CONTENT WARNING: Contains suicidal thoughts
Sans
Time is a funny concept. You kind of lose track of it when you live underground with no sunlight streaming in. Ever. Locked in a constant night where the cold light piles snow on top of your even colder body can mess one up pretty bad if they're not used to it.
I should know. I'm used to it and I'm still messed up.
It's one of those motionless days again. You know, the kind of day when you can feel the gravity chain you up to your bed. Your back presses heavily against the mattress and you can't bring yourself to fight against the restraints of the blanket that apparently turned to stone while you slept. At best you can give the world a quick frown before drowning yourself in your bed sheets and resuming your dreamless sleep. The pattern repeats a few more tries until I hear the distant noise of Papyrus lecturing me about my laziness. I can't make out the words but I know what it's about. As I open my eyes and stare at the dust particles dancing near the roof, above my head, the voice slowly drifts off as he stomps away in frustration.
I contemplate joining that dance. Not for any particular reason other than out of laziness and incompetence to do anything of value. There's at least a dozen tasks I should be attending to yet instead I'm reminiscing on what it felt like to turn to dust.
It's no longer really a painful memory, nor a scary one. After countless resets I've come to find solace in it. The peace after was... sweet. Nothing to worry over. No reason to force yourself out of bed. Just the endless rest that I so intensely crave. It's coming either way, despite everything. The end is most likely wandering through the ruins by now, slowly approaching me with a knife sharpened and ready.
Hunger makes my nonexistent stomach growl with need. A wave of nausea rushes over me at the sheer thought of eating, however. The smell of Pap's spaghetti, that he kindly made me for breakfast and laid on my nightstand, does little to help. I already feel the bile gathering in my throat but I manage to force it back down with some effort. Not throwing up might be a task, but cleaning away the vomit before Papyrus would notice and worry is even more so. So it's better to just swallow it down.
The first few tears trickle down my face and I'm useless to stop them. Again, there's no real reason to cry. I won't help anything and will only drain my energy further. Soon I won't be able to drag my bones out of bed at all. It's not like it would be anything new tho. I'm such a lazybones after all. The rest of the tears come pouring out in a cascade and I take a deep breath, shaking. As I'm still unable to move, they stain my pillow and I feel myself choking due to the strong, shuddering sobs.
The silence in my room intensifies around me. It wraps its hands around my body and squeezes tightly. My lungs ache. Breathing is difficult. I can hear a static ringing noise echoing within my skull. The same, calm noise I recall from the hallway right before everything went black. I cling to it. I don't want it to leave. The noise is peaceful and comforts me. The sound of upcoming rest.
What does it matter if Pap sees me like this and worries.
What does it matter if I can't bring myself to eat.
What does it matter if I can't get up anymore.
What does it matter to a skeleton with no future in a world with no future.
I guess the best epitaph of my incompetence and laziness is my very own existence.