Fractured Articles

Ｊｕｂｉｌｅｅ Ｌｉｎｅ：

NOTE: This is an example of my writing. I suggest reading the next chapter if you'd like to get into proper angst.

[UNEDITED]

death

/dɛθ/

noun

noun: death; plural noun: deaths

the action or fact of dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person or organism.

~~~

WILBUR SOOT WAS dead. He'd been dead for a while. 13 years, if he were to recall correctly. That's 156 months, about 678 weeks, 4745 days, or 409,968,518.4 seconds, of which he'd been counting as frequently as possible. Sometimes in bouts of ten, or sometimes by tallying them into the platform.

Right.

The platform.

Wilbur had died. 3 times, in fact, but alas, he was now properly dead. He'd been stabbed, by Punz. He'd been shot, again, by Punz, but in the end, he'd been murdered by his own father, upon his own request. The man, now nearing his late-thirties, had blown up a once glorious nation that had run itself into the ground, albeit thanks to a... "lovely" dictator, who may have possibly been Wilbur's past lover. He wasn't going to confirm any bullshit theories made by the wide populous, especially regarding the Ram's nickname for him. "Loverboy".
And now, he was stuck here. With the ram. As per usual for the past 13 years.

"Aces, bitch, hand 'em over," the dictator ordered Soot. 
"Go fish, Schlatt. Got any sevens? Or did you give them all to Quackity?" the loverboy retaliated, adding his own speck of flare to the insult, having reminded the ram of his once husband. Schlatt rolled his eyes and stood up, waltzing over to where the tracks were. 
Wilbur followed alongside him, not exactly wanting to be lonely, but also wanting to beat the ever-loving shit out of the ram for ruining his once great L'manburg. Oh well. That can wait.
"Been a while since Tommy 'n Techno came through here, eh?" Wilbur heard the ram murmur, becoming lost in thought at the sentence. They'd more or less likely forgotten about him now. His... his own brothers would've forgotten about him. Tommy seem rather pissed at the man when he'd finally arrived in his limbo. He probably still hadn't forgiven Wil for his prior actions, which the older found completely understandable. 

The screech of a train pulling into the station was sudden, and took both men aback, both ex-presidents instinctively grabbing onto one another's hands, then immediately slapping each other after they'd realized what happened. 
"You're fuckin' gay, Wil. So fuckin' gay," the eldest muttered, just loud enough so Wilbur could hear him. The younger simply scoffed, waiting to see if the train would halt.

It did.

"Wilbur, good to see you again. Now get on, I don't have time for this." A familiar masked figure stood infront of the man, smiling at him. Well, smiling was his default expression, so Soot couldn't exactly tell whether he was actually smiling or not. He could be scowling or giving him a murderous death glare, for all he knew. Not wanting to waste any more time, Wil entered the train, smirking and waving a small goodbye to the visibly extremely pissed dictator.

Being blinded by a natural, yet beaming light, William opened his eyes. It was...
L'manburg. Ruined and covered over by glass, but nonetheless, it was L'manburg. It was his country. His country. His pride, his joy. He turned around to find the sun rising, simply adding to the wondrous setting. His sunsrise.
His dawn.

His second chance.

His new chance at life.

Wilbur let out a maniac laugh, starting of as a giggle and graduating to a full-on, verge-of-psychotic-break cackle, which could more or less likely be heard throughout the entire server. Feeling a buzz in his pocket, and looked down, reaching in and grabbing out his near-inoperable communicator to see a message from his saviour.

Welcome back to the realm of the living. Don't waste your lives this time. - Dream