songs for the fallen

scum of the earth

?????
_____

Entertaining this spineless brat is not worth the echo's time. It doesn't have the patience for their escapades. It doesn't have the patience to sit here and talk to them. It certainly has no reason to give them any sort of commentary--it doesn't know exactly how it's going to exert what little power it has, but it has no intentions of wasting its influence.

    Yet the power the child draws on in the leaf pile is familiar. It knows that light. It knows that heat. The sensations are far removed (this body, still, does not belong to it), and all it is capable of perceiving is a reflection of the true power that shines within them. But it's distinctive. They--it--would know that power anywhere.

    A nostalgic not-quite-warmth settles across the echo, and, loathsome creature it is, incapable of such simple detachment, it speaks. Playfully crinkling through the leaves fills you with determination.

    The child stares at a leaf for a very long time, and then looks over their shoulder in both directions. The echo is still somehow anchored to their body, yet it exists outside it, too, an observer standing beside them as much as within them. Still, it knows well that it cannot be seen. "Okay...who the actual fuck are you?"

    The abrasiveness of their words would make the echo laugh, were it capable of such things. It weighs its options. It could respond. It could stay quiet. Silence seems wiser. It should use its voice sparingly if it really wants to have any power over the wretched thing standing before it. Yet it cannot hold itself back. Perhaps it can drive the child to madness instead.

    It's not important, it thinks, and then doesn't think anything else.

    The child gets up, brushing their hands off on their raggedy blue shorts and searching around in the leaf pile for their discarded stick. "C'mon, dude, that was a really good stick..." they lament as they dig through the leaves. They do eventually find it, much to the disappointment of the echo.

    It's just a stick, it thinks. There are a million in the world just like it.

    "But it's my stick," the child says, hands (one still grasping the stick) on their hips in defiance. "It's...unique to me in all the world, or something."

    Are they seriously trying to quote The Little Prince?

    The echo decides not to comment on it. It just festers in the back of the child's head like an infected sore, just waiting for the stupid thing to be accosted by another froggit and lose their life.

    Still clutching their stick, the child makes their way into the candy bowl room. There's always been candy in this room, for as long as the echo can remember. Distinctly non-licorice flavor monster candy. Its time-honored favorite. It detests licorice. The child peers over the edge of the candy bowl, reaching up with their grubby little hand to take a fistful of candy.

    It says 'take one,' the echo nudges.

    "So? Nobody's watching." The child grabs as much candy as their pudgy hand can hold, shoveling it into their pocket. "And I'm hungry."

    How disgusting... the echo comments as a scene of utter depravity and decadence plays out before it. The child keeps putting candy in their pockets. You feel like the scum of the earth.

    "No I don't." The child tries to look over their shoulder at the echo again, seeming frustrated when they again realize it has no physical form. "What's your problem? If you don't like what I'm doing you can just be quiet about it, you know." They grab some more candy, and lean a little too hard on the basin, knocking it to the ground and spilling its contents across the stone tiles.