tongued families that swop in town. Their silently flashing eyes- it’s a trick of the light. They might buy herbs for medication and meditation, but it’s for the latest fad they’ll insist.
The town stays small because it’s too far from the big city. Not because the children that make it leave as soon as they can. They don’t come back home, never call, and don’t write. And it certainly isn’t because people die too much. Physically or spiritually.
So it’s no surprise when the city watches the forest burn, they don’t make a move of panic. That they brush it off as an accident. The town doesn’t know any better. Or...well the town knows too much, fears too much, stays silent for too much. And when the silver tongued family leaves ashes in it’s fading shadow, the town breathes.
They breathe, then they forget.
------------------------------------------------------------
Stiles couldn’t forget. It’s his curse. His price for dealing in blood magic to help alter death. He can’t forget the feeling of his mother’s lips pressed against his cheek and he can’t forget the feeling of her placing the blade of a knife against his neck. He’ll always remember the one thousand and counting times his father promised not to drink again. And he’ll remember how Melissa flinches in fear everytime she hears the front door to her house open.
But when he looks at the burned man in front of him he knows he’s forgetting something. It’s a strange feeling he finds; not remembering. And although he feels as if he should be happy that the curse seems to be breaking, that he should drop everything and research how this is happening, he for some reason doesn’t want to leave the burned man’s side. So he closes his eyes and leans back against the wall and just breaths.
------------------------------------------------------------
Peter’s learned what it means to be forgotten. Left behind with barley a chance of survival. He’s felt the bond of family snap, shatter, and burn to ash. But he also knows that being forgotten works in his favor- even if it leaves a bitter taste of betrayal in his mouth. Leaves his wolf broken. Off.
However...when he listens to the boy- no man now- sit in his room for hours. When he struggles to refrain from opening his eyes and breathing in the smell of home again. And for a moment, when his skin stops burning and he can finally breathe, he wishes.
That maybe, he wasn’t so easy to be forgotten.
------------------------------------------------------------
There’s a patch of empty land outside of Los Angeles. Big enough to consist of a small town if the Governor of California wanted to authorize the building of one. But to him the space seems too still, the woods too dark, and the ground is littered with hove prints. Probably overrun with animals.
So he turns away, gets back in his car and drives off back towards the big city. He finds that the space would be best left alone.
Forgotten.
YOU ARE READING
Simply Steter
FanfictionA collection of Steter short stories. Some are happy, some are sad, but all of them are about love.
