Stygiophobia

Drunken desires

The angel and devil had been together for quite some time now. They've learned more and more about each other and the things they liked to do in their time of life. They were contrasting in almost every single scenario.

"Oh, come on now. You must've retaliated even once! There's no way you really spent every single day at Church." Dream was astonished. Even the idea of going to church once was insane, let alone every day.

"No, I'm quite serious. Everyday, except for one day before Christmas Eve."

[This is a real tradition, only in my culture. It's called Tibbs eve, and no one goes to work or church on this day. In the past, people would work every single day and go to church often, so when the Christmas season rolled around, no one wanted to spend everyday with their families, so on Tibbs Eve, you're meant to go partying with your friends. It's still a thing today, here in Newfoundland. Newfie traditions are very dear to my heart.]

"Only one day off of Sunday hell? I wouldn't know what to do with myself." Dream couldn't even picture it in his mind, to spend everyday being force-fed lies.

"I suppose I got used to it after many years." George shrugged, running a hand through his hair. They were sitting together on the couch, since Dream had gotten George used to accepting comfort. They were one step closer to having George be able to walk again.

"What did you do on your one day to be normal?" Dream enjoyed hearing about someone else's life, he recently found out. He didn't have many friends to talk to, and Sapnap was always busy with Karl. He had a few other friends, but he didn't go out of his way to talk to them often.

"Me and an old friend would run off for the day, and pretend that we were in a different life. At the time, I didn't realize what he meant when he said 'I hate the life I've been given.' I just thought he meant that he didn't like only having one day away from church. But, I think I'm starting to realize that he was more like you than me." George rambled, reminiscing about his life, and his only friend that he couldn't find. "We would play in the snow for hours, no matter how old we got. Well, until I got sick. My priest said it was something in my lungs, and that I couldn't be healed. I died alone, anyways. My friend wasn't allowed to come see me."

"You died alone!? I died with a large group of people watching me. Electric chair, baby." He spoke as if he were proud, and some sick part of himself might have been.

"Well, yes. They thought I may have been contagious. I never got to see my friend one last time. About a week or so before I was sent into isolation, my friend was booted off to some camp. I promised him I'd be there when he got home, because he seemed so horribly scared, but I passed away on him. I hope he isn't mad at me." George's eyes flickered down, realizing how much he regretted his death. It was too early, too much of the wrong time to go.

Dream had been laying down the whole time, with an arm behind his had, and one draped over his stomach. George was sitting up with his hands folded over his lap by the end of Dreams feet.

"I could try and find him, if you want." Dream offered, sitting up a tiny bit, enough to get a clear view of George.

It never mattered what angle he looked at George. Didn't matter the time, the day, the mood, it would never matter. George was always beautiful. No amount of words could ever properly describe the perfect grace of this man.

"Why bother? I'm sure he went to heaven, he was a good person." George didn't realize how badly he had missed his friend until now, considering that they were speaking of him.

"But you're a good person, and you're still here." To Dream, George really was a good person, especially compared to himself. A murderer, a man who took pleasure in causing pain.