The Memories Within the Walls [Discontinued]

Of Memories

Phil doesn't remember what it felt like to live.

To be fair, he doubts the boys do either. The loop only mimics the life they once had, but after millions of them, it feels like a stage play that never ends.

He knew the concept quite well — joy, excitement, the rush of the unexpected, things that made every second of existence in the world worth it — but the feelings he felt now were programmed into him. His fears, his excitement, all timed perfectly with the emotions he felt on that last day. His laughter is always hollow and disingenuine. His smiles are always fake. His boys tell the same jokes over and over, and all he can do is push them forward into the next loop, with no hope and no end.

As the three sit around the table, all he could hear is the same clank of utensils on ceramic plates, the same comments being repeated about the same foods over and over.

"You kinda burnt mine, Phil."

"Don't listen to Techno, Dadza. Your cooking's wonderful!"

Phil laughed, cutting a slice from his own pancake and shoving it in his mouth, dry. A small act of rebellion, and yet despite that, the sickly sweet flavour of the syrup still lingered.

They were only friends, that's how it started. Family bound through love and not blood, and isn't that relationship stronger anyways? Years of banter and jokes turned into nicknames, then finally turned into titles that were spoken with dead seriousness amongst them.

Philza, the father. Techno and Wilbur were brothers. It was never in contention. It was as if it were always destined to be.

"What's the plan today?" He asked the boys, watching them shovel the food into their mouths. Not that they were hungry. Or, they were. Just not for the food.

"Sparring." Techno replied, deadpan, and Wilbur crinkled his nose in disgust.

"You always do that. And you're always alone up there. Why don't you hang out with me and Phil every once in a while?"

"You're one to talk." The elder shot back. "You stay in your room all the time and pluck at your guitar."

"Boys..." Phil warns, but it was useless anyways. Wilbur gasped, affronted.

"For the record, I'm this close to finishing another song."

"That's what you said last time."

"But I'm close this time, I swear!"

"Wil," Techno sighed. "At some point you need to understand that you're never going to get anywhere. Your music isn't going to help us get outta here."

Wilbur stared at his brother, mouth opening and closing silently in shock. Between them, Phil tried to laugh it off.

"I-I'm sure Techno didn't mean it—" He started, but it was useless. The younger slammed his hands on the table and stood, storming off back into his room, fuming. Phil turned to Techno, who simply continued to calmly finish his food as they heard the door slam shut in the boy's anger.

"I'm sure you didn't mean it." He said with a nervous laugh.

"Oh, of course I didn't." His pink haired son replied, dragging Wilbur's plate towards him. "But it is what it is."

The father nodded in understanding. Not approvingly, just agreeably.

"Happy birthday mate." He said quietly, standing and collecting the empty plates.

"It's not my birthday," His son's face was dark as he uncapped the syrup, drenching the remaining contents of the bottle onto his breakfast, and shoving a piece violently into his mouth. Phil watched him swallow, emotionless. "It has never once — not in my entire lifetime — ever been my birthday."

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Hi, author here. Just wanted to point out I reorganized a few things so the second chapter is newer than the third chapter and it introduces Wilbur so if you're kinda confused that's probably why :)