Work Text:
~~*~~
Snow grew thick on the window sill of a warm house.
Sparkling powder creating near perfect mounds of white as souls hurried in the ever bitter cold.
Only a singular desolate being sat inside, ever more frozen than the changing snowflakes hovering outside.
It was cold
It was warm.
It was changed.
It was absolute.
It had surely happened before.
The skeleton felt the treacherous warmth in his bones.
How despicable.
Warmth belonged to the good, precious things
The ones the rot leeched off of.
The rotted pits stared into the frozen beyond
Distantly remembering being frustrated, proud, angry.
Devastated.
But they were too tired for any of that now.
They turned back to the deceptively welcoming house.
Still there, even after everything.
It shouldn't be
A house is only as good as the people in it.
The rot wanted to stay there.
Frozen.
Another blemish in the bleak expanse of the underground.
…
There was work to be done.
The skeleton moved like a ghost
Feet leaving harsh prints in the soft dust.
Passing by frames of moments, frozen in time.
The house was a living memory.
How could it not be?
It mourned the best part of it
Bones tracked the staircase down-down-down
Kitchen
He took out the oatmeal.
He took out the pasta.
He didn't touch the ketchup.
The silence was deafening
Another food container amidst the dozens.
There'll be one more tomorrow.
The living room held papers upon papers of plans and puzzles
Silent joys of one who never really understood the concept of a drawing room.
It was empty now.
The papers would never be completed.
The quiet buzz of a lonely screen filled the dead room
A lazy pastime
A familiar one.
The couch creaked, bearing half of what it should.
Ten dusting in a week.
Pointless
Repetitive
They'll all come back.
(Only to die again)
…
He couldn't believe he missed the pretentious robot.
The silence was filled with the shallow noise of the television.
The desperate were still searching for their ruler.
How desolate
How…predictable.
They had wanted him to be king.
Once upon a time
Years ago… days ago
He refused.
The best of him had died.
The worst of him had not yet awakened.
Nobody wanted a deceased monarch.
The screen turned to black
Pointless.
Blink
White walls
Dark screens
Moments of life frozen
In the dust of their owner
What did he expect?
He picked up a dust covered doll.
Face frozen in a permanent smile
How ironic.
…
This won't matter.
He took the doll anyway.
He stared at the elevator
An unforgiven mistake.
An unneeded guilt
A tragic end.
He could hear the shuffling of the fragmented pure.
Lying crying beneath
Black, forgotten sludge.
Far better than him
Suffering far worse a fate
He knew they knew.
It's pointless that they did.
The dust clogged his nose
Blink
Marvel of machinery
End of its creator.
It hummed unresting in its work.
As it always will be
Even when the needy are bare.
He tore his eyes away
The bones forcing themselves to walk.
Dragging feet deeper and deeper
As they yearned for their earthly place.
Far below the rocky bronze.
Pointless
Utterly
Pointless
The bones won't stay dead.
None of them will.
The puppets and the puppeteer.
The skeletons' strings pushed forward.
Brushing against the dead damned earth.
The mockingly colourful lands which lay barren of the emotions they once held so dearly.
It was empty. Desolate.
(It will only get worse.)
He smiled at the souls flitting at the edges of his vision. Hoping to comfort them for just a moment.
Always the same
Scared.
Mourning.
Still hopeful.
Always hopeful
Hope was all they had
They will die.
They won't stay dead.
Time’s circular pattern lay a darker path soon.
Soon
Once
Eventually
All the same.
All repeated.
Till then all he could do was smile and joke.
Give away all the warmth his rotten heart had eaten.
To the ones who were still pure
Who could still hold the joy that slipped fast away from his fingertips.
They deserved to be happy.
To hope
To dream.
To love
He deserved-
Pointless.
Unnecessary.
Repetitive.
He idly wondered when his greatest fear became his greatest comfort.
Blink
He gazed impassively at the large doors in front of him.
He knew what was behind them.
He did not dare to look.
The cold bit into his bones as he settled down into a routine once so familiar.
His favourite performance.
The best audience he’d ever had.
…
Loud thuds disturbed the tense silence of the empty forest.
There was no answer.
Expected.
He dropped his hand
He didn’t feel like joking anymore.
As he drew lines in the snow he wondered just how many times he’d done this.
How many times he will.
He knew he hadn’t died yet
“… everything ends”
He knew exactly when he would.
But well… After that,
It doesn’t really matter.
The thought of it was oddly comforting.
A silent laugh wheezed through his closed teeth
The human orchestrated his greatest punchline
The bones longed for rest in the welcoming cold.
Blink
The place was warm
It was always warm
Even if now the ever lasting crowd consisted of just him
Him and his last companion.
A tense yet joyful smile greeted him
He couldn’t stay long
The fire always did burn too brightly.
Too familiar
Rot died in flames
It didn’t matter in the end.
There were debts to be paid.
Blink
He opened his eyes to blue.
Echo flowers
Flowers of glowing hopes and dreams.
Of a race soon extinct
How ironic.
The skeleton leaned over and touched one of them lightly.
Screams.
Shrill and loud
Pained and twisted
Ringing in his ears,
Echoed back a million times over.
AgainandagainandagainandAGAINANDAGAINANDAGAINAND-
He jerked back
…
Of course
The cries died down
The flower drooped
Head bent towards the dust stained ground.
Even the plants suffered the agony of desolation
…
He remembered coming here with his brother.
He didn’t want the older of the two to hear his wish
He did anyway.
The skeleton leaned down and whispered into the flower
Both broken in their own ways.
Both preserving his brothers one true wish.
For as long as they could.
*I wish to bring joy to all!"
The flower bloomed brighter.
Blink
He was back in his room
Bright like his joy
Loud like his personality
Colourful like his hopes
Vast like his love
And a rather large space for the rot.
Never perceived as such by anyone but himself.
Hugged by his little brother
By the room that froze when he died
A hopeless dead and decayed world.
Lit up once again
By the light of love
If only for a moment
Even if it all was pointless.