𝙸'𝚖 𝚂𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍.

~15~

Short chapter so sorry :( n e ways if this has mistakes don't come at me pls thank you 😩‼️

BEGINNING OF ARC TWO
To my childhood friends' dad, for never giving up even in the brink of death. I love you so much sir and I hope you get better.
To my friend who passed, i swear your mom's sadness will not relish on her flesh and bone—-kind soul alike.
To Katherine and Angie, for being with me even after they abandoned me.
To my emotions, dreams and beings I talk to. I hate you so much to the point I can't get enough of our strange interactions.

It was dark, cold. His skin slowly turned into bumps as he tried to open his eyes as hard as he could, trying to see something, anything.

It had been dark for a long time. There was no night light, no sun or moon or stars to lighten up the dark hole he was in. The coldness felt oddly familiar,but at the same time it didn't give him that same disgusting feeling.

He actually enjoyed the darkness this time. Enjoyed the sound of nothing. Enjoyed the fact that there weren't no night lights or sun or moon or stars. Hell, he even smiled, let his arms free as he dropped to the ground and let his body get wrapped around in the coldness of this place.

That was until suddenly his eyes hurt, a sudden flash making his eyes go blind as if the sun had crashed right beside him, sitting there only for him to admire it and soak in all it's beauty.

And that's when suddenly he didn't feel so cold. Suddenly he wasn't stuck in this large, dark freezer but better yet, wrapped snugly warm the same way his mother would comfort him, tell him everything was going to be ok with tired eyes and soft hands.

He didn't mind. Didn't mind taking in the warmth and light even though he despised the chandelier and those ugly marble floors. He smiled to himself, feeling content in this little space where there was no trouble, a place where he didn't feel nothing and for once that nothing felt good.

So there he laid, spending infinite hours floating around this little space he felt like calling home. Where he was locked up and nothing was going to get him.

Sometimes he would quit floating and lie down. Other times he would sit and admire the beauty of the burning sun along with the other things—-the moon, the stars, the planets which all came down as if to say, Hello. Let's hang around a bit, shall we?

Obviously, he agreed, finding a strange comfort in having something—-not someone but something keeping him company in a place where only he knew. A place where not even life and death could get him.

His space wasn't perfect, the planets and stars looked like something that would come straight from his notebook—-little flaws here and there as if it were merely a doodle, eraser marks surrounded them as the color from cheap crayons went off the lines.

He also found comfort in that, the idea of having something perfect just because they weren't perfect. The unnecessary pencil marks reminding him of his own needless scattered scars, the eraser marks reminding him of his own faded bruises, and the color that left the lines reminding him of how his blood would sometimes leave the line as well.

We're alike, aren't we?

Yes. Would you like to know why?

Of course.

The planets and stars and moon above all sort of hushed down as they stopped orbiting around and around and got into place, the same way the elders did once they were about to tell a story about their own past.

We are merely a figment of your own imagination.

He frowned, a bit puzzled at the answer he got with the answer he was expecting. But...you all are real. You all live in space, a place with no gravity and-and people study you, wanting to know more about each and everyone of you. How can you all not be real?

Chuckling, the planets and sun and stars and moon all shook their heads, amused by not only how much he knew but how little he understood.

You are correct. But we aren't those stars and planets and suns and moons you hear about on documentaries.

How so?

We are things that are flawed, with flaws that not even humans would want to investigate. And so with the help of our own pleads and yells for the gods to have mercy on us, we were put here. In a place where they can laugh at us and call us fools, before they grow tired and blow us to dust.

So you're all going to die? Why not just-

We want a chance.

He opened his eyes, letting the information sink in. What about me?

Everyone smiled, You aren't us. You aren't the moon, the planets, the stars nor the sun. You are a human. All you're doing is spending time with us.

His eyes widened, confused at what they said and what he saw. But-But you came down to me. I don't understand.

We didn't come down to you. You came to us. And now we ask you to leave.

He shook his head almost immediately, sitting up to face them. I can't leave you. You said it yourself, you are a figment of my imagination. Imaginations can't leave me.

You and us are alike.

How so?

We can't tell you. But we can tell you this- They leaned in his ear, his head leaning towards them with eyes closed and almost a sad expression because he couldn't know the reason as to how.

-When we turn to dust, we become the reality of others. Go and live, boy. You won't turn to dust, you won't turn to trash like us.

I won't leave until you answer my questions.

They sighed, knowing that with him, they were never going to win. We are merely a figment of your imagination. No, we cannot leave you, but you cannot stay with us either. Because once you do, the life you have back down there and the life you will have here will mix and soon, you won't be able to balance neither.

What?

You and us are alike. We find comfort in you, in knowing a human is like us, but if you find comfort in us, you will stay shelled in and never get out. So we tell you again, go and live. We won't leave you, but you must leave us.

The young man's eyes lowered, his heart sad and his mind upset. Why are you all considered trash?

We have scratch marks, eraser marks surrounding us and color going out of line. We are supposed to be pretty stars and moons and suns and planets, but we are not like that. And people do not like blemished things.

Why not?

Whenever a piece of paper is stained, it gets crumbled to a ball and thrown away.

He didn't want to leave, he found comfort in this. Found comfort in the fact that their were wise people who he could talk to without being afraid of judgement, without being afraid of the critique because they were just like him.

I don't want to leave.

We know you don't. And we don't want you to leave either. It hurts us to see you in pain. After all, you were hanging by the string of someone else's own imagination.

I know...

Then they gasped, a new excitement filling the small space as their wrinkled eyes slowly turned into a delighted smile. How about you go back and paint again. Paint not only his dreams but yours too. Oh! And paint us good, make sure you get stars' good side, you know how they can be.

His droopy eyes soon turned into a shimmery rock of green emeralds, his frown turned upside down that he was laughing along with them.

Fine, you win. But first, let me soak up my last few days of your warmth, sun.

You are very stubborn for your own good young man.

I love you too.