Story Doodles

Isolation

Jonathan woke to a familiar inky black. The terrible pains in his stomach—also horribly familiar—had finally stopped. Slowly, defeatedly, Jonathan stood, his eyes dragging across the empty space that stretched in front of him—or maybe it encased him.

It was kind of sad, Jonathan thought, that this place brought him comfort. This space between life and death; this space that he could never quite pass through.

"Jonathan."

Morty's black fur contrasted greatly with the white wool sweater he wore, and his eyes were as deep as as somber as ever. His ears were pulled back, a sure sign of disappointment.

"Jonathan, you can't keep doing this to yourself." He shook his head, the wisps of shadow twirling around his muzzle. Jonathan didn't reply.

"You can't... you need to eat, for Ceris' sake—"

"And what's the point?" Jonathan's voice, thick with emotion—rage; resentment; a deep, hollowing sadness—echoed through the dark. "What's the point, when I can't even come with you? I'm just going to wake up and live and exist. What's the point of living anymore?"

"You're supposed to make it worth living," Morty said, exasperation clear in his voice. Morty had been exasperated for a long time now. "You make connections with people and you find a reason to keep going. That's what life is."

"No, no, I can't do that. You know what happens when I do that. Every single one of them. Abel, Finn, Cassie—" Jonathan choked, clenching and unclenching his fists. Everything was tilting.

"I can't go through that again. I can't care about anyone, or I'll just hurt them."

Morty sighed in resignation. "If that's how you feel... I can't change your mind." He faded into the darkness, leaving Jonathan alone. Jonathan was always alone.

It was better for everyone that way.