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[A loud thunk outside @i-hate-tennis-ball ‘s house. Sybil falls to the ground on their false form’s back, eyes bloodshot as though truly sobbing from the very soul. ]
Timothy… TIMOTHY…
[They roll over on their side and clutch at the grass]
…why…
[They slowly look up to see the house in front of them]
…Cleo?
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He chose to die. - 🩶
Wait, what?
You mean Timothy?? Shit, maybe he did say something like that. Still, it hurts to think he made that choice for me. It’s still, clearly instated, all my fault.
Thank you for what I think was an attempt at consolation? If it wasn’t, fuck yourself. Or something. I don’t know. There’s a fuzzy green fetus growing in the center of my House and I can’t even bear to leave my room after a whole year.
A formal rest in peace to @timothytinklebottom (perhaps too late)
I haven’t heard much, which annoys me. Even @i-want-tennis-ball doesn’t seem to wanna talk about it without exploding into self-pity. It’s not that I fully blame them, when I look at everything they’re dealing with, but it’s irritating that they get to know, having p much just met him, and then withhold that information from me while they grieve.
I wish you had dropped by the village again, Timothy. I wish you had come back home even for a moment so I could have said goodbye. But, you didn’t, and I can’t blame you either. I don’t know much about what happened with your life (I can’t know, they won’t tell me!), but I can at least hope you spent it better than I currently am spending mine.
Here is to the life of my dear friend, whose loss I didn’t hear about until months after the fact, and whose life I’ve been too hurt to comment on until now, over a year later. I’m sorry that it took me so long, but I swear I still remember and value you. If you’re reading this from whatever shitstorm afterlife they’ve crafted us, let me know by slapping me as hard as you can when I get there.
Timothy Tinklebottom
