#falseprayers

        ‘   just passing through   ’           revolver strapped around his waist clatters against the back of the stool as plissken took a seat at the counter . better than fast food , he thought to himself as he pushed up his leather sleeve to check the time .          ‘   cute little town you got here   ’

just this once, you don’t die alone.

     stagger  into  the  darkness  .     what  awaits  is  broken  pillars  ,   rubbled  in his  justice  (  retribution  )   ,   silent  markers  to  a  tomb  in  stained  sunlight  .     skeleton  knows  tombs  better  than  most  ,   for  all  the  way  star  reaches  down  into  the  earth  ,   and  cradles  him  :   fake  .     it’s  fake  ,   the  warmth  of  it  ,   the  color  it  gives  this  ruined  hall  .

     he  knows  this  ending  .     he  knows  the  death  that  slowly  takes  him  is  a  painful  one  ,   but  doesn’t  have  the  heart  to  feel  it  ,   let  it  root  in  him  like  a  bed  of  soil  ,   toiling  him  apart  to  dust  ,   piece  by  piece  .     already  ,   shuffling  feet  of  a  bloodstained  kid  clicks  across  the  hall  ,   and  he  counts  the  steps  like  a  timer  ,   feeling  himself  falling  apart  .

     sans  dies  alone  .     he’d  always  known  it  ,   and  how  close  is  he  from  acrylic  windows          touching  distance  ,   false  freedom  ,   like  he  can  taste  the  warmth  on  his  blooming  ,   dusting  bones  .     jester  can  not  say  he  is  mad  ,   either  ,   for  all  his  bitter  smile  twisted  with  red  .

          (  determination  .     it  clings  to  him  as  much  as  death  now  ,   seeped  through  his  fingers  like  a  crimson  flag  dragged  across  his  chest  .  )

        “  *  papyrus  .  ”

     it  comes  out  a  bit  ragged  ,   through  a  hollow  throat  and  empty  gullet  .     as  if  by  name  alone  ,   judge  could  breathe  life  back  into  a  pile  of  dust  ,   a  scarf  around  his  neck  .     as  if  ,   by  the  blood  that  bathes  him  ,   he  might  give  birth  to  brother  once  more  ,   standing  tall  and  shaded  in  glass windows  .

     no  one  wants  to  die  alone  .

     the  skeleton  smiles  .

     he  remembers  what  he  said  ,   as  eyes  peered  up  at  him  ,   true  blade  clutched  in  a  twisted  hand  .     i’m  going  to  grillbys  .he  had  only  hoped  .

     a  last  jab  in  a  pointless  battle  .

     but  papyrus  ,   humor  chokes  him  .     it  is  a  dying  breath  ,   a  death  rattle  that  sculpts  him  now  .     papyrus  always  hated  grillbys  .     too  greasy  ,   too  seedy  ,   too  many  days  finding  his  brother  stumbling  in  the  dark  ,   looking  for  anything  to  keep  him  from  dying  alone  .

     he  always  found  it  .

        “  *  you  …  want  anything  ?  ”

     he  expects  a  scowl  .   hands  on  the  hips  of  that  imposing  ,   sun - draped  form  .   brother  looks  like  a  hero  in  the  light  ,   a  defender        a  believer  ,   but  there  are  no  expressions  .   NO  STARS  IN  THAT  SKULL  ,   nothing  with  such  care  plucked  into  him  ,   no  reaching  hands  ,   no  love  .

     there  is  no  more  papyrus  .

     and  ,   there  is  no  more  sans  .

  Fear was familiar to him. In fact, it was his only lifelong friend. No matter how far he tried to move from it, it always tracked him down and smothered him. The pills helped. The always had. But like most medications, they stop working. The body builds up resistance. Or maybe it was that thing that built resistance. It sure as hell wasn’t him. He shouldn’t let her near. It was contagious. But childish fear had gripped him. It started with the coughing. The chills... Then he started seeing things, hearing things. Paranoia. And of course, the seizures and crippling headaches. He was in the throws of it now. 

  It wasn’t the thunder he was scared of... His heart was racing. He felt like the world around him wasn’t real. Like he was disconnected. It was a familiar, indescribable sensation. Relapse. Another fucking relapse. He felt like a kid, trapped in that little room. Nobody listening to him screaming. 

  But there she was... Close. He hated much he relied on others. He was dangerous. Maybe Alex was right. Maybe he should have ended it. 

  “Oh...” Sleep was almost never pleasant for him. He didn’t like the fact that he was loud. He might have caused her problems. In fact, he probably should spend more time isolated from people. It was always possible that he was the thing that spread that  s i c k n e s s. ᵂʰʸ ᵃʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵗᶤˡˡ ᵃˡᶤᵛᵉ˒ ᶜᵒʷᵃʳᵈˀ

❛    I REMEMBER WHEN ALL THE GAMES BEGAN .  ❜     

@falseprayers ||[ comfort ]  your muse pulling mine into a reassuring hug .