Dsmp oneshots

That is how it ends

Clay ran a hand through his hair one last time. So that's how it ended. Here and now his life would end.

He had a ordinary school life.
Not too many and not too few friends, but in the end he wasn't close to any of them.
His parents?

Managers, both were never really there. Of course they had enough money to retire early, but why should such Workaholics stop at all.
They didn't even mention or even notice their son's birthdays.
Sometimes he wondered how the two had even gotten together.
The few times they sat down at the dining table and ate dinner together, it was suffocatingly quiet.

It was like eating with two divorced people.
Both of them slept in one room when they were at home.
However, like other teenagers, he had never heard the sound of anything abnormal going on in his parents' room.
He had decided at the age of nine that his parents had married for business, how he would fit into the picture he never knew.

Of course, like any child, he had many happy memories, but his were always a little different. For example, on his first day of school, his housemaid would accompany him to school instead of his parents. There were funny looks, but that didn't bother him much at the time. The maid was great.

A nice woman, she was.
She had beautiful red hair and freckles, he was sure she could have been a model, she was friendly and funny.
She had always made time for him and given him some free time despite his parents' orders.
Of course, as such an important child and sole heir, he was only given the best.
He was one of those miracle children.

When he was a child, he was horded with compliments.
He had everything, the money, the grades and the looks.

Then it started, the way down.
His parents had completely stepped out of his life, only fighting when they were at home and forbidding him to call them mom/dad.

His life shattered.
Where the perfect son once stood was just a burned out boy.
He didn't understand the assignments at school. Started blaming himself more and more.
He drowned in self dissatisfaction until it eventually turned into self-hate.
He couldn't explain when he had died inside.
At what point was he so broken?

When had he started locking up his feelings and locking them away.
When had he put them all in a bottle and watched it become more and more until the bottle broke.

Just as the bottle broke, the rest of him shattered.
Then it was over. He just couldn't anymore.
He got panic attacks, afraid of people.
Yes, even talking to the nanny was difficult and he had known her all his life.
He had tried to explain it to the parents and teachers, but they played it off as an excuse. Yes, he had tried to keep going, but that little voice in his head, telling him over and over what he was doing wrong and how wrong he was in believing he could make it, was getting louder.

Then the time came.
He was terrified of the future.
Just thinking about it put him in restlessness.
From that moment he knew.
He didn't want to and couldn't go on.
The feeling of constant tension was too much for him.
He had decided to end it all.
The pills were ready and a small final text for his maid was prepared.
His parents?
They probably wouldn't realize he was dead until weeks later.

So that's how it ended.
This was the path he had chosen to take his life.
Now he sat here looking down at his own funeral.
He had finished with the fact that he was dead and would probably be a ghost now.

With that, his question of how the afterlife was, was also settled.
He grinned, the fear for his future was in vain now.
What he also noticed was that his parents really weren't there, they probably didn't even know about it yet.

Now he had sat at his grave for a few hours and thought about what would happen now.

He wasn't sure himself if he would go to heaven or like everyone says suicide was a sin and he's going to hell.

As he sat there, he found his eyelids getting heavier with every passing minute.
After a few minutes he must have fallen asleep, there by his tombstone.
It wasn't cold and it wasn't warm, it wasn't anything.
Since he was dead he didn't feel anything, he had already noticed that.
What he hadn't noticed was how it was slowly dissolving, his already transparent "shell" becoming more and more transparent until it was completely gone.

When he opened his eyes again he was in another room.
No longer at his grave in this cold graveyard.
No, he was in a room, more specifically a bedroom.
After looking around, he found that it was a child's room.

A little boy was sitting on the floor playing with little toy cars.
He had two small cars.
One was all red and a sports car, the other was an orange sports car.

He pushed them back and forth. Now and then he giggled to himself and pushed the white headband back onto his forehead properly.

What Clay definitely noticed was that he was alone. You couldn't hear any other noise in the house.

He felt sorry for the boy, the little boy was like him. No parents around and all alone.

Clay took a few steps towards him and only then did the little boy notice him.
He looked up at him with big eyes.
His eyes were a deep black, like obsidian.
They looked like those of a panda.

After he had squatted down, he stroked the little one's head.
"Hey kid, nah what are you doing?" Clay asked kindly.

The boy was excited, he clapped his hands and looked up at Clay again.
"I'm playing with my cars, sir!" he screamed almost excitedly.

Clay ran a hand through his blond locks and sat down comfortably next to the black-haired one.
"May I play or is this private?" He asked.
"Of course you can play!
By the way, my name is Nick!" said the little one proudly.

After a few hours of playing, Nick yawned.
"Nah, tired?" asked the blond and laughed.

The boy looked up at him, grimacing.
"I'm never tired! Mom says it's not a good thing to waste time on." He said and sulked to himself.
He even had his small arms crossed in front of his chest.

Clay on the other hand was shocked. Who had told the little one that sleeping was a waste of time?
Gradually, Clay saw himself more and more in the boy.
He felt sorry for him, he didn't want the boy to end up like him.
Clay had put Nick to bed and persuaded him to sleep. Of course, the bedtime stories could not be missing.

So he was sitting next to the bed of a little boy he had only met seven to eight hours ago.

Just when he wanted to think more about why he was actually sitting here now, the door opened.

A woman was standing in the doorway.
Length brown hair and blue eyes.
She wore a uniform like the ones he knew from housemaids.
She came in and stroked the boy's head a few times.
"Hey Nick." she whispered calmly.
You could tell from her tone of voice that she cared about him.

Hesitant and tired, the little boy opened his eyes.
When he realized who it was, they became a ball of sunshine, lightening up like a star, and he sat up.
"Hi!" he said happily.

She asked what he had been doing all day and he reported enthusiastically.
Just as he got to the point where Clay had appeared, he pointed at him.
"And this is Clay! Isn't he great? He was playing with me the whole time!" Giggled the little panda excitedly again.
The woman looked the blonds way and smiled.

He smiled back briefly and looked at the boy again, as did the woman.
"I'm proud of you! You have your first imaginary friend!" She said childishly and happily.

It hit me like a stone.
I took my own life, how was I here then?
I was dead why wasn't I in heaven or hell.
That was the moment I understood.
When we die we don't go to hell or heaven.

We become the imaginary friends we all had back then.
We are the children's imagination, as the grown-ups like to call it.