Sanders Sides Oneshots and Short Stories

You're still here?

You're still here?

Idiot.

I guess that's why I fell for you, though. Your poor impulse control.

I'd tell you to stop reading here, but you wouldn't listen, would you?

Then let's begin.

***

In the beginning, there was nothing.

Then I said, let there be light, and so it was.

Ha. Not really.

I was a normal kid. Normal enough, I suppose. I was your typical emo teenager, with a black jacket and ripped jeans and eyeshadow. I thought I was being edgy. Now I realize I just looked stupid.

I had a best friend. His name was Patton. He was the polar opposite of me, but we got along. He had this grey cardigan that he always draped over his shoulders, and it was super soft and smelled like cookies. Patton liked to bake.

Patton had a boyfriend, Logan. Logan was a bookish type, with nerdy glasses and an encyclopedia for a brain, but don't tell him I said that. Nah, Logan was super smart, like A+ student, AP classes only kid. I copied his homework every week. Shh.

My dad, Thomas, was pretty cool. He liked to make stupid cringy videos of himself and post them online. Hey, I'm all for a good vine, but I swear dad, if you make another joke I'm going to punch a wall-

But I digress.

There was an old library down the street from my house. It was crumbling and the paint was faded but the scene was tranquil and gentle, the kind you might read about in a book. Speaking of books, this library didn't have too large of a selection. Downsides of a small town.

Not many people visited the library to actually read, though. It was a popular hangout spot for teenagers with drinks and little kids on tricycles alike. I, on the contrary, liked the library for its quiet atmosphere and dusty books. Perhaps I liked it for the aesthetic.

Anyhow, I visited that library after school nearly every day. On weekends, I'd stay for hours at a time, until the librarian, a nice woman named Valerie, kicked me out. I read anything from crummy romance novels to nonfiction books about sharks. Yeah. I was that desperate for entertainment.

Not really. I just enjoyed being nestled among the dusty novels and feeling the coarse paper beneath my fingers.

One day, I set down the the latest holder of my short attention span, an old book about jumping across the universe and exploring different worlds. I slid it back into the shelf, and in the process, my hand brushed another book.

This one was thin, and falling apart. It looked more like a notebook than a novel. I picked it up, un-clasped the clasp, and flipped it open to the first page.

Blank.

I frowned and checked the next page. Also blank. Huh.

As I was skimming through the rest of the book, I hissed in pain as my finger caught the edge of a page. A single drop of blood hit the paper. While I was sucking my finger and groaning dramatically, the notebook fell open to the first page once more.

Who are you?

I stared at the words in shock. My bleeding finger forgotten, I fumbled through my pockets and produced a pencil. I wrote directly under the mysterious appearing words.

I'm Virgil. Who are you?

Perhaps it was a relatively bad idea to talk to the magic journal like in Harry Potter, but the phrase intrigued me. Who are you? It was innocent.

My name is Declan. You cut yourself, didn't you?

Maybe. What are you?

I'm a person, just like you. Just... trapped.

In the book?

No, in Uncle Remy's tomato garden. Yes, the book!

Jeez, sorry. How'd you get stuck there?

By making the very same mistake you just did.

What mistake?

You kept reading.

Damn right.

I wrote to Declan all the time; on the bus, during passing time, in the middle of the night in my windowsill. He was a mystery, and I wasn't really known for leaving mysteries alone.

He was sarcastic and insulting, but he was also kind and quite dramatic. He told me everything from where he grew up, his hobbies, and his family. I was obsessed with opening that book to see what Declan had written me. My life started to revolve around the pages of that book.

That was the first step.

You're already fallen, already being consumed by these words. Don't worry. As long as I'm here, the book can't take you too.

Not that we're friends, in any way. Prisoners don't have friends. They only have cellmates and wardens.

Which one are you?