What a fragile thing, the human mind. Such a complex machine and yet fabrications of the senses can lead it to system overload and permanent malfunction.
My son is dead. Thats the truth of it. He died, in a way no child ever should. Oh- my poor sweet baby. How he cried out endlessly for help, and those rotten boys to stop. I would have given anything for dear Evan to stop his endless falling tears- the migraines he felt in those past weeks must have made the bite feel more like a sweet, ever craved release from those headaches as opposed to a taste of death. My son, lost to that monster- the bear. A dream turned into a nightmare because of- what? A stupid prank? A sick joke? We as humans are foolish- we create our own fates and tell ourselves we're tied to them.
But not me. I refuse. He is broken. But I can fix this. I will put him back together if it kills me- over, and over, and over again. I want my son back.
...It is at a time of grieving and mourning that a man finds himself at his lowest and most vulnerable. You'd think someone would be there to help me- to comfort me in my time of sorrow. Henry- I cry out in my mind every day- Henry- don't leave me like this to suffer alone. What is your problem? What is WRONG with you? My youngest is dead and you've barely spoken to me.
...Maybe I don't even want to hear your sorry voice. "Tomorrow is another day" he says, with a meek and pathetic slap on the back. Some fucking friend he is. I thought I loved him- God, I DO love him- as much as a man could love another man, but- its unacceptable. What kind of comfort should "Tomorrow is another day" bring to any parent who's lost their own baby? And in such a grotesque fashion. You'd think a relationship as strong as ours would be a bit more fruitful. Bring forth something MORE than "Tomorrow is another day."
Those words sting. They ring in the back of my mind like an incessant telephone, alongside screams of torment and the scorpions that poison me evermore. But what haunts me more than anything is his laughter. Evan's laughter. His sweet little laugh, how he would look up to you and say hello- it was all he knew to do. Giggle, smile, laugh, and say hello, or hi- such a simple 5 year old. He deserved better.
What did I do to deserve this kind of torture? It feels unjust, and cruel. Even a murderer shouldn't be burdened with this kind of guilt and grief- so why I, an innocent man?
I almost want to do something wrong, so my mind can be at ease. I want to do something wrong, so that I at least deserve this. I want to do something wrong... So I won't have to feel this alone.
Henry... You're my best friend, aren't you?
Therefore my bullshit, naturally, is your bullshit too.
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FNAF CONSEQUENCES - Fallen From Grace
FanfictionConsequences canon and my personal take on the missing children's incident and what led up to it. This is a written representation of what I think was going through William's head when he chose to become a child murderer- all written from his perspe...
