A/N: This is based on a set of pictures I found that tell a sad story on their own. They inspired me, so I wrote this. If you want to check out the pictures, visit wordgotaround on Tumblr!
Failure
He was lonely.
He missed his best friend. He missed his red hair and blue eyes. He missed their talks. He missed being able to call him at any time during the day and leaving random messages, half jokes and research notes. He missed getting called back and told that he was using his friend as a notepad.
Really, Augustine, this is not what the Holocaster was invented for.
No, he sighed as he replayed the message; the Holocaster was invented for something else entirely. It was invented to record the end of the world, starting with a single message. A message that was no longer than a few lines, declaring everything that he should have foreseen. There were signs, he knew them, but he never could figure out what they meant.
For all of his genius, he was a fool.
He let his dearest friend down.
He reached out a hand to touch the man's recording in the machine. If only he could bring him back. If only he called him out on some of the things he said, instead of letting it all slide off like water off of a ducklett's back. Instead of just attributing it to his friend's passion.
Instead of just diving nose first into his mega evolution research and forgetting to make time for his friend, excusing himself with the intention of making up for it later.
Except there would never be a later.
He replayed the message again and apologized silently to the figure in front of him, wishing that he was real. Wishing that he was still around. Wishing—praying—that this was all just a bad dream.
He knew the truth, however, was that this was reality, and he had failed one of the few people that mattered to him. One of the few people who treated him as an equal. His closest, dearest friend.
He had failed.
