Cigarette?

A visit

The light. I forgot that he would come. The train pulls in and the steam clogs my vision. Everywhere I go, there's a fog through which you can hardly see 20 meters away. This steam on the other hand hides the train a stones toss from me, now invisible to my eye.

"Wilbur? I brought you some water! Sorry it took a few days. I can't touch water so Tommy helped me. But then I dropped it and had to get Phil to help but hes with technoblade now. I had to find him but THEN friend went missing and I had to find him. But now I'm here!" Ghostbur over elaborates. Then he comes close enough to see me as the steam dissipates.

"What happened???" He asks, clearly worried for my general well-being, and he helps untie my aching arms. Did Shlatt think I could get out alone? I doubt it. I will bring him a pain he's never known. My visions still blurry but I can see the concern on my counterparts face. Man I need my glasses...

"Ghostbur? Could.... could you stay? Just a little while?" I ask him. He shakes his head.

"Dream only gave me 5 minutes. I cant." He sighs.

"But a day out there is a year in here! Thats about a day and a third per hour. So you can stay a few hours. Please?" My voice cracks. He hesitates but I know his end choice. I saw it in his eyes the first time I saw him. He'll stay. He's kind for no reason.

People like that get hurt, twisted and manipulated around someone's thumb. But is always there for anyone. The opposite of me I suppose. I have no regard to anyone else and will abandon my closest allies and friends at the drop of a hat.

"Well, ok. What should we do?" He asks. I beg him to talk about home. It's weird to hear my voice explaining my life that I no longer have and that has continued without me. Things I lived through but it wasn't me. There's new people. And the old people, they've changed. The struggling remains of my nation under Tubbo. They tried to kill technoblade which was just.... stupid. People have died. There's something called the egg...? Neither of us truly understand it. I can tell not all of the stories he tells are in order and they can't be completely accurate. I mean, come on. Do you honestly expect me to believe Bad killed skeppy? Or that Quackity tried to 1v1 techno? How about the obviously dramatized story of tommys latest exile? He's a theater kid, of course he would play it up.

Despite things that just simply couldn't be true, I love the stories. And even the falsehoods. Because I needed them. He talks for about an hour and I learn so much. And yet so little. Soon he tries again to depart.

"Wait, dont leave. I need to know! What am I missing?" I pull on his yellow sleeve.  He tries to assure me.

"I'll be back as soon as I can. I can only visit once a day. And I'll ask people to write to you themselves! Then you can get it from everyone. I know a lot of them miss you. S9me are scared. Some take your story as a warning. But most just miss you." He says sadly. For the first time, I put myself in his shoes. Always having to live up to my existence. Anything he does will be overshadowed by what I've done. Who I was. He can never be his own person.

Because I am the only me. And I need to go home.

I didn't even think, my body just moved of its own accord. I tackled my undead counterpart and desperately try to reach the train. He doesn't resist. He let's me go. I fling myself at the open door but nothing happens. Well, something does.

An invisible barrier keeps me from the unsanitary salvation of the train car. Like two positively charged magnets. I can get close but the closer I grow the more it repells me until I am launched backwards. I sit in befuddlement, wishing to cry but having no tears to shed.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and ghostburs soft voice reminds me rather harshly of what I have done.

"It doesn't work. I've tried. I can't give you back to them, and you cant trade me out. There isn't enough power between us to even come close. Im sorry Wilbur. I gotta go, and... I don't think I'm coming back. I like it out there, and I'm scared to come back here. You- you had your chance. And you threw ut away for power. I'm sorry. But I- I'm just... I'm sorry." He barely whispers. That's reasonable, I suppose.

"NO! Don't!! I can't take this!" I pull on his arm as he attempts to walk away. He looks back with a sorrowful glance, and suddenly my arms pass straight through him. My fingers are cold as they cross through and my arm.is numb. I pull it back frantically and in this moment he's gone. He steps onto the train and the door closes behind him. I'm groping air, my heart sinking in my chest. My stomach in knots. This can't happen... I don't want to be alone.

But I can't stop him. He stands at the window as I watch the train roll out of the station and into the mist. Soon the sounds and lights fade and I am alone.

My arm still feels cold. Oh so cold... Death should just be a definite end. This, this is much worse.  I crave a warm darkness. Or an endless white. Or an end. Not this. Anything else. But fate is cruel.

I return to the post I have spent the last week, or quite possibly longer. I've lost track of time again, not that it matters. What's the point of counting eternity? I have nothing left to look forward to.

I find my jacket in a heap and pull it on. In my left pocket is something slightly heavy. I pull it out to find a tin box. I instantly recognize it. One of shlatts infinite cigarette boxes.

Why haven't I smoked here? My health? I have both no life and infinite lives left. The fact that they make me sick? It's better to feel that then to feel nothing. The only reason I can think of is the fear of breaking the habit if I ever go back. But I can never go back. So it's just my adolescent stubbornness at this point. With a shaking hand, I open the tin and pull out a stick.

I've seen Shlatt light them with two flicks, and sure enough it is lit ablaze when I do likewise. I sit and stare at the red tip, contemplating it. Then drop it to the ground and snuff it out.

I'm still me. As long as I am, I will not change. I'm stubborn, that's just my nature. I rifle through the box from ghostbur and pull out the iron-on patch of the L'manburg flag. I hop down to the tracks, which are still warm with friction from the train. I pull off my jacket, shaking in the cold,  and line up my patch. Then I rub it back and forth over the tracks, again and again. My arms grow tired but I move fast nonetheless.

When I'm done, the patch is secured and I feel proud. I'm as stubborn as they come, nothing can break me so maybe I can't go back. I can't rule the Overworld, or any part of it. I can't help people. Maybe I'm banned from the others limbos. But they're not banned from mine. Someone else will die, eventually. So many people are down to one or two lives. One day, they'll die. And when they do, I'll be here. I can start something new.

Things are going to be ok.