DSMP Oneshots

Burning Memory

// This is a quick story I came up with in class, it's very, very rushed and I'll have more to say when Endermite comes out. It's almost done, so look out for that!! :] Also please keep in mind I'm in no way good at poetry, so if certain things don't make sense, lmk! \\
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The fire crackled nearby, emitting a gentle glow and passionate snap of its jaws. Nearby sat two members of the same adopted family, one telling a tragic tale while the other listened attentively.

"'The boy cried, for he had lost all that made him himself. His dear o' heart cried out in agony, slipping, slipping, slipping away into an endless dark,'" the older read, voice low and smooth as he glanced over at the frowning toddler, "'until the last threads of life slipped, and slipped they did, for he did not mean to let go, through his calloused hands. As he fell, fell fast, he wondered with a smile if he would find himself in the abyss.'"

"That story doesn't make any sense!" the younger cried, folding his arms, "What's call-ouh-seh-d? Why are his hands that? What does this story even mean? He let go of something and smiled?"

The older looked down at the blonde, allowing a pitiful and truly sad grin to spread to his lips, "It's poetry, Theseus. You'll understand the meaning when you're older."

"Whatever, that's lame. Do you have any more stories to read?" the blue eyed boy quirked an eyebrow as the boar hybrid nodded.

"It's more poetry, but this is one of my favorites," clawed hands flipped gently to another coffee stained page in the red covered book, "It's called 'Remembering Forgetting to Forgetting Remembering.'"

"What does that even mean?"

"Hush, stop asking questions so I can read," the elder scolded gently, shifting so the hyper blonde could settle down comfortably as he cleared his throat and began.

"'Dear ol' mind, I know you try and recognize thee, but it's all void static. Evr'y face blur like a horizon's ancient rays, though dull and useless. Thee simply stare sadly, eyes welled sorely with contained tears and exhaustion, but all their glances look the same. Dear ol' mind, please write back soon, before thee forgets.'"

"I liked that one," the blonde states simply, "It was short. What was it about?"

"An illness called dementia," the boar huffed, closing the book slowly and sliding it onto the coffee table, "It's where you begin to forget everything, from friends and family to yourself."

"It's sad," the younger noted, staring down at his swinging legs that gently hit the couch, "I don't like sad."

The pinkette opened his mouth to respond with something depressing before snapping it shut. He was just a kid, the boar thought, he didn't need to know how disappointing the world was yet.

"Yeah kid," the hybrid hummed, fire's teeth clacking to fill the silence, "Neither do I."

"Tommy, I'm back with your soup," a voice called. The boy smiled and nodded at the person who entered the room. They were short, shorter than him at least, with a mop of brown hair atop their head where two little horns were growing. Where their regular ears would be were fairly long goat ears that flopped childishly with every step. The blonde nodded and took the stew gratefully, blowing on it patiently.

"I miss you, you know," the boy had taken a seat, voice hushed.

"What do you mean? I'm right here," the blonde smiled brightly before taking a small gulp of the chicken noodle soup.

"I mean the real you, Tommy," a frustrated sigh escaped the older's lips as Tommy raised an eyebrow.

"Am I not real?" he let out a shaky breath, looking down at his reflection in the soup before back up at the goat hybrid, expecting the brunette to crumble away at the seams, similar to his nightmares. Only, he didn't.

"No, no," the boy huffed and covered his face with his hands, "No, you're real, but you're just different."

"I'm not different."

"Yes, you are, Tommy," the brunette looked up at the blonde and scowled sadly, "You don't remember anyone! Not me, not Dream, not Puffy, not..."

His voice trailed off as Tommy set down the soup and crossed his arms, "I do remember you."

"Then who am I?"

The blonde was silent, and the older took this as an opportunity to prove his point.

"See? You can't even remember!"

"I can! Just shut up," the blonde took a deep breath before silence filled the air.

"No you can't! You have fucking dementia!"

"No I don't!" the blonde roared back, soup spilling on the floor with a clang.

"Yes! Yes you..." the brunette trailed off and sighed, tears welling in his eyes as he made for the door.

He reached out a hand for the knob as tears began to fall. He looked back at Tommy with an ugly frown.

"It's Tubbo. Tubbox, Toby, Bee boy," he licked his dry lips and sighed, opening the door, "I'll see you later, Tommy."

The door clicked shut behind the brunette and the blonde sighed.

"I'm sorry Tubzo," the younger settled down onto his bed, "If I can't block everything out, I just have to pretend I can."

And behind the door, Tubbo's fluffy ear pressed against the doorframe, he backed away from the frame and slapped a hand gently over his mouth. Tears fell faster as he booked it down the stairs to the people in the kitchen below.

"Tommy," the brunette huffed, staring into the hybrid's eyes, a pair of dazzling green and sky blue wide with fear.

"What happened? Is he okay?" immediately, by his side, were the two adults, panic in their veins.

"Yes, he's-" the brunette dropped to the floor, heaving in breaths, "He remembers everything. He lied."

"Tubbo, I know it's been a hard few months, but he's forgotten everything," the woman frowned in an attempt to comfort the goat, only for the boy to shake his head.

"No! No, I heard him! I closed the door and left the room and he..."

"And he?" the green haired man raised an eyebrow, voice muffled by the gas mask strapped over his mouth.

"I heard him say, 'I'm sorry, Tubzo. If I can't block everything out, I just have to pretend I can.'"

Without another second of hesitation, the three hybrids climbed the stairs effortlessly and practically threw open the blonde's door.

"Tommy!" the woman called, looking around the room, "Tommy?"

Only, the room was empty. The only trace left of the blonde was the open window and a note by the window.

Dear to whomever this may concern,

Hello. If you are reading this, I'm gone. I'm sorry you had to find out this way. As you may have guessed, I didn't have dementia. Now, I know that this is, or was, shitty of me to lie about having a terrible illness, but for reasons you can't understand, it had to be done. Everything was too much, from the constant fighting and the loud facade, there's more to life than war. I hope you all realize that soon, and if the world ever unites us again, that you'll forgive me.

o7. I've never been good at this sappy shit, so I hope you can ignore that.

- Big Man Innit
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