Sans' room loomed in the back of his head, memories flashing periodically whenever he tried to shake them off. His room went dark, the light filtering through the white see-through curtains opposing the mood. But to him, dark did not represent negative, the dark that was supposed to represent the unwanted or despised. The disrespectful and blearing, searing happiness flooding the earth, and blanketing it in soft, warm light...That represented and marked another one of Papyrus's deaths. No, it was the sickening, and ever-present light. Truthfully, the sick soft light that managed to worm its way into another one, was just plain disheartening. But hopefully, within the disbelief of betrayal, and pain of slowly dusting into another mess to be cleaned up, Papyrus had felt some semblance of comfort, before he joined the many ghosts following Sans around, and haunting him in his dreams. Whenever Papyrus yelled up at him, he could hear, and feel the pain, and betrayal, of more Papyrus'. Ones that had experienced all hell itself, that were still screaming in the back of his mind. "That was unexpected."
"YOU CAN BE BETTER"
If he threw up one more time, he'd have to get a flow chart. But who was he kidding, any more of that, and this story would be ridiculous.
Without much debate with the personas in his head, or much thought at all on his part, he tried his luck on the couch that night. Well, it's not fair to say he did, because obviously, that wouldn't work due to the town night owl. Papyrus, unlike Sans, did not spend all his spare time locked up in his room. Instead, he clacked around in the kitchen and watched old recorded Mettaton showings. And when he saw Sans lingering on the couch after-hours, he came to offer him a cup of hot cocoa. Sans had to try his damnedest not to let his guilt control his features. He winced at Papyrus' giddy, happy-go-lucky oblivious demeanor.
But the T.V was certainly not helping the migraine assaulting his senses. The speakers were turned to maximum volume, in order to allow Papyrus to hear it from the open-ended kitchen. And coupled with the flashing lights and strange choices of sound effects, Sans was feeling quite miserable. He could not shake his bad mood for the life of him, obviously that is a pretty trivial issue here, but he was starting to feel the whole situation was pointless in trying to truck along, if he was going to be dragged through deep shit, he might as well act like he was being dragged through deep shit.
Sans set the coffee mug down, massaging his temples as he started to feel the hyperactive thoughts and influences begin to kick in again. He buried himself in the blanket, letting the noise wash over him, the speakers crackling in an unhealthy sounding way, and tried to rock himself into slumber. After a few hours, the sounds in the kitchen stopped entirely. He could hear Papyrus climbing the stairs up to his own bedroom.
It was probably more than a few hours.
Sans cocooned himself in the blanket and wobbled off the couch in a sluggish stumble. His bare feet scraped against the hardwood floor as he fished the coffee mug, half full of cold cocoa off the floor, looking at it dubiously; before forcing it down his throat in one gulp. He coughed involuntarily, before depositing the cup on the remaining counter space beside the two-story sink. Sans shuffled up the stairs to the right of the house and laid a hand on the doorknob to his room. A breath caught in his throat.
He withdrew the hand with a sigh. sliding down the expanse of the door, resulting in a lax crouched position. He was still in his clothes for the day, which was battered from the forest adventures of the previous. But the apprehension overwhelming him was irrational, and despite knowing that fact, here he was. A fucking pansy, true to the name. He rubbed his eyes unhappily, wondering what time it was currently.
God, he needed to take his meds…
But that would require a backbone, which currently Sans was lacking. It doesn't take very long for the average being to get used to their situation. You could move cross-country and before you know it, you've never known anything different. Although the exact circumstances don't match, he should be used to this sort of problem. Six months is a long time, about half a year they'd been up here. In all that time, he'd been relatively undisturbed by the likes of Frisk and the family.
Sans had been thrown back to the beginning of the adaption cycle, and the severity and forced emotional responses were sharply contrasting the milder months. As he found himself back at step one; affected and paranoid, one's own body too slow to keep pace with present events. Or, idea two; there was no step two. There was no adaptation, just constant motion, and unpredictability. They were both formidable proposals, but there was no real way of knowing, it only kept his mind preoccupied. More preoccupied, than it needed to be right now.
It made him think if he ever felt like the situation was normal, if he'd even adapted, to begin with. : His internal, and external physique suffered greatly, and he began to see the world in a different light, like an outsider, an onlooker. Only because nothing changed in other monster's actions or words, he began to feel separated, like he wasn't a part of the underground. Like it was some sort of movie he could watch over and over again, it was never the same as the first time you'd seen it. But, as far as he was aware he hadn't adapted, only drove himself crazy with loneliness, and pleading for it to stop being so.
Yet, it wasn't so bad now, sure it wouldn't always be this good for him, but it wouldn't due to waste it. Soon enough, nothing would be new anymore, and the awful, all-consuming loneliness would return to keep him company. How did Frisk handle it, welcome it? Perpetrate it even? Wouldn't she also, realize the repetition wasn't any more fulfilling, and the surface presented infinite possibilities in and of itself? Possibilities of a new life, a full, and rewarding peaceful life. Couldn't they just stop? The familiar questions had already crossed his mind. They floated there among the rest, always present, if only in the back of his subconscious. They were in everything he did, consuming his aching heart. But no matter how many times he had tried to bring them up, plead, and reason, they were ignored, tossed to the side. Passed along without a second thought. Frisk would not see the reason embedded into the roots of the pleas. He had taken the time, every time, to get her to listen. Every attack was half-hearted, the other half too preoccupied with some sort of sick sympathy directed towards his opponent. Sympathy was the best he could muster, for he could not understand her motives, no matter how much he wanted to be empathetic. He gave her what she wanted, only in small doses, between the endless conversations he had initiated, and had been negated from. Bones were thrown haphazardly, words were tossed with the sole intent of hitting hard. There was absolutely no point in being invested in some sort of vengeance, or ferocity. It would get him nowhere.
And hell, maybe somewhere along the way...he had given up. He had forgotten.
Couldn't someone be a good person? If only they try?
Sans gazed down the hall, from his lower position on the floor. His eyes lingered on the window at the end of it. The sun was beginning to peek up from the mountains, and the darkness faded into a pretty blue color, the beginnings of pink whispered at the far ends of the sunrise. The house slowly faded into a dimly-lit wash of watered down colors, still touched by what remained of the night. Sans would describe it as "serene", as he let the calm, and cool light sink into his heavy up, he padded lightly over to the said window, opening it a crack, and letting the cool breeze blow past him. Before he let out a prolonged sigh. His head felt very heavy like it housed a lake inside of it, and it settled over him like a helmet.
Swallowing his qualms, he allowed himself to enter his room once more. He stood in the doorway for only a second, staring at the scene, nothing remained, no dust, no axes, or whimpers… Just his normal carpet. Clean, and unburdened by a certain somebody's armor. His sheets were unwrinkled, and there was no longer an indent on his wooden bed frame. Of course not. Why would there be?
He refrained from taking a sleeping pill. And instead of dressing into his night clothes, he pulled on a sports jersey he barely knew the team of, before collapsing onto his mattress, no intention of sleeping.
…..
Toriel yawned, her furry snout parting widely, as she stretched her weary muscles. She blinked absentmindedly, glancing at her unfinished work. An article she was submitting to the humans, detailing in depth, the complexities of monster culture, laws, societal norms placed by the king and his guard. Asgore had requested she write it up for him, bashfully commenting on how she would be more qualified, than any other to write on his behalf. The humans had responded quite nicely to their arrival, very strange, the humans. They all claimed, that Monsterkind were not being accepted among them, and proceeded to insist we were victims of discrimination, Toriel could acknowledge that, and she felt Monsterkind weren't quite integrating as well as she had hoped. The human population was divided. Small semi-aggressive religious groups had formed. But to counter widespread acceptance, and fascination too. There were professors and -ologists all over the earth that would kill to see one in person, due to their limited numbers. Toriel was to detail the ornate traditions that monsters had picked up whilst they were trapped in the Underground, and expand human knowledge on the subject. She had already met with many curious politicians and government workers. And she had high hopes for the future.
The Paper had no real due date, but Toriel had felt vaguely inspired by the idea, to truly become part of human society, and not be known as some poor minority that needed extra rights and privileges. But it had become rather late by her standards, and Asgore was becoming more and more apprehensive of the lamp-light Toriel was using to illuminate her workspace.
Toriel abandoned her desk, satisfied with the work she had gotten done today, she tucked loose papers away, and shut the lamp off, prompting an exasperated breath of relief from the lump known as Asgore curled up on their bed. She giggled, as she groped her way through the darkness, hoping to find the door.
Frisk's room was located at the end of the second-floor hallway, she should be sleeping right now, but the chances were slim, as Toriel had not yet come to remind her to go to sleep. Toriel squinted at the wall clock adorned at the end of the bare hall's wall. The time was around eleven P.M, And Toriel mentally scolded herself for staying up past such hours. She padded down the well-lit hallway and quietly opened Frisk's bedroom door.
Frisk was sitting at her little desk in the corner, hunched over on her swivel-chair. She was sitting unnaturally still and didn't seem to notice Toriel as she came in. Toriel placed a heavy paw on Frisk's shoulder,.. straining to see what she was doing. Spread out in front of her, was a small book, looked like some sort of diary, or notepad. But before Toriel could see what was written on the pages...Frisk shut it harshly, her hand lingering over it stubbornly.
"Mom,"
"I'm sorry dear, I didn't mean to upset you…" Toriel responded, disoriented.
Frisk remained unnaturally silent, as she slipped the book into a drawer like it never existed.
"I'm sorry, I'll go to bed," Frisk stated apathetically, making no move to get up.
"Thank you, honey, good night," Toriel said endearingly, rubbing the child's head once, before leaving to go to bed herself, clicking the light off on her way.
Frisk remained where she was, a deep scowl etched on her face, like clay. "What do you know." She muttered darkly, loathing escaping from a deep-seated annoyance ground into her gradually through the past six months. She remained in the dark for a moment longer, before she pulled open the drawer again, producing the notebook, and opening it back up to the page it was on before. She began to carve thick, black letters onto the surface of the paper with her pen, her scowl deepening as she began to bite her lips and grind her teeth, fed up with her inaction.
"What do you know..."
The next morning Frisk was shaken gently awake an hour later than usual. Probably because Toriel had felt bad, and hadn't wanted to wake her up after she had been up later the night before. Her furry paws tugged her sheets gently, the very motion making Frisk want to groan in anger, and…. Do something bad to her. But she swallowed it, and sat begrudgingly up, sheets bunching around her form.
"good morning Frisk!" Toriel greeted warmly, like always.
"good morning mom," frisk returned, stretching her achy limbs. She was guided out of her bed like a limp doll, as she struggled to wake up all the way. Toriel held her up a moment longer until she could follow by her side without falling asleep. They skirted the hallway and descended the stairs, Frisk yawning by Toriel's side. The fresh scent of bread wafted over them as they entered the bottom floor, and the soft sound of acoustic music turned down low to blend in with the pleasant aura of the house. Asgore was humming, as Frisk plopped onto one of their barstools. Toriel brushed the hair out of her face in good humor and procured a plate of breakfast for her. They were perfectly fluffy pastries, strawberry paste seeping out, sprinkled with a light drizzle of powdered sugar. Frisk took it greedily, it was better than the usually prepared breakfast. Probably because Asgore was in an even happier mood than usual.
"Mom, do you think I could go to Uncle Papyrus's house today?" Frisk asked between a mouthful of breakfast.
"Don't talk with your mouth full sweetie" Toriel hummed.
"ok, but can I?" Frisk pressed.
"I don't see why not," Asgore replied leaning against the counter.
"Just try not to cause any trouble." He said with a smile.
"I won't." Frisk lied.
Asgore drove her over after breakfast. Instead of just dropping her off, he walked her to the doorstep, ruffling her hair, and reminding her to try not to wander off again. She mumbled her agreement, and waved him off, before ringing the bell, anticipation pumping through her veins. But her spirits dropped when Papyrus, was the one to open the door.
"WELL HELLO, TINY HUMAN!" papyrus boomed in an enthusiastic voice. "HAVE YOU COME TO SEE ME AGAIN?" He beamed, collapsing the door for her to enter.
Frisk snorted inadvertently at that. She covered her mouth instantly,
"Yes, sorry," Frisk replied to redeem herself. She had not come to see him again. She was getting pretty fed up with this anyways. Her fists balled at her sides, to hold her anger there, so it did not seep into her voice.
Papyrus shut the door, closing off the sunlight from view, Asgore was still standing in the driveway, she smiled as the door shut on his pathetic face.
"Do you want something to drink?" Papyrus asked. He had obviously been reading up on how to treat guests, the poor mutt wasn't this brushed up before.
"Not really, unless you have something special in. I was just wondering if maybe Sans could join us this time." Frisk stated a little too bluntly. It was getting harder to stand this lot, she just wanted to get to the point, and skip the pleasantries that she couldn't keep up anymore.
"I'm not sure if he's awake yet, maybe later, if he comes down," Papyrus said, a little out of character.
"WE CAN HAVE PLENTY OF FUN WITHOUT HIM ANYWAYS," Papyrus said scratching the back of his skull and striking a pose.
Frisk scrunched her eyebrows, not sure if she could stand another day with this joker.
"Alright Uncle Papyrus, why don't you go make me some tea?" She proposed, nudging the gullible skeleton towards the kitchen.
"GREAT IDEA! I AM GOOD AT MAKING TEA I THINK!" Papyrus said as he disappeared into the kitchen. Frisk smiled for a second, before turning to ascend the stairs up to the second story. She padded softly up the carpeted steps, socks noiselessly tapping against the floor. The scowl returned, engulfing her face as she looked at the familiar hall. There was a chilly breeze flowing through the open window at the end of it. It blew against her shirt and made her feel more agitated than she already was. Frisk shut it with a thump before she tried the knob on Sans' room.
It was locked and jiggled uselessly. She thumped a knuckle on the wooden surface, jangling the knob once again impatiently.
Sans sat on the edge of his bed, dread thumping in his chest at the noise. He didn't want to get off the bed despite his inability to sleep. His head had only gotten heavier, the lake shaping up to an ocean. Sweeping through his mind like a torrent, dulling his senses and hindering his cognitive performance. He swallowed his grievances, as another harsh knock was delivered to his poor door. It's a wonder it could've held out for so long, he'd figure it would have collapsed on him by now.
Sans wobbled to his feet, his legs weak and sore underneath him, his arm throbbing. He managed to make it to the doorway, arms skirting the wall to help balance. He leaned on the door, grappling on the knob with all his weight, before creaking it open ever so slightly.
Frisk stood outside, face twisted up all unnatural like. A spike of fear lit in his ribcage, as she pushed forward against the door, making her way inside, despite the alarm registering on his face. He fell against the door as it shut.
"What do you want." He asked warily, eyes following her as she paced around the room. Checking to see if she was armed.
"It's a lot nicer in here without the dust." She commented offhandedly. Sans stood straighter, breath evening out, as she sat on his bed with a spring of the mattress, kicking her legs out experimentally. The sounds in the kitchen receded, and he could hear Papyrus climbing the stairs after her.
"Frisk?" he called, before swinging the door open, giving a sweep of the area.
Seeing Sans up against the far wall, eyes cast downwards as he entered.
"Hey Paps" He mumbled, not raising his head, as Frisk sprang up from the bed.
"What are you doing up here Frisk?" Papyrus asked some sort of strange undertone in his voice. He lowered the spoon he was holding in one mitted-hand, pacing forward to stand next to Sans in a silly sort of way. Frisk giggled. Sans tensed moving to stand in front of Papyrus, raising his head just a little to meet Frisks. His face pasty white, eyes both dazed and piercing, tired, bags deep and purple. Papyrus looked confused at the gesture.
Sans was panicked at the thought of his brother alone with Frisk, why couldn't she have brought some of her friends with her? Now it was a free for all, and he could barely stand up straight. Frisk seemed somewhat hostile, he would've thought she was done from earlier, but maybe she was just getting started, and he could not take much more. She needed to go back as soon as possible, and he would personally bring her if he had to. An old spark flared up in his chest, and he straightened his posture to seem at least a little formidable. Gritting his teeth, anxiety flickering through his unsteady eyes.
Frisk neared, curious. But when she got too close, she could see his eyes start to wander back to her hands, he had cucked out on her, she could see it in his eyes, he was shaking like a leaf the closer she got. She snorted, it figured, he was acting just like he had all those other times, the only reason he was giving us a reaction was because he had it in his head that Papyrus was real. Didn't he know he would just forget it later? There was no use treating him good if he would just forget it later and leave him back to before. Unlike her, she wouldn't forget it. Didn't he know that? He didn't need to be afraid because she wouldn't forget it.
She wouldn't forget like he would,
She snarled, a strange feeling festering in her, like bile, it rose and bubbled in her chest, making her sneer. She wasn't, jealous?
She grits her teeth, before letting up her slightly aggressive stance, casting a quiet glance at the two of them there. She scoffed before resuming her usual performance, that feeling still in her, making her slightly skittish and quiet, as she backed out of the room, throwing a hand up to signify her exit.
"I'll go check on the tea, make sure it didn't boil over," She relinquished.
….
Frisk was seated on the couch, a mug in hand, sipping at it thoughtfully. Her eyebrows were scrunched up in one position, focusing on the static of the T.V in front of her. She didn't seem to be processing anything outside of her own mind. Papyrus sat beside her unsure of what he should do. He waved a hand in front of her face. No result.
"Hey, Frisk," Papyrus prompted.
She stopped slurping on her mug, trying to hide the look she had on her face, as she tried to cope with Papyrus' annoying presence.
"Hey, do you want me to put something on for you?" He persisted.
Frisk squeezed the mug a little too hard, and it shattered under the force. Hot tea spilling all down her shirt. She clenched her teeth, standing up abruptly, dropping the remnants of the mug on the carpet with the rest of the swill.
Papyrus sprung to his feet in alarm, letting out a little squeak as it dripped down his couch, and onto the clean carpet.
"I-IT'S OKAY, I DIDN'T LIKE THAT MUG MUCH ANYWAY…" Papyrus stumbled, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.
A knock sounded at the front door, it sounded urgent as it was delivered hastily. Papyrus moved to open it, Frisk staying where she was, her fist clenched around the cracked handle of the cup.
He opened the door to find two distressed looking goat people. Toriel had her eyebrows all furrowed and Asgore was looking at the floor as they were greeted.
"hey, Papyrus.." Asgore said artificially.
"May we have Frisk? There is something she has to do back home." He clarified his voice grave for unknown reasons.
Frisk dropped the remains of the handle to the floor, relief washing over her. Yes, she didn't need to be here anymore, what a relief! She wanted to scream so much, the world was not going the way it was supposed to be to her. It was supposed to be interesting, it was supposed to be bending over backward just so she could get her way. But here she was, seething, and brimming with distaste. These months are long, and these days keep stretching ahead, laying out all sorts of complications, and complexities to her 2D world. All the supporting characters were providing her with a stack of complaints, and things she had to take care of before she could proceed. This was not how the world worked. It was broken.
And it was all Papyrus's fault.
Papyrus was silent as she struts past him, thankful for a golden opportunity to leave this wretched place. What a world! What a boring, stupid, fucked up, know it all of a place to live! There are only some ways to gain favors. Cause an interruption, cause a disruption to its perfect little function. Show the people what living was. They didn't know, they were all fake. FAKE. FAKE, they were all fake people. Nobody and nothing was real. All of it a distraction to the real players. Thanks a lot, for the weed, the spirit, and SANS. Who chose them anyway? What would a world be without her? Would it even exist without her? Course not. The world needed a player to beta it. There wouldn't be anything without her. They should be thankful. They should leave her alone. They should praise her, for not leaving them here to suffer without her. They should acknowledge how privileged they were to have such a caring keeper. She hopped past Papyrus, following Asgore and Toriel to the car. Grinning widely, unable to stop the smile devouring her features, it stretched her face until it looked unnatural, and she laughed. She laughed as Toriel opened the back door for her, her hand shaking as she slid it open.
For some reason, she didn't look at her. For some reason, he didn't pat her head.
For some reason, they looked scared.
….
The car pulled out of the driveway, making his stomach churn. What a sense of normalcy he had developed. Or hadn't developed. It was atrocious, how this was a normal occurrence. What had happened in life before this? What had happened to good, nostalgic times. The times he could barely remember now, despite his age. All a blur of time. It gutted him whenever Papyrus would sing songs of their childhood. He couldn't add to it. He'd just nod. "Aw, sorry I can't remember that." He'd say, watching his brother as he wilted. How could he not remember? It was such an amazing time in their lives, and it was gone now, he couldn't remember how'd they got here. He couldn't recall all the times they'd enjoyed together, and just together. Precious memories, shared between two lonely souls. Two lost souls.
Special allowances, warm and fuzzy memories, childhood trauma, childhood loss, childhood friendships. Childhood. Life. Time. Haze. Death. Death. deATH. DEATH. DEATH. DEATH,DEATH,DEATH,DEATH. Empty. Lonely, lost, sullen, forgetful, dour, depressing, anxious, coward, bastard. The bastard couldn't even remember his brother. The little bitch couldn't even remember his own life. The pansy couldn't even remember a time where time worked. One with consequences and reality. It was fractured, broken, split, over. There was no end to it. There could never be an end to it. He'd just come back. Again, and again, and again, and again, AGAIN. He was dead walking. All because of one, simple, whim. Which starved for more, which then changed into something evil, ravenous, all-consuming. Something that could turn the most innocent little sweetheart, into an insane lunatic killer. Something everyone would think of, how their life could be different if only… But no, they only had one chance, best not dodge it up. Yet when given the power, there is no longer anything to stop you. No consequences. Slowly driving you into madness, into ultimate insanity.
All, because, you were, curious.
If insanity were tangible, it'd be a parasite. Slowly sucking the color out of you, controlling your life, actions, thoughts. Until you were used up. Then it would discard you. And there you are, screaming, screaming, hands shaking as you wash the blood off them in the asylum sink, a guard at either side.
But the parasite isn't done yet, it laid its wretched eggs in the victims of your endeavors. Now watch as they turn on you, as they can't stop laughing. Watch your own soul crinkle up and fade. Dull red, dull red. Dead red, dead red. You're dead. l
He let out a low moan, whimpers erupting from him sporadically, rolling onto the floor, the door is open. But the real door is closed. As his light laughter raises in volume, hysterical, and hopeless. Hopeless is a word you throw around. Think about it though. There is NOTHING left. Life was a meaningless spiral. His chest was throbbing, his throat was burning, his eyes were stinging. His mind was floundering, there was no sleep to work with. There never would be, he was too scarred. Too scarred, to keep up desperately needed functions. If only he wasn't so frail, then he could be like Papyrus. Up bright and early, at work two hours early. His poor sweet brother, one distant and broken connection. His friends, one old stale distant connection. He didn't know anyone, not even himself. Not even his own goddamn self!
The sunset through his window, beautiful, magnificent color projecting into his room. The house was filled with vibrant orange, and violet, laying itself on top of the grim, and violently quiet household. Not even the old T.V downstairs was on. It remained, deathly quiet. Time seemed, to slip away, sometimes. Wonder why it did that. Sans felt a tugging in the back of his mind. Jumping from the floor hastily, he skimmed his way outside quietly. Feet tapping noiselessly, as he slowly padded through the hall. He laid his arms out on the balcony, there was nobody down there. It was empty. And he couldn't hear Papyrus in the kitchen, either in his room. He placed a hand on the wall, closing his eyes. Nothing. Absolute silence.
A dark worry sprung up in his chest. Frowning deeply, he checked his room anyway. Nothing. Nothing, NOTHING. He slammed the closet door, breathing becoming irregular. FUCK this goddamn house! He raced down the stairs, flinging the door open. The sun was a great deal farther set than it had been earlier. The street was dark, streetlamps dim and unhelpful in the dull half-light. Sans ran around the house twice, nothing. Papyrus didn't work today, and neither did he take a night shift. His job did not even call for the like. He flopped down onto the front steps. His head in his hands, he sighed. Something was wrong, it was so wrong.
Then there was a ring.
Sans perked up. There it was again. Muffled through the door. Sans was in the house in an instant, the door left as it flew open. The ringing stopped. He had missed it. Then it rang once more, having him fumbling around looking for it, finally locating it vibrating under the coffee table in the living room. Sans picked up warily. This was Papyrus' phone.
Ragged breathing, way too close to the speaker.
…
"Hello Sans," Frisk said, her voice off, strange, and strangled. She let out a low hysterical laugh, her breath primarily involved as she choked out the off-kilter thing. It sent shivers crawling up and down his spine as it landed.
"Wh-What have you done?" Sans asked, silencing the part of himself that wanted to scream it.
"What have I done?" Frisk asked incredulously. "It's what they did. It wasn't me, it was their DAMN fault! They read it!" Frisk yelled, her voice strained and breathy. "They asked for it. They did-HAHAHA- It was them!"
"Oh, god, the blood is everywhere!" She wheezed. "It's on my hands… It-It's on my shirt… Why is it so warm?"
"Oh, god Sans! Why isn't it dust! It-it was supposed to be dust!"
"B-but-Ha-It doesn't matter now, does it?"
"All that matters, I've got y-your brother here. That wretched bastard, he was SO annoying, such a pestering, pain in the ass!"
Sans eyes widened, his eyes going dead.
"You should have seen her face… The look of horror in her eyes. The way she screamed… Her eyes, they… and she prayed! She screamed! "OH GOD, Chara, Chara, Chara" You should have seen how it made her bawl!" She mocked. "And she made her cry too! Oh, how she was crying, as I hacked away, h-hacked...You should have seen it..."
"Oh god, Sans…"
"Sans, They're… They're all over.. They're all over the ground… I-I think I'm going to be sick…"
Sans' hand had fallen to the pavement, as he stared. There was an ugly feeling in him. He.. he was...
The constant ramblings had died down, now, only her uneven breath remained.
"Sans, why… Why don't you say anything?" She rasped deathly quiet, her voice was trembling.
"Sans, i-I can't look at them anymore… but they read my book… T-They were, scared of me…"
"But now they're dead."
….
A short note:
This shit is free, I'll accept no complaints. Also sorry if this chapter didn't live up to your standards, I got carried away and almost nothing happened. Hopefully, the next chapter will be more eventful hmm? ;) As I explore the depth that has apeared out of nowhere from our young Frisk.
