Five Nights at Freddy's one-shots

Everything happens for a reason

This is a self projection chapter as Scott is my self projection character. I'm going through a lot right now, but I hope that maybe this can connect with someone else out there and you can understand that I know what it feels like. That there are other people out there who know what it feels like to go through things like this. This is just to show that feelings are really hard and sometimes it's really hard to feel them, but that's okay. No matter what, every thing is okay. One day you'll take a breath and your world will change forever. You don't know when, you don't know how, but it will. I hope maybe a few of you will be able to understand what this feeling feels like. I refuse to say what other people might say which is "I'm so sorry if you know what this feels like" because I believe that feelings are raw and powerful and I implore everybody on this earth to feel things on such a deeper meaning. It is crucial to understand how others feel or else this world will be a dark and terrible place. Sure this is just a silly fanfiction about five nights at Freddie's and some silly little phone man that I fleshed out, but I use this as a vent. I want you to read this chapter and truly grasp what I'm trying to convey. What I want you to feel. I love you all so terribly and I always will. Anyways, enjoy.

He stared into space, seeming to stare at the atoms themselves, willing himself to cry. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried beyond the accident, of course. It had been a while since he had been able to feel the full force of tears wracking his body, breaking him down and leaving him in a pool of nothing but empty sorrow. He longed for it in a selfish way. He wanted to cry until his face was wet and he wouldn't be able to tell what was drool, tears, or snot; it would all mean the same after all. Scott held his glasses in a shaking hand in his lap, his chest would quiver ever so slightly but though water welled in his eyes, nothing spilled over. He was angry over it, he just wanted to cry, why couldn't he?

He looked down at the agenda that sat open on his desk and the papers beside it. Rejection, failures, things yet to be done or done incorrectly. Hard work that wasn't good enough and had to be better even though it was the best Scott could do. It couldn't get any better, what was he supposed to do about it? He felt a single tear slide down his cheek. That was a good start, maybe he could pull this off. He didn't want to feel this numbness anymore because it made his chest ache. It made him nauseous and sad and confused. He wanted the raw emotion that sobbing could bring him. The satisfaction of total annihilation of self-composure.

Why wasn't it good enough? He had done it perfectly, what was still wrong with it. Oh god it couldn't get any better, that was his best work, why did they hate it so much? His lips turned into a frown and he sniffled, his throat becoming choked. Why was he never good enough for them. Years, years of work he put into this and they tell him that it's still not good enough.

They knew this was his best and they still demanded more but he couldn't give them more and now they were threatening to replace him. To take him away entirely. And who knows what would happen then. He still wasn't crying. It hurt to try to cry but it hurt not to be able to. He screamed. He picked up his agenda and threw it at the wall so hard the metal rings bent as it fluttered to the ground, the hard-backing of it folded. He threw a folder next, watching the papers fly out and the pockets billow open like parachutes, trying to prevent it's destruction. He sobbed, but there were no tears, just a helpless lack of air. He took a notebook in his hands and ripped it down the spine.

It wasn't the act of the violence that was shocking, it was why he was performing them. He was a man totally brought down by expectations he would never be able to meet. Despite every extraordinary thing he wanted to be, he could never achieve those dreams. He was destined to be nothing but a bland, ordinary man with no special talents, no special qualities, nothing. He could do many things but not a single one was he ever anything special in. He could do them, yes, but did he gather attention with it? No. He would never be like Afton or Henry with their creativity and ability to build things with their own hands, to create worlds with their words and stories out of color. He would never be an artist or a musician he lacked any talent in those areas. And when he finally thought he was good at something, when he finally thought that maybe he could just run a business his whole life and do it well enough, he realizes even that too isn't enough.

He will never be good enough. And that's why he's angry. That's why he wants to cry. Because he can pretend to be whoever he wants, he can wear a shiny red phone over his head and be known as some powerful business man to the rest of the world but he knows that it's all a persona. He will never be anyone special or unique and when the day comes that he will die, there will be no extraordinary funeral or memorial and he would be lucky if his family even attended.

His whole life he had been pitted up against everybody else around him. "Oh you're pretty good at this but, so and so is better and you'll never be better than them no matter how hard you try". Oh and the favoritism. Scott screamed again, but it was weak, hoarse. He sank to his knees and crawled under his desk like some pathetic child and cried because maybe there under the safety and darkness on the grimy floors under his desk, he could be special. He could have people congratulate him and want to be with him because he was so good at things. He wanted people to like him and say that he was special or that he was the best. He just wanted to be the best at something.

There. He was crying. He knew he could do it, with his knees pulled to his chest and his head shoved firmly against the walls of the desk. It was pathetic tears. Sad, pitiful, weak tears. The sort of crying that belongs to a man who knows he will never be anyone in this world even though he thought he would have been when he was younger. There is nothing more crushing than coming to the realization that all of your dreams when you were a child were for naught and you would never be what you dreamed you could be in this life. It was over. You wasted it. You weren't what you had in mind and it's not because of decisions you made, it's because of how you were made. And so Scott cried. Because Scott was a nobody. And yet still he had to star in his own nobody life. It makes you realize that everybody in the world is a real person. And even the blandest person has a life. And Scott wished he didn't.