[Discontinued] The Things Left

1. Abandoned

Originally posted on Ao3. So don't worry, no stealing here :)

After debating with myself, this is my first work posted about the SMP, so I don't even know what to expect. I didn't want to post it, but I guess it feels like I'm running out of time...

It's mainly about Fundy and his relationship with others, because of reasons that should become obvious as the chapters go.

In addition, length will be first thing in every chapter since it'll vary a lot. So, heads up for that!

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» Word count: 1,385 «

His return was welcomed by craters on the path. With the wars and the people involved, it had been long since he heard complete silence; and suddenly the silence was too loud. He walked through the familiar path, having made the walk a million times, his eyes imagined the fixed path and decorative walls. There was no single point to focus on, and every block told a story.

The fences, makeshift farms that were once full of life, were frail under his fingertips and splinters threatened to attach. It was a funny place, one that he was not involved in at all yet it was a comforting place. He looked up, the communal area standing tall in front of him. Again, not a place he took part in constructing. But there were shadows and echoes of good times, scattered in every corner and broken in every conflict. The markings of the crafting tables were almost gone, each step erasing it bit by bit. The lines were rough, his fingers picking up dust as he traced one of the million tracks. There was the faint sound of laughter, moments that were guarded with keys deep inside him. He shook the dust from his knees, the shadows scattering out the doors as they laughed away.

He always thought that the castle was imposing, with its size and coldness yet welcoming aura. Now, there it stood so lonely like the ones living inside it were before. The stairs to it were unkempt, forgotten by care and taken over by nature like the moss growing on the walls. Every step brought another million ones, his body having visited aimlessly so many times. The entrance, never once blocked, remained, now even bigger and unpolished as if the door had been ripped away from it. Dampness ushered away, shattered glass on the floor unwelcomed, yet his body didn't. He turned, catching the fleeting sight of a chase, smiling as the memory circled around his mind.

The throne, pride of the owner, was forgotten too. The gold was bent with chunks missing. What was once a glorious seat for someone cursed with greatness and opportunism, was now a seat for time and a sour sight. He traced the gold, his fingertips going over the bumps and cuts, ghosts of perfection tingled. He sat, his arms rested and his hands holding tight. Any moment now the owner would come, they would exchange a look then they would argue about the throne; he could hear the steps and hear the voice calling before even seeing the face, he wasn't scared. And it got louder, until the last corner where he would see. But there was nothing to come, no one to claim and no one to argue. His eyes shifted to the fountain room, directly facing the throne, dried out; the sun had been unforgiving.

There was nothing else to see, the left side had collapsed blocking the way up. He didn't care much for it, the throne was the only thing that mattered and he had hoped that it would bring company. He made his way back, the pranks and events that were held there, he couldn't think of it more than he already did.

Stories were written everywhere, waiting for someone to tell them all. He didn't have the time to, nor the desire to do so either. The duel, the pet's war, and everything in between and after. He knew it all too well, but they were all a mess in his head. There was one place, one that he used to call home that needed a visit.

Its borders had always been unbalanced, uncertain and safe. The walls grew slowly around, it had been a safe place for anyone who wanted to emancipate. To think that it's builder would leave to greatness beyond the walls, it was bitter. The times, days and nights spent together, singing and playing. The fire, the camp and the van. He could see it all, clear as the sound of explosions breaking their paradise. Instinctively he ducked for cover from the fleeting ghosts, falling into the path to their doom from the betrayer. He made his way down, his hand feeling the stone walls leading to the trap. The chests at the end remained empty. A wall opened, his foot having pressed the button on the floor. He flinched, the screams echoing again and again against the tiny room. It suffocated him.

Back in glory, he heard the joyful voices celebrating a short-lived victory until elections. As he'd seen the walls be built up, he saw them being teared down to nothing. No more protection, no more paradise. His hands were fists by his side, still feeling the pickaxe sending shocks through his body as he teared down the walls. To please a tyrant, to keep himself safe.

Outside, the tower he had shrunk once to be rebuilt again with stronger materials still stood. He blinked, mesmerized by it as a chuckle escaped his lips; his prank had been good. Segments and fragments gone, littered on the base as moss grew too. Like the castle, it has been left abandoned for nature to reclaim. Oddly enough, everything came back to mother nature.

Admitely, it was kinda nostalgic going around the desolated place. It was quiet, too quiet for his liking. His steps were heavy, his soles hitting the wood planks like the dripping water falling into the puddles. There were many things that needed fixing, the blown-up crates were the most common. There was one more place to go, probably abandoned like the rest of everything. He rubbed the corner of his eyes, not because he wanted to cry, not at all. No doubt something was wrong, but it had only been two days.

He saw the orange hardened clay before the obsidian arrow, choosing to admire it later. The button to his not so hidden was rusty and chipped, when he pressed it the action was broken. He slid in, pulling at his jacket caught on the blocks. Nothing’s changed since he left it, except for the new puddles and cobwebs decorating his place. It was almost reminiscent of a prank, much to his depressed mood. His chests were emptied, robbed of things he didn’t, but should have, remember. Everything left behind collected dust. On his way to the door, his makeshift river was dried and the flowers were dead.

The new base wasn’t very changed either, except for the moss and vines growing. He crouched and stepped into mud, looking down to see all the ice had melted away. He made a face, walking around it to go inside. His pets were gone, no trace of any living being behind. All that trouble to bring them there, now all gone without a trace. His steps were careful, unsure how stable the stairs were. Planks and chips fell down with his steps, making him reconsider his need to go up. The top, his little garden, was dead like the flowers from his hidden base. The trees were torn down. At least he knew someone had been there; trunks were missing.

The fox statue still stood, the tiniest of discoloration and chipped edges, unchanged for the most part. The sign under it had been ripped away, now it laid some blocks to the side. He picked it up, splinters all around, seeing the worn out ink. He remembered the message, but not the exact words. There were many times when he sat under the fox, his foot hitting the sign gently as he was rocked to rest. A present he couldn’t bring himself to tear down, even when ordered to. He kneeled, his hand tracing the almost gone letters, then placed the sign leaning against the fox’s body.

“Fundy?”

He knew that voice. He got up slowly, unsure if he was imagining it or if it was real. The wind was blowing his hair and the grass, the sun at its hottest point. He turned to the voice, seeing the face he had seen many times and remembered well. And for a moment, it was comforting to remember their adventures and pranks. A moment of tranquility, taking him back to a better time.

“Eret,” he called, still wondering if it was all in his head.

•••••••

Thank you for reading! Again, I don't know what to feel about this, but it's posted at least so that's an advancement!

Anything, please do let know. I'm going crazy ready and re-reading since I can't bring myself to ask people to review it beforehand.

Also, Hamilton reference in the notes at the top. I hope someone got it :)

(Yes, it is directly copy-paste from Ao3. I'll try to give different notes later on.)