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I tried my hardest, okay? I know, I'm the comedic relief in your eyes, but I still feel this! I still feel things, and it hurts, okay? It hurts sometimes, but I don't show it. Why? Well, because I don't want anyone else to know that I am secretly scared inside.
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Being happy isn’t hard for some people, but for others it’s the last thing that they’ll ever want to do. That’s how Wilbur lives. He's acting happy for people when they’re down, but sometimes it’s almost never vice versa. Wilbur’s the parent. Wilbur’s the therapist. Wilbur’s the one that does everything, yet he can’t do anything for himself.
He’s never wondered why, but who would in his state?
Wilbur’s not the type to be quiet, so if he’s feeling miserable, like always, he stays “alive” and will act as if he didn’t do anything… questionable last night. Wilbur hates seeing his friends sad, so he acts like a stupid clown in front of them, so they stay happy.
You’re probably asking, where does this miserable man get energy to be able to cheer his friends up whenever he is down? Well, the thing is… he doesn’t. His energy is just covered up with a dead battery that piles up and some day will explode, and they will both die. Batteries die one day. They live a life shorter than humans, but at least they spend their time having the actual energy to be awake.
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Wilbur wakes up to another dreadful day. All of his friends were out at the beach on a warm, spring day, but Wilbur made an excuse just to not be at the beach. If he had never seen or touched an object that had a sharp corner, then made contact with it on his body, and had the put bandages on the thin skin that covered his bones, then maybe. Just maybe, he would have thought of going to the beach with his friends. However, that wasn’t the case.
He did see a sharp metal object. He did touch that sharp metal object. He did feel his body shake. He did feel a liquid ooze through the cracks that he made in his skin. He did put strips of white cloth over the cracks. He did do it. Over and over again. He kept doing it. He kept feeling faint. He kept trying his hardest to stop, but he could never. The pain that was hidden during his childhood escaped its locked chest, and it infested his whole body like a disease.
Wilbur thought of many times, maybe I am the disease. Maybe the host is not me, but the things that I touch. Have I invaded the ring of childhood and thrown them out of the window? Have I forged a plate of black goo, and created an ocean of demons that continue to capture pirates, and sirens, and- and innocent people? Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t. But I sure do have something going on.
His brain decided to shut down when his mother died from acute kidney failure sixteen months ago. His mind decided to change and build a separate community. It was as if his happy and nourishing thoughts were banned and are now forever forgotten.
He’s forgotten how to smile without having to force his lips to move. He’s forgotten how to look at the clouds in a pure mind. He’s forgotten how to eat and drink enough. I think that the things that I just listed is the definition of, “he’s lost the will to live.” Isn’t it? I’m pretty sure that Wilbur has lost the desire to live.
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Wilbur sighs as he opens his eyes. Another day to follow a routine that’s more boring than being stuck in traffic because of a stupid leakage that some stupid truck “dropped” and now everyone is going to be late. Wilbur sits in his bed, waiting for the sun to leak through his fake blackout curtains. Wilbur stares at the wall, thinking of what he’s supposed to do for the day. He still wonders why he thinks that he never does anything. Yes, he goes to work, but that’s it.
The sun let some rays in, and Wilbur rubbed his eyes before looking at the red that will forever stain the skin that tries to rest on his body. When Wilbur feels a wet substance appear on his cheek, that is when he comes back to his senses. Wilbur looked at his curtains before putting on a disgusted at the site of a gigantic hole in his wall just sitting right beside the locked window.
He pushes the bed sheets of his slim body and hangs his legs over his bed. He looked at the clock that laid on his wall, and he opened his phone. Bad idea. It’s always a bad idea to open your phone, but it’s become a habit for this man here. It’s become a habit to scroll on social media, looking at people that have better lives than him.
I think that’s what a lot of people do.
They look at people that have better lives than they do, which makes them feel worse, but yet they feel comfortable. They feel comfortable because they can see what people have done in their lives and what they do. But it makes them feel even more worse because those people are living better lives and they’re “stress-free” and all of these people are rich and being rich means that you have happiness existing in your life.
That’s the case for many people.
It takes a lot out of some people just to think about anything and everything. However, it doesn’t take much for some people to fall asleep and hope that it’ll be forever.
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Wilbur slowly gets out of bed and goes to the kitchen. He opens the refrigerator, knowing that nothing is there except for some milk and bottles of water. He opens the fridge out of instinct instead of reason. Like I said, he’s living by a routine that he has never dared to break.
I have work today. Wilbur thought as he took out the milk. Wilbur walks to the pantry to get some cereal and continues to think.
I need to eat fast if I want to get on the bus on time. If you didn’t know, well, you probably do, but Wilbur is a workaholic. He goes by that routine, remember?
Yeah, it’s so nice being in an unstable mental state and being mute at the same time. Having a mother die a year and four months ago is also very nice. But what’s not nice is being twenty-four-years-old and not living life to its fullest.
They say that high school is supposed to be your happiest years, and they sure were. They were the years of people going up to you and saying that you were worth nothing. But Wilbur was an optimist back then, so he thought that they would stop one day. And they did, but of course, it turned into something worse. Nothing good will ever happen. Not until someone steps in, but that’s not until another couple of years.
That physical bullying turned into internet bullying. Wilbur did nothing about it. Nothing. But why? He didn’t know any better back then.
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Wilbur went to the bathroom. Wilbur put on his clothes. Wilbur brought his supplies. Wilbur got his keys. Wilbur locked the door. Wilbur went into his car. Wilbur drove to where he works. Wilbur parked in the parking lot, surprised by the lack of vehicles, but he still continued to go to where he normally parks.
Wilbur goes out of his car. Wilbur walks to the building doors. Well, he doesn’t really walk. He drags his feet to the building doors, instead. Wilbur doesn’t notice the paper on the doors and tries to open the door. After many failed attempts, Wilbur finally looks up in an attempt to knock on the door, hoping that someone would open it for him. But, instead of doing that, he sees the white paper.
Do NOT Enter! Massive leak on Floor 16B! Jobs are CLOSED until all poisonous liquid is diminished!! All workers will be informed when jobs are open once again. Sorry for the inconvenience.
Once Wilbur had finished reading what the paper had read, he had started to freak out. His job was to be a janitor and that was the only thing that he could do! He didn’t have any other job, which made him worried. He needs to find another job as soon as possible, because if he doesn’t then he’s dead.
Wilbur thought, he took out his phone and searched through the job app that he hadn’t uninstalled from his phone yet. He looked for jobs that were good pay, and they took up time. He actually didn’t care how long each shift was, all he cared about was how he was going to pay his rent.
Wilbur cleans for a living, but he can’t clean at the same time. He cleans and purifies objects that were fabricated, but he cannot clean himself from the thoughts that roam around in his mind.
Wilbur found a job that wasn’t so far away from the building that he was in right now, so instead of walking back to his car, Wilbur decides to walk. Wilbur was shot with a wave of awareness, like his mind was telling him to back off and that it wasn’t a wonderful day to walk. Wilbur excused that thought and kept walking to his destination.
It got dark quickly. Very dark.
No, not aura wise, but sky wise. It turned night very fast. Faster than he had expected, but Wilbur kept on walking. The store was only three more blocks away from where he was, so it didn’t matter now.
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He opened the door, and a bell rang. The place wasn’t busy. It was silent. It was a bookstore. No one even reads books anymore, so it made sense for Wilbur. Wilbur took in the air; it was a soft calming aura and it made Wilbur a little safe. Not too safe, though.
Wilbur had made a sound and the owner, or the cashier, talked all of a sudden as Wilbur looked at the books. They looked so ancient. So old. So… worn up and torn. They were so much like… like Wilbur.
“Oh! Hello, customer!” the cashier said. Wilbur looked behind him and saw a short person smiling at him.
“H- hello,” Wilbur replied.
“Are you looking for anything specific, sir?” the woman had asked.
“Uhm, yes, actually.”
“What’re you looking for, sir?” the woman asked, she had bright eyes. She was happy that someone had finally entered into the old bookstore.
“A job.”
“A job? As in the book, ‘A Job’ or are you asking if you would like to work here?”
“I would like to work here.”
“A- are you sure?” the female asked.
“Yes, I love books and I’m looking for a job.”
“Well, you’ve come to the perfect place! My name is Niki, and I am co-owner of Fun Dye’s Books. So, what is your name?”
“Wilbur. Wilbur Soot.”
“Well, that’s a wonderful name, Wilbur Soot. Do you know who Fun Dye is?”
“Not particularly, but I have seen his name in books before.”
“Well, Fun Dye, we just call him Fundy here, is the founder of this bookstore! He’s very nice to some people, and I mean some. But I’m sure that you’ll go great with him! So, I’m just going to accept you as a worker here, because here at Fun Dye’s Books, we love to have more people. We know that it’s not the quantity, but the quality, but it wouldn’t hurt to add another one to the family, am I right?”
“Yeah, I believe that as well. But what will I work as?”
“Well, you’re going to receive €14 per shift ($15.87) and each shift can be as short as four hours or as long as the entire day. You’ll have to be here every day, so it really doesn’t matter.”
“That’s a lot of money, are you sure about paying me that much?”
“Wilbur, it’s all right. We have this one person that buys a lot from us, they rent books, they buy books, and they’re always coming back for more. I think that it’s alright, and I am the co-founder, so don’t worry about it!”
“Okay, so what will I do every day?”
“Do you know how to clean?”
“Yes! I was a janitor in my last job,” Wilbur says with a tiny spark of light in his eyes.
“Well, that’s perfect! We needed someone to clean because some of these books are really dirty and filthy, but you will start tomorrow, okay? We were just about to close up for lunch break, and I live here, so yeah. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow and we’ll close at 11 P.M., so if you wanna drop by, go ahead.”
“You will see me tomorrow! Thank you so much, Ms. Niki.”
“No problem, Wilbur. Just call me Niki from now on, and don’t forget that the shop opens at 10 A.M. and closes at 11 P.M.”
“I won’t, and just call me Wilbur if you want. Goodbye, Niki, see you tomorrow.”
“Goodbye, Wilbur!” Niki said as Wilbur walked out of the bookstore.
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Wilbur was happy. He was happy because good things like this never happen. Wilbur always has a bad luck chain following him, but this time, it’s different. It was different for a brief time. A very short time.
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Wilbur never talks with his dad, Phil, but he just felt just talking with him for a couple of minutes on the phone. Wilbur just felt it. He needs to talk with his dad, even for a couple of seconds, minutes, he wants to talk with him. Maybe it’s because he needs to give his dad a life update, or whatever. Maybe he wants to make sure that his dad is okay, or something, anything!
Wilbur forgot his dad’s phone number. That’s how long he hasn’t talked with his dad. They just both lost contact with each other when his mother died. Wilbur looked up his father’s contact in his phone and he clicked on it. He contemplated about calling him. It would be weird for Wilbur to call his dad after a year and four months, so Wilbur didn’t.
Wilbur didn’t call.
Bad idea, right there.
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Wilbur was stuck on his phone, it was already 7 P.M. and it was cold. Wilbur always hated wintertime, even with his jackets on. He just hated it. From the snow to the hot chocolate.
Yeah, he hates drinking hot chocolate, so what? He cared about what others thought about him, so he just forced himself to drink hot chocolate whenever someone made him.
Who would want to force someone to drink something that they don’t want?
A brain.
That’s what made Wilbur think about his life. Why is he doing things that he doesn’t want to do? He never wanted to cut himself. He never wanted his mother to die. He never wanted to move away from his father. He never wanted to be an adult. He never wanted to grow up. But because society is shit, he did.
Wilbur’s eyes were stuck on the blue light that was emitting from his phone. He scrolled through Twitter, looking at what people were talking about, looking at what drama started now. Wilbur was just a couple of blocks away from his now closed work building, but he never kept his eyes off of the electronic. This is how addicted you can get to these things.
You can get so addicted that you don’t even notice a group of men following you!
Wilbur never looked left or right; he didn’t look at where he was going because he already knew where he was going by heart. Literally. He knew this town like it’s the back of his hand. He knows this town better than the mayor. He knows this town more than he knows his own brain. He knows this town more than he knows what he’s doing with his life.
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Wilbur took a right and he was pushed into an alley. He screamed and saw three men standing in front of him. He tried to stand up as quickly as possible, but he isn’t the flash, and being thin doesn’t help. Thin doesn’t always mean fast. He was punched in the cheek, and he fell back down to the ground.
He yelled out, “What did I ever do to you?!”
A man with a monotone voice said, “We’ve come to kill you! Haven’t you received our messages?!”
Wilbur didn’t know anything about text messages. He goes on his phone a little way too much, so if he were to receive a message about some guys wanting to kill him, he would know ahead of time. But he never receives messages anymore.
Once the monotone voice man finished talking, Wilbur felt a kick in his back, in his legs, and something plop onto his head. His face started to feel weird, it started to feel numb. Soon after that, his face started to burn, Wilbur screamed as he continued to feel kicks being sent to his body.
He felt his body being picked up, his vision got blurry, but as soon as he was lifted into the air, he was thrown back down. He heard a loud snap, no, more like a crack, and a large wave of pain was sent throughout his entire body, and he felt a thick liquid under his fingers. Was he bleeding?
Wilbur felt punches and he felt cold hands touch his neck as he continued to scream. His whole body was aching, and he felt like he was dying. He’s wanted to die before, but he never wanted to die like this. He wanted to die from falling into water, something less painful than, than this!
Wilbur felt punches being forced into his face, he could feel bruises form, blisters appearing, he saw something sharp. He didn’t know what it was because his vision was slowly fading away, it was getting dark. Maybe it was because it was turning nighttime?
Wilbur started to cry.
As he felt more punches and hits, he cried. He cried because he didn’t want to die, but he did. He wanted to see his mother, oh so badly! But he didn’t want his father to be all alone. He cared for his father. He doesn’t even remember the last words that he said to his father before leaving. He doesn’t even know if he said goodbye to his father.
One of the men peeled off the mask that Wilbur had on, and they immediately stopped torturing him. It was as if they had gotten the wrong person.
“Techno, I- I think-” A man with a deep voice, but not monotone said, before getting cut off.
“We got the wrong guy,” the monotone man said, Wilbur too tired to say anything, he just yelped when the deep voiced man let go of his neck and Wilbur plopped onto the ground.
Wilbur started to curl unconsciously and felt every single bone of his body just shatter into tiny little pieces. Wilbur felt like dying. Wilbur was dying. He heard feet stomp on the ground, a sign that his ears were getting sensitive to sound, the sound getting father and father away, but Wilbur could still hear them.
Wilbur knew what was going to happen to him. He felt the energy drain out of him like a black hole sucked out all light from its sight, but nevertheless, he moved his hand and searched for his phone.
He squinted at the bright light, and with shaking hands, he went to his contacts. He clicked on the profile, ‘bird man is my dad’ and tapped the call button. He waited for what felt like years until he heard a voice speak from the other side of the screen.
“W- Wilbur? Is this you?” he heard his dad say with a mainly cautious, scared voice, but it held a spark of calmness.
“Y- yeah… dad?” Wilbur said in the most hoarse voice you could possibly hear. Wilbur could sense that his father had plastered a worried face on.
“Wilbur, are you okay? You sound… sick, do you need me to come to you? I’ll drive right now if you want! Why are you calling me this late though? It must be important, right? Please be okay-” Phil was surprised when he heard Wilbur call him dad. It felt so long ago since he had heard that word.
Wilbur heard his father rant and ramble, but Wilbur didn’t have time for that. He was dying and the last thing that he would want to happen was for his father to notice that his son was dying during a phone call, and he didn’t know.
It would make Phil regret his entire life. If he didn’t rant, then his son wouldn’t be dead. You know?
“Dad, I think I’m dying,” Wilbur just plain out said.
“W- what?” Phil said in shock, I mean, who wouldn’t?
“I got hit by some guys and… and everything h- hurts. I so m- much to confess, but I don’t know it I c- can.” Wilbur said, tears dripping.
“Where are you, Wilbur? I’m taking you to the hospital, right now!” Phil said, he was distressed. His son was dying, and he didn’t even know where he was!
“Two blocks away from where I w- work,” Wilbur said as he started to see a figure.
“Where do you work, Wilbur? Come on, stay with me, son,” Phil said as he started walki- running to his car.
“J.S. Paper Co., also… my face is n- numb. I… can’t feel… a- anything.”
“O- Okay, thank you, Wilbur. I’m going there right now, stay alive, okay?”
“Ha, I… I don’t know if… I can… control t- that.”
“I don’t want you to die, son. Not you too…”
“I l- love you dad, you k- know that r- right?”
“I know that Wilbur. I love you so much too.”
“Y’know… I think I see mom…”
“N- no! W- Wilbur, stay awake, okay? Mom’s… she’s dead, remember?”
“S- she is…? B- but she’s t- talking to me!”
Phil was stunned, he drove faster.
“What is she saying, kid?”
“She’s saying… I… love… my… f-”
The line cut off.
Phil burst into tears, he didn’t care if he was breaking the laws, he wanted to see his son. When the line cut off, Phil was two blocks away from J.S. Paper Co. He ran to the alley where his son laid. Phil called his son again as he ran, hoping that he would get an answer. Nothing. He got nothing.
Phil ran into the alley once he found it. When he saw what had happened, he fell on his knees. He ran to his son. He was beside a dumpster. He didn’t like the sight of half of Wilbur’s face being all wrinkly. He didn’t like the sight of his entire body was covered in bruises, but he didn’t like the sight of the pool of blood that surrounded his son the most.
He hated the way his son’s body was distorted. It was twisted in ways that he didn’t think the human body could be twisted into. He looked at his son’s face. It was torn up and disgusting. It looked like this young 24-year-old had turned into an old man. Phil had looked at his boy. He took out his phone, almost forgetting to call 999.
“999, how may I help you?” the dispatcher said.
“M- my son, he was,” Phil said, trying to catch his breath, “He’s dying, burn scars everywhere on his face! He- I don’t know if he’s breathing!”
“Okay sir, the ambulance is coming, but where are you currently at right now?”
“Uhm… in the alley two blocks away from J.S. Paper Co.,” Phil looked behind him before continuing, “the alley in front of… Nini’s Kitchen! Please, help me, my son, he’s the last thing I have left!” Phil said as his voice cracked towards the end.
“Okay, thank you for telling me, sir. Please check for a pulse and if there is not one, start doing chest compressions, do you know how to do that, sir? Please do that as the ambulance and police are going straight to where you said you were.”
“I… I know how to do that.”
“Okay, please do that, and the ambulance should be there in two minutes,” the dispatcher told Phil. That information did not make Phil any comfortable one bit because the ambulance could come in one minute instead of two.
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Those were the longest two minutes of Phil’s entire life.
Phil was in the ambulance, just seeing his son die in front of him. Wilbur had a faint, and I mean faint heartbeat. Phil never felt calm. He didn’t want his only son to die. He wanted to be a grandfather, he wanted to see his son grow up to be old, he wanted his son to achieve his dreams, he wanted to see his son do everything that he wanted to do. He wanted to see it all, but now there’s a chance that he won’t even get to say goodbye to him.
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Seven hours.
That’s how long Wilbur was in surgery.
That’s how long Phil had to wait for his son.
That’s how long the people in the room worked on his son.
That’s how long the people in the room lost sleep.
Seven hours.
Seven hours.
That’s how long Phil had to wait until he could see his son.
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When the lead surgeon went out of the emergency room, he took off his gloves and mask. He looked at the ground for a couple of seconds before looking up at Phil.
“Wilbur Soot?” the surgeon asked.
“Yes, that’s my son,” Phil said, anxiously waiting for what the doctor had to say.
“Well… we have some good and some bad.”
“What’s the good?”
“Your son fought really hard during the whole entire surgery. He truly is a warrior.”
“W- what about the bad?”
“He…” the surgeon said before they started to tear up. Phil knew what he was going to hear. He just knew it.
“Doctor, what is the bad thing? Please don’t tell me…” Phil said as he too started to cry. Tears dropped onto the ground.
The doctor nodded. His face was pointing to the ground.
“We tried our hardest, Mr. Craft. We really did, but… Wilbur truly fought until the end.”
Phil cried. His head was in his hands, water seeping through the cracks of his fingers. He was angry. Angry that he couldn’t say goodbye to his son. Angry that he couldn’t see his son grow up and marry and have a fucking family. He was angry because they couldn’t save him. But he was sad. He was sad because now he had lost the two closest people that he knew.
“Seven hours. That’s how long I had to wait!” Phil exclaimed, his hands cupped, but not in his head. His face was looking at the doctor.
“We’re terribly sorry, Mr. Craft. We tried everything in our power to save him bu-”
“BUT YOU STILL COULDN’T SAVE HIM!!” Phil screamed. His face was red, his eyes were bloodshot from all the crying that he had done during the seven hours of waiting.
“Mr. Craft…”
“Don’t Mr. Craft me. Let me see my son. Just one last time, please.”
“Alright, Mr. Craft. You may see your son.”
◤ ◦ ◢
Phil entered the room where his dead son’s body laid. There laid a pale, half-burned, covered in bruises, covered in dried up blood, Wilbur Soot. A dead Wilbur Soot.
“My son… my son…” Phil walked to his son. He held his dead son’s hand and crouched onto the ground. His knees touching the floor that was probably filled with the blood of other dead humans. But only one of them can from the one person that he knew.
His skin was scaley. His skin was dry. His skin was dirty. His skin was filthy. His skin was pale. His skin was disgusting. That skin belonged to Wilbur Soot. The boy that had just gotten a job. The boy that had a mother that died a year and four months ago. The boy that had a loving father. The boy that wasn’t mentally okay. The boy that should have never gone out. The boy that should have never left.
The boy that should have said goodbye but couldn’t.
◤ ◦ ◢
That was when his curtains closed.