Hermitcraft Oneshots and AUs (Season VI And VII) ((FIN))

A N G S T-Take care of Jellie.

Motivation above

Also, this is in the AU that if a player kills themselves on purpose, they die. Permanently.

Third Person

Scar sat ontop of the entrance portal in Hermitville.

He was staring at his phone, hoping Cub would answer as it buzzed.

'Hey! If your hearing this, I either am to busy to answer right now or I lost my communicator again! Leave a message.'

Scar shakily clicked the message button and lifted the phone to his ear. "Hey... I've been meaning to talk to you for awhile now. Um."

His eyes drifted to the pistol sitting next to him. "I just wanted to tell you that um, its done."

He gripped his jacket with one hand "And I can't do it anymore. I-I can't live anymore."

"I'm done fighting, I can't keep up with this anymore." He inhaled shakily.

Gently, he tugged on his sleeves to hide the scars. "Those scars on my arms, you know they aren't from Jellie. You know I didn't scrap them on the nether portal. You know I didn't crash."

"You know everything, but you laugh. You don't listen, you don't understand! You know how I feel, but you don't say anything!" His voice began to crack, and he began crying softly.

"I'm sorry I'm a disappointment. I'm sorry I'm a waist of space. I'm sorry I ignored you during Area 77." He took in a ragged breath, tears now running down his face.

He reached over to the pistol and lifted it in his hand.

"When you act sad, I ask you how your doing, and you say your fine. But I know your not, and I worry." Scar clutched it tightly, turning his knuckles white.

"But when I'm sad... Nothings wrong. Not to you. Not to them. Not to anybody." He placed it down and began to move the phone away from his ear.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way." He stood and he held the phone infront of him, his voice likely faint for whoever would listen to the message.

"Goodbye. Take care of Jellie for me."

He hung up and sent the message. He picked the pistol back up and clumsily loaded it.

He lifted it to his head, inhaling.

Scar reflected on his mistakes, mistake after mistake piling up.

How nobody would care that he was dead.

And pulled the trigger.

This is short. Because its hard to make this one long.

And no, there will not be a second part.

Who knows, the gun could have been jammed. You don't know.

Bye costumers! Thanks for reading!

Word count 408