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“Guess we all are born with parts to play.”
But was he really? He curled in on himself, his knees held closely to his chest as tears cascaded down his cheeks. The distant glimmering lights of New L’Manburg were but twinkling stars in the darkness, heavenly beings that were not meant for outcasts like him. He was nothing. He’d come to terms with that. He was nothing. The only role he ever had the pleasure to play was being the lunatic’s general’s son.
“Some of us are stars, and some are just in the way.”
He’d fought tooth and nail for his beloved country. He has his fair share of scars brought about by a senseless war for freedom. He’d done everything he could to make his father proud. When the day of independence came, his father had barely glanced at him. No. It was always Tommy or Tubbo. Never him. Heaven forbid his father even spare a single ounce of attention towards his real son.
“I know I was meant for glory.” His hand reached towards those radiant and far-off beams, towards a country meant for him. His father had promised him the world, holding him in his warm hold as they watched the sun set in the distance. But what did his father do? He gave it to Tommy, then he gave it to Tubbo. Wilbur was never good at making promises, was he? “But that's never what my story brings.”
“And yet I keep on waiting...”
“When you have the passion and the drive.”
When his father was casted away an exile that should have an exile, he dedicated himself to taking down the very tyrant that dared to enter his country. He poured his soul into his book, torn at his frayed morality for the sake of a father who never wanted him. He had written every weakness, every loophole he could see... anything for his father. He wrote and wrote and wrote until his hands bled, blood smearing across the pristine pages.
“You expect your moment center stage to arrive.”
His father hadn’t received his return as warmly as he had hoped. He chalked it up to stress, that his father couldn’t afford to be weak at a time where they needed to be strong. He held onto that small thread of hope, waiting for their day of victory... when his father would finally pull him back into his embrace. When his father stepped down as president, he waited for his name to be called. He waited. Nothing. He got nothing. Not even a hug. Not even a smile. Not even a glance. As if he... as if he was nothing.
“I show up with heart a blazing.” His heart burned and ached with the memories, of false vows he’d told himself to keep from having a mental breakdown. Joy coursed through his veins the moment he escaped the man’s grasp. He ran to Pogtopia. He ran towards his father. Towards his home. How could he have known that all he’d receive was a cold and empty glare? “Ready to achieve amazing things.”
“But I'm left waiting in the wings...”
“I hear my cue...”
Schlatt had given him everything, offered him the world if he swore to be loyal.
“And yet I'm kept there, waiting...”
But Schlatt was not his father.
“Know what to do...”
He had a life in Manburg. A house. A position. A father figure. He was valued.
“And still I stand there, waiting...”
But Schlatt didn’t really care about him.
“It's always someone else who sings...”
Schlatt wanted Tubbo. Always Tubbo or Tommy. Never him. It was never him.
“While I'm left waiting in the wings...”
“And so I keep on keeping on.”
Schlatt was nothing but a dictator, a man who held his dying country at the palm of his hands. Wilbur was nothing but a general, a man lost to war that his own son refuses to think he could have ever done anything for their country once it was free. Two men who were nothing but charlatans, with their silver tongues of poison and lead. Fundy was nothing but a fool to have fallen for their tricks.
“My chances come and then I blink and they're gone.”
He worked for the two of them, thrown himself at their feet in hopes of gaining their love and affection. They both used him. One offered him a warm and loving hand to hold, not knowing that the hand would leave him the moment he stumbled and fell. Leaving him to fall into the infinite abyss. The other offered him a delectable red apple to feed and feast upon, not knowing that the core was rotten and filled with writhing maggots. Leaving him to choke as he’s eaten alive from the inside.
“Always overlooked unfairly.” No one saw him. Nobody ever saw him. He felt invisible, like he was fading from the memories of those he once called friend and family. Even his own damn fiancé pretended he didn’t exist. But did he complain? No. No, of course not. He played the fool, played the court jester that everyone could laugh, point, and jeer at. “While pretending that it barely stings.”
“But it stings, yes it stings...”
His practiced smile was gone, shattered along with the mask he had donned.
“And I'll shed no tears...”
With his jacket sleeve, he brushed his tears away. Enough was enough.
“I'll only keep on waiting...”
But he didn’t want to keep waiting...
“If no one cheers...”
He’ll make them see him.
“Well, I can keep on waiting...”
No. He doesn’t want to wait anymore.
“Who cares how loud...”
He’ll burn it all to the fucking ground. He’ll stand tall upon the ashes of a nation that never cared for him.
“The silence rings...”
He’ll scream and scream and scream until his throat is red and burns with blood. He’ll make them hear him.
“You'll find me waiting in the wings...”
He’s stepping back into the narrative.
And this time?
He’ll make them all burn.