Untapped Potential: his greatest disappointment.

What's wrong, Ben?

  The trotting fulfilled the eery silence as Klaus gave himself a moment to compose what scarce dignity he had left. He didn't want to look up, but he knew, he acknowledged that Ben was nowhere close to him. Wherever Klaus was currently, Ben wasn't. Klaus had lost the energy that frequently radiates from Ben at a constant. That energy no longer filled the silence, no longer gave off that comforting feeling Ben did. Whether he was a little shithead or not. 

"Where- Where am I?" Klaus muttered. A small girl, around the age of a preteen -Klaus thinks at least. Her features indicated of Indian descent, and her face was morphed into annoyance. 

If he was dead, was this god? God seemed a little bitchy if so. 

"You can't be here. It's not time yet,"  the girl responded. She was undisturbed by his presence, seemingly annoyed, but not surprised. 

"That," Klaus huffs and rises to his feet, feeling the pain swell through his head, "doesn't answer my question, Kleine Dame." (little lady)

"You were shot," she said nonchalantly. Klaus furrowed his eyebrows and felt a frown tug at his features. 

He felt his forehead, where the pain had been rushing to, was continuously rushing to. Nothing was there. His forehead was flawlessly smooth; as usual.

"Am I dead?" inquired Klaus. 

The girl bit her lip and seemed to think it over, her eyes radiating an annoyance Klaus couldn't explain, "Something like that, yes." 

"Woah," Klaus uttered. Even though he shouldn't, he felt a sense of giddiness envelop him. It was kind of cool, talking to a preteen who may be God. 

"I have to send you back," she continued. She wasn't completely vague, it had been semi-explained earlier, but Klaus still felt the confusion wear on him. 

"Back where?" Klaus continued asking. The girl's exterior began to retort to antsiness. 

"Back down there," she said as if it was obvious. It seemingly was. Klaus didn't know if he was just dense or if the girl was just irredeemably vague with the complete encounter. 

"Down there? So I'm surely dead, are you god?" Klaus blurted. He was worried it was offensive, maybe she was some other religion's lord, but Klaus didn't know any others: so he went with what he knew. 

"He's waiting for you," she declared vaguely again. She pointed to a large, tall treehouse shaped building. Klaus didn't know who 'he' was, but he aspired to. 

So he wandered to the 'treehouse.'

Strolling into the room, it was renovated like a vintage barbershop. It was similar to one of those eery historical pictures that made your gut plunge and your head feel woozy. They never felt right. 

Portraits of his siblings' appearances bordered the wall next to Klaus unnervingly. They were arranged in numerical order, and as the photographs went higher up the number line, the figures became more blurry and obtained more shadows. His picture wasn't present.

Something felt even more off, like Klaus remembered who was here. Certainly, they knew him, although this week showed Klaus that not everyone that knew him-he knew. He ventured further into the shop, trusting not to see anything with his face crossed out or anything disturbing like that. 

"Ahh, number four," the taunting voice Klaus knew far too well, well, taunted him. 

"I trusted that my son who could summon the dead would have brought me forth ages ago," his father complained. Klaus held a sense of dread in his head and gut as the voice swelled in his ears.