Chapter 1: Golden Hour

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3,148 words.
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June, 2021
Now

"Darling, life was streaming past."

Tommy looks right out of his bedroom window that afternoon, pencil on his paper doing his daily after school homework. The sun appeared to be bright and early instead of the common rain or clouds brewing every time on the daily.

He mutters something under his breath right as he made some mistake, quickly gripping his eraser madly like the led covered eraser had done something wrong to him in his life. Those fingers of his choked the hell out of it.

I really should get my grades up, or else mum's gonna kill me...

It was getting close to the end of the year, and all has he ever thought about were playing games on the computer, as well as dreaming silly little fantasies of two boys around the same age as him, causing to get into trouble with his teachers.

You really are going crazy, he thought.

People at school called him "weird" or "annoying." When as well as these people he thought of aren't real, tops the whole label of "strange freak" to all of his classmates. Teachers don't even think that's a good enough excuse why he was not paying attention. I don't blame them though, but...

Why?

His mum and dad don't believe him, especially Tommy himself. Why would anyone believe him? Sure, people do have imaginary friends but that's only when you're so little to be gullible. Tommy wasn't a kid, so why should he believe that those two are real?

Tommy began by finishing up one of the faces on paper. Tubbo was, quote on quote, his name. It had told Tommy about his life and what he did, though he had never bothered to remembered it all.

Not liked he cared but it seems like he only paid attention to the appearance, voice, and names of them.

Next was doodling a guy named Ranboo. That guy was around his height but a bit taller, and he didn't have a face. Just blurry filter. So he just replaced it with a mask and glasses that makes him looked cool or complete in his opinion.

Tommy wasn't as great as a drawer, but he called this session a good piece that he ever has done in these past weeks, surprisingly.

The sun brightly shined down it's rays through the glass panes, leaking over the carpeted flooring like gold. All of his works were finished and Tommy's shoulders slump in exhaustion. Then, he pinned the slightly good visual of Tubbo and Ranboo on the wall on his right next to the computer screen.

He examines it carefully, in his head, imagines the voice but it never had fit what they look like. All Tommy knows is that one's British, one has this American accent.

I am crazy... This is ridiculous.

He contemplates putting the fresh drawing into the bin next to the desk. Eyes plasterd to the drawing, then bin, drawing, bin, drawing, bin, until he gets very dizzy, too headache indorced.

And falls flat on his back over the bed.

And looks high on his discolored popcorn ceiling, counting the tiny little dots out of sheer boredom.

And thinks about a change.

What if I try new things? Would that make things better? Would it change the fact of thinking about two fucking imaginary people? I've never even met them! I am going mental.

Maybe it's all that Coke in his system. He has been drinking lots of cans of that, creates an addiction for him and the constant suger coming it hyper activated his creative parts of his brain!

if we paint the sky... // Bench TrioWhere stories live. Discover now