A Note from the Author:
Admittedly, I thought about this chapter or atleast, this single page piece of writing long and hard if I'm going to post this at all and I wonder if I'm going to toss it aside like all two other, plentiful-of-words, chapters that I had found to be too... Unfitting. Or maybe it's my own hope for the story to go well in a way that I consider perfect.
Maybe I'll toss this aside too like the other pages but I'll try to keep this little simple idea going and hopefully it won't die soon. Yet. I just don't like to have good stories with great ideas and storyline being dead in about forever without an actual ending and I would hate to see people giving this piece of fiction a chance see it discarded by a future self.
I'll try. And that's all the reassurance I'll give to any of you reading this and read whatever sort of description I gave to this thing and hopefully it won't be that corny or just hurts to read.
I like an idea. I let it flourish. I let it take over my mind a bit as I stared into to windows imagining what reaction I would give to this character and this and that.
What characteristics I would give to them and how could they grow into something better (in a good way or bad way I can't tell with such honesty really). Something that would build more and more until I topple it down with the final showdown of it all. Because I like those types of things. Types of things that are subtle but eventually it would play a huge role of it all.
I never finished a book before but hopefully this would be one of the very first. It sounds like a nice thing to have accomplished. A finished book. Very nice thing to have.
I don't know how to write that nicely. English isn't my first language but I used it often enough to know some things. Really, I think I'm overthinking this a bit too much but I can't help it. This idea has been in my head for months and I'm finally able to post it.
Fair warning, the chances of me putting trigger warnings on the notes is zero to none since, I never do that. Feel free to read the tags completely and tell me in the comments to add tags that I forgot to miss.
And maybe another thing I forgot to mention, these would, might be slightly out of character and, well, I think a lot ton of books would have the characters from DSMP changed just a bit in character.
Well, this is a looking a lot like an essay already and this is the author's note. Have fun reading this. Hopefully. I can't say with full confidence that you would enjoy it.
Previk- Just another writer.
Listening to Quarterback-Wallows
P.S. I've been thinking about this idea for well over a year now. And if I do decide to discontinue it, then I'm sorry. Because I myself don't like fictions to be left with a cliffhanger.
________________________________________________
24 hours or 24 days. There was the sounds of harsh winds that had reminded me briefly of the weather in Techno's place, so loud to my ears but here, it was faint. So faint that I had myself run in any general direction to atleast try to get close to it so I could hear it closely. Maybe then I could just hold it to my ears and let myself scream and perhaps just find myself awakening to the black dark cell I become accustomed to for the past few days.
I had blinked and realised mirthlessly that this place was the exact colour of the darkness I would get when I closed my eyes. The only indication that I'm not having my eyes shut was the hands in front of me, my hands to be exact. It was healthy, I was healthy. And I, was dead.
One of the worst punishments I could have imagined myself gettting and experience to such a full extent that I would eventually come to give it a more personal name, perhaps something similar to the word Hell, would be exile. Since that place, that seemingly perfect and pleasant environment, was just that. Before Dream came in, he came and I too since I was following the orders from L'manburg- or atleast, someone that held the title best friend so tightly with every thought centered around him squeezed my heart in nostalgia and a hint of something that hurts- and I wouldn't want my own country to get hurt by my own mistakes now do I? Especially if the people who lived there love it as I do.
He turned a place that was filled with lively things, where plants and grass were more brighter than anything than I could have ever seen, wildlife lively with their ignorance of hunters or simply people in search for resources and food, it was more beautiful, it seemed to an outsider and newcomer like me that it layed untouched by the hand of corruption and disease of all kinds. It was beautiful and it was grand that only mother nature herself can achieve.
And he turned it into something else. Something that still held the unwavering beauty if you just ignored the burnt up stumps of tress and grass and the eerily silent sound of the only reminder of the animals that mysteriously gone missing by just a day of being there.
Now I would have said, after some time when my own wits and fire had worn off and gone dim, for a slight second I would let all those bad thoughts, all those clumped up pieces of thinking I never let myself finish since the last words would hit me hard right into my soul the most, all the little things some slightly mad, insane, sick people had said to me over the past few years, would start to pour into my usual optimistic mind, I could have called exile a place where it is and always will be hell.
And I did. There was some times, more darker and grim times where I would sit down, quietly, without anyone, even Dream or just someone, just a person or a living thing, to shake me out of my own mind that seemed to turn on me during exile, I would have given- I would have let myself think. To have myself indulge in thoughts that I wouldn't dare say to anyone else, friend or some rare few that I hated with every bit of my soul.
A past self, an exiled nearly shattered self, would have insisted that that place, that certain portion of my life that I had the unlucky chance to suffer whatever mental torture that had in store in inside the mind of an insane man, so mirthlessly named Dream that's it's almost funny, would have called that place hell but as I felt myself dying, which is a claim that I would always like to deny (so common in fact that there were times where I was, close to death just barely hanging on with an ally beside me to get us both to safety. My own words of reassurance that come from my mouth was enough to convince whoever that cared enough to risk their own life by carrying my own lagging injured with them that I wasn't dying. But just in danger.) I found myself in a worser hell than anything I could have even tried to imagine.
Now, as a young kid, maybe when I was 4 or 5, or younger since I could never remember those past memories so clearly in that certain time frame, I was told by my parents, biological ones that meant the entire world to me, that after the life here we would all eventually die and go to two places. Heaven or Hell. Such two words meant nothing to a child that had nothing to weigh down the two words and they had given me such a visible image they had crafted by their own words.
Dad had crafted it so well with every single word adding a brushstroke to the imaginary photo I would come to get, occasionally blabbing about something else as he tends to do that often enough to be noticable, but, I loved those times. Especially the ones where I could blurrily remember the warm and welcoming atmosphere that we all unconsciously held together without even trying.
Heaven was a beautiful place where it was nothing like the life we had here now, dad had said. Even better, it is gifted to only the good people. Good people that had done so much good in the world, even the most simple ones like saving an animal from near starvation or just helping another from suffering a serious debt.
Where clouds and clouds would surround the place and with every good deed I did, would have added another something in my own personal house. Maybe making it bigger or something else, dad didn't really focus on talking about that place that much but had said so confidently and as a child, again, I will always believe him.
And then there's Hell. There's a reason that it's made as a curse word. The four letter word that some more, younger adolescents would have said when they were shocked by something they had seen. A word that I might have used one too many times in my lifetime.
Burning horrible hell where the fires were never ending. Where it would burn your spirit as the flames would consume you with every moment of being there. Where you could see nothing but the fires and feeling as if your own skin was peeling off with the amount of heat you are going through. The maggots would eat your skin up, thoroughly unaffected with the ember while you would scream and cry and feel your throat go soar but the pain will not cease, not dissapear and wither away, but you will. You will suffer as you've had done to others all too much in your days of living. Never dying, never ending. You can't kill the already dead after all.
So, as any child that believed in their parents so completely and I could say that was reasonable in a children's perspective of things. They weren't at all smart or think things with the same intensity as an adult would and I could never look one straight in the eyes saying that you did a very bad thing for ripping a coupon in two making it worthless as dirt.
I did believe in my parents. Because how could I not? In my eyes, they were the world to me since they had given me everything I could ever need and at some days, things I wanted. Which I, as a near adult would have aknowledge it more and seeing as we lacked money that certain time, buying that cow plushy I had come to love in the long run wasn't really a smart decision but, I couldn't help but feel my heart warm up at the thought of them risking a meal for my own enjoyment. Even if it was something simple.
"My parents are smart." I would have answered almost automatically if someone would have asked me who can help them on their way to somewhere. I remembered that I would have believed it too.
They answered questions I gave them and smoothening out everything in front of me to understand. When they used words I had never heard before, they would explain them one by one. I would have to give the both of them credit for having enough patience to keep up with my ever widening curiosity of things. Children are always like that I suppose. They want to understand the joke their fathers had laughed when mom would say something about their neighbors. When the latter would scold the head of the family for accidentally saying a bad word in front of the children.
Gone was my own speculation on what the afterlife would look like as I would actually see itself fully with my own eyes. As I opened them wide and naked to whatever hell I had in store for myself granted by a higher being beyond my own realm of thinking. As I tried to understand the entirely of the place and I would have put my hands out in the poor darkness and tried my damned hardest to find something, or atleast, a pleasant little hint or maybe just something that what I had experienced, what I had seen and what I had gone through was just something my mind had come up with to smite myself.
I don't know, this was otherworldly. So new and I suppose that, the time before going there, before actually and thoroughly dying, had affected my mental state for a while that I couldn't think reasonably. I couldn't have my mind look straight at the darkness ahead of me, surrounding me and just a very unpleasant situation that just about any person would avoid it really.
Being there, in person myself was absolute hell for me though. Really, I was just so confused that time as any other person should be in my own state of mind and just the entirety of my emotional scale, that was tremendously unstable and I couldn't have chosen whether or not to break down crying all together.
The very first thing I saw, the very first thing I had opened my eyes to as my own body stopped responding with my own screams, my throat that was just so soar had lost the burning sensation, when the feeling of my own skin grating on the obsidian floor disappeared without any meaning to, I had found myself in darkness where I was sure I didn't belong in.
Just the idea of simply getting one area to another that was entirely impossible to even exist and even then, fully incapable to be made with simple materials and blocks of sorts, had made myself to believe that I am in fact, deader than the earth itself.
I had always asked myself what would a blind man see in his first moments of unseeingness. As a young boy, this thought surfaced seemingly randomly or when I awake in the morning sitting comfortably in the shower letting the warm water rain on me. (Though that certain wonderful special privilege was limited after everything that had happened over the past few months.) Always wondering what he would do if the sun was blocked and vision smudged into the the colour children would fear most when tasked by their fathers to get something in a darkened room.
But really, I find that comparison offending even since at that time, I wasn't blind. I wasn't going through anything like the normal diseases that would be commonly found in the medical history books. I wasn't ever going to be disabled or maybe something of sorts. I didn't cut my hand off or lost and eye. And I really didn't lose anything else, even the most important things that meant the world to me were still on this world, walking and living their daily lives on loop.
But the fact is, I was dead. And I didn't even notice this yet as I would try to find some sort of reasoning to being here.
Just moments ago I had seen, felt, practically lived the experience of getting cornered into a tight space, a place where I had no power, no invisible cards I could play that lay so perfectly in my hands, no single speck of fight in me left to openly try to deny that I could potentially lose because, in truth, I didn't expect any other. The person in front of me was Dream after all and well, I couldn't, never fight him. No matter the circumstances I couldn't and never would fight him alone. Even if I had the weight of a netherite sword at the grip of my hands, I would have lost.
He had forced me into such a vulnerable position that led to no escape unless he gave me that mercy. The mercy that only he could access since he was the merciless. A bad man I would have called him and without a doubt, the name was earned, a name that I wouldn't lightly give to anyone else. Heartless, and lacking of a proper soul and even if there was something, any sort of light behind the bland scribbled smile on his mask of his, it would have been turned inside out into something more darker. More worse than the innocence of newborns, and maybe then, I could say he's worse than Phil and Technoblade combined.
Forced in such a vulnerable position that led to no escape unless the other gave me such mercy. I remembered my throat squeezed and throbbed with how hard I was screaming, begging even with the words that spew out from my mouth. It was a last ditch effort to living since I couldn't have afford to die now.
How my vision was clouded by the overwhelming pain, and the water works beginning to turn on quite suddenly just like his swift unyielding rage. I couldn't stop the tears spilling out because, I was scared. So very very scared and how he was quick at his painful jabs in attempt to push me against the wall, was working. Because by instinct I would move, since he was so sudden, and I, inexperienced with his cutting edge of unpredictability for it's been sometime since I had seen him at it's entirety.
I could taste the blood beginning to fill my mouth and quickly tried to struggle out of this situation. His moves were designed to hurt. Designed to break anything in the body in hard calculated movements.
In my last, fleeting moments I could recall, a bit muddy from the thoughts that flooded my head, lying on the floor, too weak to get up and frankly, too scared to face the truth of this being my final resting place. Where I will die with no one watching but only his eyes. His watching, all knowing gaze that sat just a couple feet from my dying body. Even then I was stubborn, maybe I should have closed my eyes so that an unpleasant image wouldn't have burned itself in my mind but I was shocked. I didn't felt pain and I suppose it was the adrenaline but the ground was wet, a strong scent of iron was in the air and I didn't want to look at blood that trickled down my T.
So I looked down, since I couldn't close my eyes. Out of shock or something else entirely, I don't know. I watched the reflectant red liquid and saw all my mistakes, my could be's and my possible future slowly leaked out away from reach. I lived as I layed there unresponsive and slowly succumb to the cold chambers of the obsidian box sleeping forever.
And then.... and then, I found myself here. Into something of pure nothing. Of something that was torture. Of something that I had to spend an eternity of.
So I walked. After some time of denial and the seeming impossibility of it all, I tried to find something in this desolate lifeless place. Maybe I'll come across Wilbur or my pet cow Henry. Maybe as spirits we could talk and be together and maybe his madness and overall insanity would have lessened. Maybe just maybe I could finally get something for once that hadn't hurt, that wouldn't be ripped from my hands and left a dirty reminder of what was there. Death was permanent after all.
So I watched the inky black nothingness as I tried to walk, as I tried to run, as I sprinted, as I looked everywhere for a single soul that I could find. That I could talk to.
So I ran, so pathetically too because I was trying to find nothing. Because there's no one here. My voice doesn't produce echoes, because there was no walls, no object to bounce the sounds, nobody. Nothing. Only hopeful thinking fueling the fire that is my will.
So I found nothing. For whatever reason. I stopped as I realised that I am going nowhere with this. That there really was nothing in this place. In this empty, stupid, lifeless, black thing.
So, I screamed. Because I hadn't had the time to. Hadn't had the ability to cry fully and spill out the anger, the sadness, the words of emotional agony, the unfairness, the sheer disbelief of this being my final ending piece of my life. I closed my ears to prevent any possible echoing to trickle in and even if that thinking is childish, I reasoned that I was dead. And that nobody, nobody would stop me from having this. Just a moment of letting the thoughts and emotions coming in fully and letting myself relieve from them.
I let the tears spill out unblinking eyes. I looked to the ground as I have nothing left to see. I cried at my own pain, at my own unluckiness or just the path that I took. At my stupidity and childishness. I cried for a future that I couldn't have. I cried for the family I couldn't live. I cried for something just out of reach. And I cried because I could.
Little did I know that pairs upon pairs of hands that were red as blood would have gripped me from behind, appeared just by the mutterings of a masked man that I had hated with every inch of my soul.
Little did I know, he would grin and laugh and, even in prison, he would be worse than anyone can ever dream to be.
(I would have the chance to live again.)
________________________________________________
I have no beta. And this has been sitting here for a long while