𝘼𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙘𝙝𝙮 ᵈʳᵉᵃᵐˢᵐᵖ

ғᴀᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ sᴏɴ

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙛𝙞𝙛𝙩𝙮-𝙤𝙣𝙚

ᴡɪʟʙᴜʀ
ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴜᴛᴛᴏɴ ʀᴏᴏᴍ

Playing with a lighter I found, watching the flame flicker to life just to blow out within seconds, I stare into the dark room. The sun was out, but the light wasn't able to shift through the hard stone around me.

I felt cold.

Without the sun, the fire in my hands glowed brightly, catching onto the darkness around me with ease. It lit up the room without much of an effort, creating a small circle of light around my fingers. I cant take my eyes off of the small square bolted to the wall, to the signs bolted on the walls. I can't stop from reading the words that were scratched on the walls, on the signs, on the damn floor.

'I heard there was a special place, where men could go and emancipate.'

the signs were covered in marks from my sword, in the dark slashes and spots where I burned the wood out of fascination, out of desperation to smell the smoke.

'the brutality and the tyranny of their rulers.'

I can hear Tommy speaking on the other side of the stone wall, seeing as the button was right behind the podium where he stood. I could hear his voice rambling on about how he couldn't do this without his discs, and I could hear faint footsteps. I could hear a crow cawing, and the flapping of wings. The soft movement of the river outside the room I currently occupied.

'well this place is real, you needn't fret,'

The room felt larger then it was, but cramped at the same time. As I read over the signs in my head, the memories of a younger me entered my mind, a younger Tommy, Tubbo, Fundy. I can't recall why, or when, but I remember sitting around a fire, each of us holding some sort of drink. I can't see their faces, they just seem like dark scribbles, but I know who each person is.

I held a guitar in my lap, strumming the chords as if it was second nature. I could feel the hard strings dig into callouses that had built up over the years of playing the same damn songs over and over again. Could feel the hollow wood sit at an angle as I heard the words fall to silent ears, to loud mouths.

'With Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, fuck Eret'

Though there was no more Tommy, and no Tubbo, and no Eret. It was only Wilbur, only ever had been. I stared at the sign that held those words on it, could see the lines through everyone's name besides my own, could see the vigor behind every single slash in this room. The lighter in my hand was dying quick.

I said I wouldn't hesitate, but I find myself doing just that. I find myself standing in front of the button as I hear cheers, and I hear confused shouts, then I hear nothing at all. I hear more footsteps, and then I hear the damn crows getting louder and louder, closer and closer. I try to strum my guitar louder, harder as I sit in the dark chair, lighter in one hand, guitar strings in the other. I can't seem to drown out the noise as I stare at the damn button.