DreamSMP Works - Dream-centric

Tick, tock.

I think Karl and Dream talk special things with Sapnap and Quackity in the bg. Slightly inspired by: https://youtu.be/fLmEJ-1px5Q. Written: March 23, 2021. Word count: 1.6k.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Time was a fickle thing, was it not? Going forward at a constant pace, never turning back.

Humans have a set amount of time to live, limited by the constraints of their own body.

Unless you were special.

Clocks were made of gold. The top half semicircle had a glass covering, which laid over a cycling circular plate of gold. The circlet was painted, inked so that half of it was bright blue and had a shining yellow sun and the other half was dark black and had a glowing silver moon. It moved towards the right, going round and round as the day went by. The very center vertical line of the top semicircle had a thin unmoving hand to point out the time of day.

Tick, tock, tick, tock, went the clock sat on the wall.

Dream's mind went along with it, Tick, tock, tick, tock, his head replied.

He was waiting. Waiting for the next thought, the next thing that would come to trouble his mind, the next memory he could be envious of, the next person to come visit him in his small wooden cabin.

He had already solved many of the troubles that kept him awake for days on end.

He didn't regret his actions. He didn't regret his thoughts and plans. Evil was in the eye of the beholder. He was evil. He didn't care that he was evil. He was the villain. He cared about his SMP. His SMP did not care about him.

Tick, tock, tick, tock. It was just a waiting game.

Madness and insanity called to him in the shadowy and noiseless, wooden room of his.

So he did things. He wrote books, like Tommy had suggested. He acted good, like Bad had told him. He practiced talking, like Sapnap had wanted. Tried to regret and feel guilt, as Quackity had commanded.

But now there was nothing to do. The books were all filled, Quackity just gone, the voicebox kept in shape (or so he thought. He hadn't practiced in a day), the stomach filled.

Sharp tallies scratched the days he had been Outside on the walls. Even his signature smile was carved roughly into the oak out of boredom, using the broken shards of old clocks and chipped stone. He carved them when he was bored.

Tick, tock, tick, tock. The little sounds the clock on his wall was constant. Like the chirping of the birds and the whistling of winds. His loneliness was also a constant.

He longed for the connections, the ties, the bonds that he had and shared with his SMP that he had cut for the sake of unity.

Unity.

It was all he wanted, wasn't it?

For everyone to be together and happy, for there to be no chaos or murder or arson.

For peace.

And then they made L'manburg and ruined it.

Tick, tock, tick, tock. He heard voices.

A non-constant.

There were too many voices for it to be just a single person. He'd have to wait to see.

He both hated and welcomed waiting. There was always waiting, to some degree, in his life. In everyone's lives, actually.

The door squeaked open, announcing the arrival of whoever wanted anything from him. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, the sudden flood blinding light disorienting him.