Gumball's P.O.V
"The Talent Contest Auditions are tonight, Fionna," I said into the holo-phone, watching her. "Are you planning on entering?"
"Sure, Gumball," she said tiredly. "I'm working on something."
"What are you working on?" I asked curiously.
"Oh... um, it's a surprise." She forced a smile.
I smiled back. "Okay. Can you give me a hint?"
"Uh... do you know any music from before the Mushroom Wars?"
"No, I don't recall any... why? Are you singing one?"
"Yeah."
"Okay." There was a heavy, awkward silence. "So, I'll see you there?"
"Yeah. Bye."
She hung up abruptly, her holo-image fading as she did. I looked up from the phone to Licorice, who smiled at me. "How is she?"
I walked over to the marshmallow lounge where Licorice was situated and sat next to her. "She's good, I guess. I mean, she's not cutting anymore."
Licorice leaned her head on my shoulder. Considering our arranged marriage, this was the most sexual thing we ever did. "Good. I hate to see the poor thing upset. Poor Cake. She was too young. And Fionna was too young for the trauma. She couldn't handle it very well, so she came down with depression."
I looked down at my wife. She was pretty, sure, but I still had my standards, which she did not meet. "You are so smart, Licky."
"You too, Gummy."
Fionna's POV
"We hold in our hearts the sword and the faith
Swelled up from the rain, clouds move like a wraith
Well after all, we'll lie another day
And through it all, we'll find some other way
To carry on through cartilage and fluid
And did you come to stare or wash away the blood?
Well tonight, well tonight
Will it ever come?
Spend the rest of your days rocking out
Just for the dead
Well tonight
Will it ever come?
I can see you awake anytime, in my head
Did we all... fall... down?
Did we all... fall... down?
Did we all... fall... down?
Did we all... fall... down?
From the lights to the pavement
From the van to the floor
From backstage to the doctor
From the Earth to the morgue, morgue, morgue, mo-o-o-o-orgue!
Well tonight
Will it ever come?
Spend the rest of your days rocking out
Just for the dead
Well tonight
Will it ever come?
I can see you awake anytime in my head
All fall down
Well after all..."
I opened my eyes slowly, the tears on my face fresh and warm. Singing My Chemical Romance always makes me cry, not because of my depression, but because whoever Gerard Way, the lead singer of the band, was singing to must have meant a hell of a lot to him.
I looked down at the ground far below me.
Wait, what?
The floor of the treehouse was far from me, my head touching the roof. I screamed in terror, but realised I was slowly sinking back to the ground.
The bass in my hands was glowing.
I smiled and started to play another song.
"Long ago
Just like the hearse, you die to get in again
We are so far from you
Burning on just like a match you slide to incinerate
The lives of everyone you know
And what's the worst to take (worst to take)
From every heart you break (heart you break)
And like the blade you stain (blade you stain)
Well, I've been holding on tonight
What's the worst thing I can say?
Things are better if I stay
So long and goodnight
So long not goodnight
There came a time
When every star fall brought you to tears again
We are the very hurt you sold
And what's the worst to take
From every heart you break
And like the blade you stain
Well, I've been holding on tonight
What's the worst thing I can say?
Things are better if I stay
So long and goodnight
So long not goodnight
And if you carry on this way
Things are better if I stay
So long and goodnight
So long and goodnight
Can you hear me?
Are you near me?
Can we pretend
To leave? And then
We'll meet again
When both our cars collide.
What's the worst thing I can say?
Things are better if I stay
So long and goodnight
So long not goodnight
And if you carry on this way
Things are better if I stay
So long and goodnight
So long not goodnight."
Sure enough, during the song I had been lifted up by the enchanted bass.
I grinned, before laughing harder and harder, until I was curled up on the ground, laughing my head off.
Thank you, Marshall. Thank you.
I picked myself up off the floor and opened a drawer. Tears pricked my eyes as I saw what was in there - my old clothing, my green backpack and sky blue top and blue miniskirt. All folded neatly.
I pulled them out and changed into them, determined to move on from Cake's death. Maybe Marshall would come back; maybe Lord would visit me; maybe I'd even find a guy for me.
And as I slipped my old bunny hat over my head, a final, resigned thought of the emo me registered.
This is for you, Cake. I'm moving on. I promise. No more cutting, no more jokes. I'm only dark in song. But now, I am the old me. Once I visit Gumball I'll dye my hair blonde again. But this is it. After two years, I am finally moving on.