Sanders Sides- Oneshots

A Pessimist's mind

Major character death warning.
(I apologise in advance)

'If there's an infinitesimal amount of things that could happen, there's a lot that could go wrong.

For instance, if a person is sitting on the very top of a building, sky as bright as the sun that is shining upon him and people seeming more like ants then anything else as they go about their day.
Now, there are two very easy and quick ways of viewing this situation:

You might think the man looks peaceful, his legs dangling of off the edge of the concrete walls he is sat upon, his hair swaying in the breeze. Perhaps the urge to join him on that seemingly peaceful place would occur.

Or you view it with fear,  his legs that were dangling of seeming to pull him down with them, a phone call to 911 or a good camera angel seeming to be the only things keeping you grounded as the man looks down, in your head you see his view, see him measuring the distance to the ground, the distance he would soon let himself fall, a one way ticket to the streets that people were now passing by on.

Now, these are two entirely different views on the same situation, though the first one is viewed by an optimist, while the last is created by the mind of a worst case scenario thinker, a pessimist or somebody whose thoughts or memories trigger that response.

Now, imagine a seemingly optimistic person with a mind that is always calculating every bad or worst case scenario, finding out their friends have a surprise for them. 
A thing everybody seems to be involved in but nobody tells them the details about.
Of course, they are excited: A surprise! For them! But soon worry clouds their mind.
The 'what if's' turn into 'they don't like you's' while the optimistic side dreams about movie nights and distant friends coming to visit.

And thus, the person is torn, unable to sleep or be excited for anything else while also being utterly terrified as they try to go about their day, smile always slightly when they lay their eyes upon their friends, the negative thoughts quickly taking over their normally so colourful mind like grey mist as they try to act like normal, try to feel normal while their normally so well crafted mask stutters with fear.'

That is how Patton felt as he sat on top of the 20 stock building in the town the lived in, hair being blown of off his forehead by an ice-cold wind, wishing it would be able to blow away his thoughts that clouded his mind as well, that was why he had come up there after all. 

But now that reason seemed to slowly fade away as the ground that laid so far beneath him called his name, luring his crossed legs on and ultimately over the edge.

His friends were his everything.
Never having had a very loving family and never having been surrounded by people that have been kind to him it had felt like coming home once they had found him and accepted him into their group.
A family on his own, he dared to say.

And now they were done with him. His mind had ruled out all other options, the now definite 'fuck you' scene playing over and over in his mind, it seems to get louder with every replay.
The friendly explanation of why they didn't like him anymore turned into insults, into yelling and screaming and him getting beat up and left to die and-

He only realised he had taken his place at the very edge of the concrete as a shout for help could be heard from down there.

People getting out their phones to record the tragic incident they seemed to expect or call the police to get the lost man to a safer ground.

And all he could hear were his friends, his family yelling at him, screaming at him to jump, to die, die, die die-...

The screams of terror getting louder and clearer as the air hit his face, his body turning so his head faced the people that screamed as he fell, down and down and down and down.

A sickening loud crash and the sound of bones shattering like glass filled the suddenly silent streets.
And people got closer, their now numb fingers still holding the record button as they stared at the body that laid flat against the concrete, limbs bent in ways they shouldn't and blood covering the remains of its split open skull.

-

Virgil had just sat down the four bottles of beverages he had just bought as he got a call from a man who spoke with the voice of someone who had seen homicides.
'Virgil?' The man dressed in darker clothes matching with an even darker mind replied with a short yes and the man started explaining why he had called him on his best friends phone, voice remaining unemotional as if he was reading it off off a piece of paper.

Once the voice fell silent, Virgil had sat down the phone, covering his mouth with both of his hands as his shoulders began to shake, tears quick to spill from his eyes as his face twisted into one of pain, the expression resembling that of somebody who had been stabbed as the man called out for him through the phone a few times before ending the call, not seeming to care even the slightest bit more as he heard the faint sobs from his side of the phone.

By the time Logan and Roman walked into the festively decorated room, the two of them holding a stack of boxes, bright ribbons making the brown wrapping paper seem a bit more festive, Virgil was having a full-blown panic attack.

After several minutes of careful voices and gentle touched they had calmed him down enough to be able to speak, Roman now panicking himself because of the news that was yet to be told and Logan messing up his always perfectly neat hair by running his yet to start shaking hands through it one too many times.

And in between sobs and heaves of thick, sticky air the words that would rip them all apart echoed through the room:
'I-He... Pat he- he jumped...'

Roman's eyes widened, tears already forming and making their way down his cheeks as he sobbed, yelled, screamed about the hurt, his heart feeling like it had been ripped out of his chest, shredded to pieces as the words hit him like bullets, rapid-fire hitting over and over again as if it was bouncing of off the walls, piercing through his body every time they made their way across the room.

Logan was silent, eyes seeming dull and expressionless, clear of any sort or form of emotion, his mind quickly building a bomb shelter around him as if to keep him safe from the reality that had just launched in the form of a nuclear bomb, it blowing his shelter to pieces only half an hour later.
Only half an hour later they would hear him sobbing in the bathroom, legs pulled up to his chest as he rocked himself back and forth, lights too bright and noises too loud and everything seeming too much as the others banged their shaking fists against the paint on the door, it chipping away with every blow while the noise echoed through the bathroom.

He had left a note.

The writing seeming oddly readable for a person who was about to commit the worst possible crime and who seemed to be very much aware of him doing so.
The crime of taking somebody's life.

The paper felt odd, almost fake as if it would disappear at any second as Roman held it in his hands, the other two reading along with him over his shoulder with grim expressions carved into their tender faces, all of them basking in the strangely comforting feeling of denial.

The ukulele and the song they had written for him, the food he loved, the dog and Disney posters he had wanted and the meaningful letters they had written him as a surprise for his birthday coming up, the surprise they had hyped him up about, had reminded him every day how many days were left.

All of that seemed dull, ages away or unimportant. It seemed like such a faded memory that it might not even have been real as they all stared at the folded up note, his name in his handwriting with his pen written on the top.

And Roman took a deep breath, slowly unfolding the note and reading the first line aloud.

'If there's an infinitesimal amount of things that could happen, there's  a lot that could go wrong...'