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Wilbur looked down at his knuckles, white and bruised, but not bleeding. He couldn't bleed, the limbo simply wouldn't let him. But he could feel pain, wretched, harrowing, terrible, pain. It would crawl through his skull as he screamed at the empty grey walls, it would slither up his veins as he lay empty in the middle of the train track, even though he knew that train would never arrive.
He knew he should forgive, but he simply couldn't bring himself to it. Being left alone with nothing else to do but have your own thoughts, it leaves only two emotions left. Only two emotions that Wilbur could actually feel. Anger, and sadness.
As he screamed unintelligible fury at the ceiling, even he knew which of the two he felt. His knees abused the unmoving steel doors, his feet aimlessly trying to destroy the metal ground, and his fists pounded desperately against the cold train station wall, but it never made any difference.
I guess you could say, this time Wilbur finally noticed how futile his efforts were. What was it? What would his useless actions bring him to? What would it accomplish? And, in the end...What was the point?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. No point whatsoever.
With a wretched and wrangled sob, his hand loosened against the wall, sliding down the cold metal, defeated. There was no point, he was already dead, he was already gone, there was absolutely nothing left for him.
Wilbur sat with his back to the empty silver wall, facing the empty train tracks, everywhere empty, empty, empty. He was empty, too. It was all some sort of twisted fate or poetry. Wilbur let his head drop, unable to feel enough strength to keep it up.
Even though he couldn't bring himself to fight for it, he could still wish. And wish he did.
He wished that the train tracks would shake.
He wished that he could hear the distant screech of the train turning the corner.
Wilbur's eyes were squeezed shut, trying to fight the betrayal that could threaten to pour down his face, his cheeks had already memorised every path the tears could take.
He wished that he could feel the rumble of his last chance at life come roaring into the station.
Suddenly the ground shook, suddenly everything seemed to vibrate and tumble around ever so slightly. The piercing shriek of wheels on rails echoed throughout the station, and the encore of a roar gained closer. Wilbur stood up, he knew that sound. It was soft and distant in his brain, but these familiar sounds triggered something inside his memory.
Wilbur looked up, finally opening his eyes. He watched, mezmorized, a train, bright and blazing and real, come whooshing into the station, faster than Wilbur's eyes could process. . . but it was slowing down.
It was slowing down.
It was slowing down.
He jumped to his feet as this beautiful, gleaming, gorgeous train came to a slow halt, Wilbur walked cautiously to the train taking note of its appearance as it finally came to a heart-wrenching stop.
The doors opened briskly to a strange figure in a smiley mask, blue blood splattered across it. In one hand, his fingers gripped an axe, in a condition that proved it's murderous capabilities. On the other hand... was a man. Held up by the back of his collar on his mustard color shirt. Wilbur gasped softly and took an involuntary step back.
He was staring at himself, but this version looked greyer, more tattered, weaker... destroyed. Wilbur looked to the two-dots-for-eyes on Dreams mask, Dream shoved this twisted version of Wilbur out of the train and onto the train station floor, stepping back wordlessly.
Ghostbur fell to the ground, but immediately scrambled for Wilbur, grabbing hold of his ankles and holding on as he curled into them. Wilbur felt a strange mix of regret, disgust, and pity when he looked down.
"He said it would be okay. . ." Ghostbur whispered, looking up as a trickle of sapphire-blue blood slipped out of his nose. "He said it would be okay!"
Wilbur looked down, his gaze empty and unfeeling, blank and observant. He hated how unfeeling it was, but he couldn't change the truth. Suddenly a weird sound filled the station, like air being released.
"One chance, Soot. Once chance to stay alive." With that, Dream stalked farther into the train. Wilbur suddenly realized that the noise was the sound of the train preparing to leave.
"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts so bad-" Ghostbur cried, but Wilbur had enough. He jolted his ankle, not violently, but enough to shake the strangely de-saturated thing harshly. "Wh- don't go! Please don't leave me like they did!" Ghostbur clenched his knuckles tighter.
"Let go!" Wilbur kicked hard, shoving Ghostbur to the ground. In one last fit of fury, Wilbur raised his foot again, and stamped down. Without a second glance at the mess of crying limbs on the floor, Wilbur turned to look at the train.
The doors were closing. His doors to freedom, his doors to finally go outside, his doors to life, were closing. Wilbur ran with everything inside of himself, his will, his mind, his body, his soul, he ran like his life depended on it.
Because it did.
His feet pounded the dry metal floor as the short distance began to feel like a mile, he ran like the world was ending, he ran to the only train to save his life. He was not going to turn away, he would be toward the light. A burst of breath, of adrenaline, Wilbur threw himself with as much force as his heart could manage. Putting his soul into that shove, he came to a skidding halt in the train.
He pulled himself up, scrambled to his feet as the train doors pulled to a close. Wilbur had never felt as much relief as he did just now. His breathing hitched in his throat, his fingers scrabbling to find something, anything, to pull him up. Slowly, shakily, he pulled himself to his feet, turning to look out the window at his prison.
Curled up on the floor was Ghostur, tattered, destroyed, and sobbing his eyes out. Blue blood dripped from his nose and mouth, and he was laying like he had been kicked to the floor. He had.
As the train slowly whirred back into motion, Wilbur felt it jolt into motion, slow at first. As the train lumbered away, Wilbur took one last glance at Ghosbur. The tiny, broken, bleeding Ghostbur.
It was a sad sight.
But as the Train began to pick up speed and Wilbur was whisked away from that broken version of himself, he realized something. Before he had thought he'd felt emotion, before he thought he held something. But before he was simply numb and nothing else. Wilbur felt the tunnel light flash across his face, his expression darkening.
Being left alone with nothing else to do but have your own thoughts, it leaves only two emotions left. Only two emotions that Wilbur could actually feel. Anger, and sadness.
This, this, was what anger truly felt like.
