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Losing a friend is hard. Sometimes they subtly fall out of your life, seeing them less and less, until one day you realize they just aren’t there anymore. Other times an issue that cannot be mediated takes center stage and those once inseparable find a sprawling chasm at their feet. Sometimes it is someone else’s fault, dragging away one from the other.
It wasn’t his fault.
He hadn’t known what Joey’s plan was. He hadn’t known not to put trust in the creators.
He had always been too kind.
When he’d found him, strapped to the dissection table, chest cavity open wide, placed upon a stage of frozen time, he screamed. He screamed until his voice gave out. He wailed until tears of ink no longer dripped down his face. He held on to his dear friend. His poor friend. His last friend. The only one he could turn to in this ever growing madhouse. Gone. Lifeless. Wrong.
He held his friends hand, cold and clammy as it was, for a very long time. He didn’t know how long. Hunched over, face buried in his overalls. Hiccuping sobs every once in a while picking up in volume only to die back down.
It didn’t matter how loud or quiet he was. The creators had long since left him to his own devices, moving on to other levels and chambers of the studio. They did not care anymore. They had tossed him aside like trash. Clenching and relaxing his right hand in a rhythm, he slowly raised himself off the floor.
Breathing heavily through a grimace of clenched teeth, he stalked his way towards it. The foul, retched, abomination that Joey had created. It was all Joey’s fault. Everything. They should not have existed, but there they were. The machine’s constant background noise once something he tried drowned out, now carried him quicker to his destination. Twisting and turning through hallways. Pass long since locked doors. Away from his friend. Away from what he had known. Away from himself.
He halted. He shouldn’t do this. What would his creator think?
He shook his head violently, clearing the thought away from his mind. His creator had abandoned them, he didn’t need to worry about what if’s and maybe’s involving that traitor. Taking a deep breath he continued on his march. There was the doorframe, the last threshold to cross before what he was to set into motion, entering the room he had swore he would never return to, the one room he had only ever exited from.
One step forward, if he did this there was no turning back.
Two steps forward, he would die.
Three steps forward, it’s not like it mattered.
Pause. Grab wrench.
Four steps forward, everyone else was gone.
Five steps forward, they took his last friend.
Six steps forward, his creator was long since gone.
Seven steps forward, his creator hadn’t cared about him.
Eight steps forward, he didn’t want this.
Nine steps forward, why live in a world where you are not wanted.
Ten steps forward.
He stood in front of it. The ink machine. Joey Drew’s pride and joy. The thing that had created him. The thing that had caused the once peaceful studio to become a horror show.
He raised the wrench over his head.
This was for Boris.
Losing a friend may be hard. But losing yourself, that’s a different story.
You can feel it. Your soul. Shatter into fragments.
You become blind. To everything around you. And to what is inside you.
You have a rage all consuming that burns hotter than Hell ever could.
You feel the emptiness. A cold, bottomless ocean whose vast depths hold nothing.
And while you may lose yourself. It is only for a moment.
Reality has a funny way of crashing back in.
He slammed the wrench down. Causing a hairline fracture in the nozzle. Again and it widens. He moved to the side and slammed it on the gears with their delicate tines, perfectly tuned to endlessly rotate, they will never fit together again. He slammed and he slammed and he slammed. But the machine still stands. Battered and bruised. A cruel reminder that he will never be rid of it.
Then he hears it, a whine, followed by a creeping creak.
One step back, the sound growing louder.
Two steps back, the machine was howling.
Three steps back, he was too late.