Cigarette?

Now here in Nowhere

Have you ever noticed that the word nowhere is now and here put together? It makes for a nice play on words, I suppose. I've been thinking about a lot of things recently.

But mostly, how I died.

The inner turmoil, the explosions, the ringing in my ears, the weight off my chest, and the pain in my heart as I saw my beautiful countries smoldering remains. The regret, the hatred aimed at myself. And running myself through on my father's sword. How long it's been since then, I do not know. Time supposedly passes differently here, though.

It's cold and dark. A strangely familiar train station with saturated red and blue lights illuminating it in the strangest of ways. It feels like I've been here for months. And I'm alone.

Is this hell? I suppose I don't belong among the angles. I might have killed someone in that explosion, and frankly, I don't care if I did. So I suppose that leaves me here. Techno will be disappointed. He always said that if there's a hell, he wants God to hesitate before sending him there. Well, I don't think there will be much hesitation. They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. But I barely felt the blade before waking up on a train in a cold sweat.

I almost thought it was all a dream. Until that is, I realized I wasn't home. Or in the Overworld even. Nor the nether. I was.... elsewhere. In between it all. There was someone else in another car, but I couldn't hear him, nor him me. He almost looks like me. In a yellow sweater and very pale, but otherwise incredibly similar. He got off soon after I got on. The doors wouldn't open for me, though, and he moved on, as did I. The train car was barren and bleak. But I passed time singing and spinning around a pole like a child, letting centripical force pull blood to my head and growing dizzy. Like when I was small.

Childhood.... Those were simple times, now but a distant memory. Dad would cook dinner, and I would practice guitar, and I'd play in the meadow with my friends. I don't think I have those anymore. Friends, that is. They surely are glad I'm dead. Maybe I am, too. It's peaceful here. Quiet.

Then, one day, the train just stopped. The door opened, and I was at a train station. Eager to leave, I leaped off and found the place abandoned. I turned to go back, but the train had disappeared completely, and I was stranded. I waited for another train but none came. Eventually, I began to wander around, knowing nothing, and none were coming.

I found one door, and it was unlocked. It led to a small sitting area with a bathroom and a few travel pamphlets. But the papers were off.... I picked one up.

'So you went and died' I read out loud and find myself chuckling despite it all. And I begin to read.

If I didn't come from a world where pigs were fearsome warriors, children fight in wars, goat men win presidential elections, colorblind kids sleep through wars, people get 3 lives, and where winged man and a fridge produce a human child who in turn produces a fox with a salmon, I'd be surprised. But I do, so I wasn't.

Everyone has two versions of themselves. The 'ghost' version and the 'real' version. They may share some memories but are completely different people. Ghosts tend to be more passive and neutral. When one version leaves a world, the other must take their place.

I'm in a place called limbo, where all who die forever lay. Now that I'm here, I have infinite lives and no purpose. I can't leave unless my ghost, the boy from the train, takes my place.

It was actually a rather boring read for so little information. A tad numb, I leave and sit on the tracks. And so passed the hours, then days, and on and on it passed. I can't help wondering what people are doing without me. Are they celebrating? Maybe the server has finally found peace. Maybe I died for a reason. Or maybe I didn't. Maybe no one noticed. Maybe they don't even know I died. Maybe they're looking for me. Could anyone but Phil see it? I don't know. They probably are happy, though. Or maybe they mourn, finding themselves broken and lost without me. Somehow, that's most comforting.

The hardest part is that there really is no escape. Don't assume I'm suicidal or anything. But eventually, I decided to test the infinite lives bit. I jumped off the ledge to the tracks, again and again, until I took enough damage to die. And die. And die. Death, die, Wilbur soot hit the ground too hard, dead, aliven't. But it never changed. Then, I stopped trying to die, seeing as I never could leave. But I still would. One trip, and I'd take a bit of damage. And soon, hunger and thirst set in. If I didn't jump, I'd starve. Again, and again.

I wonder again, isn't this truly hell? I'd rather stop my existence than spend it in isolated agony.

Time kept passing, and I soon began to lose myself. L'manburg is just another nation. My unfinished symphony will never matter again. All nations die, everything dies. I lost everything for what would soon be dust. Maybe I was in the right. But every day, I feel more wrong.

Time is a social construct. But I'm socially dead. Surely, time shouldn't pass for me, not like this. I just want to sleep forever. But there's no bed, and I'm exhausted but not tired.

I think of all my last words. Screaming 'Get out!' to my former friends, before we were slaughtered at the hands of the first true traitor. 'Tommy, RUN!' Before looking down and seeing the arrow in my chest. And 'Do it' to my own father before being run through. All three times, I died, and for what? For nothing. a self-destructive existence. Sure, it's like, 99% Shlatt and Erets fault, but I could have stopped. And they're not here.

"Hey there, Wilbur." Says a voice. A real one?? Or have I finally snapped?

I whip around and see a figure on the tracks. I can't place the figure. But it's familiar. I can't remember anyone's faces, really. I can remember the details. Tommys blue eyes, Fundys hat, dreams disturbing smile, Phil's voice in my last moment, but it's only fragments. Nothing full. And I can't see them in my minds eye. I just remember that they do, in fact, exist. But when he comes close, I know.

"YOU?" I cry, hatred filling me but also relief to see another human. If you can call him that.

"Wilbur." He nods. I remain where I am, torn.

"Schlatt. " I respond coldly.