Grian Centric Oneshots - Hermitcraft

Congratulations! You Won The Game!

 TW: Suicide, basically self harm, and he's pretty much having a sensory overload at the start

     Grian felt he just might cry. The itchy, gritty sand piling in his shoes. The oddly cold yet powerful wind resonating in his ears. It was all too much. It was too loud, and too dirty. And he felt too guilty. He wanted to hit one of the cacti that formed the ring around him and the still warm corpse. The corpse he could call Scar.

     It was too much, he couldn't take it anymore. Too much. It all felt suffocating. It didn't help that his eyes felt hot from the tears threatening to spill. 

     "Congratulations... you won- won the game," Grian whispered shakily to nobody in particular. There was no one left to say it to. Just him. 

     It was too much in the sense that it was too little. There was no action, no movement, excepting his body shaking and the wind threatening to knock him over. There were no more voices, hell, he'd even do for the sounds of people fighting. 

     God, it was all just too much for Grian. It felt like a thousand rocks had just been placed over his chest. Only once every twenty second or so could he draw in a shaky, weak breath. He hated it. His lungs felt constricted. 

     Grian dropped to his knees in the horrid sand. He felt lightheaded as tears began to flood from his eyes. Silently, he cursed himself for being so weak as to cry. Honestly, he didn't even think he even could talk anymore. Despite that, he had to stay strong. He had to. He couldn't break down, not here.

     He opened his mouth, in a feeble attempt to speak his belief, only to let out a wheezing breath. He hated it all so much. The "Red Haze" must have cleared when he was the last one standing. Otherwise he wouldn't be so distraught. So... empty. He clenched his fists into the sand, perfectly setting himself up with handfuls of sand.

     Now angry, He threw the sand at nothing in particular. What could he throw it at, really? Well, the cacti for one. 

     The cacti. 

     God, he just wanted to hit one of them so badly. Now, he didn't even care if he got hurt from the spikes.

     Shakily, he pulled himself up, now covered in sand. Drawing his arm back, he slammed a fist into the poor cactus he had chosen for the job. 

     It hurt, alright. But, Grian realized something. Some of his thoughts silenced. His thoughts now focused on the pain in his fist. Smiling, he drew back his other fist and slammed that one into the cactus as well. 

     He hissed in pain, but... he did it again. And again. And again. Blood was dripping from his fists now, staining the sand beneath him a deep red. But no matter how many times he hit the cactus, it never fully silenced his thoughts. 

     Now he just felt worse. The pain inside and out, he didn't know what else to do.

     But, he did gain an idea. There was a cliff nearby. Gently, as if he made too much noise he'd be punished, he took a step. And another step. And he kept walking and stepped over the charred sand from where Scar had lit the fire to seal the ring.

     And he just kept walking. Despite the cliff getting closer, he still kept the same speed and rhythm to his pace.

     "Good— bye" he whispered, just before taking his last step, the one that would throw him off the edge of the cliff.