Work Text:
The wind sings a song full of sorrow.
But who is there to listen?
As the living tuck themselves into bed, warm and cozy, hiding from the darkness within their minds. While the living are safe, the dead thrive.
Trees come to life, rustling in tune with the force of an angry storm. Creatures of the night emerge and reek havoc. Water flows, dark and crispy as it grinds against shore and forest.
The dark is where evil supposedly thrives, where it is born from.
Wilbur loved the dark.
He never felt welcome in the light. He felt as if something was off; wrong. Plastered smiles littered the faces of all he met. The small talk, worthless and repetitive. Insecurity and falsehood thrive where the eye can see.
What happens in the dark?
Truth happens in the dark.
Wilbur recalls the quiet nights in pogtopia. How despite his ‘insanity’, he never felt more free. Free from the shackles of expectations. Free from the white lies which stack up in honor of curtsey. No, Wilbur could be whoever he wanted to be. He could run wild, become one with the darkness and feel it’s cold embrace.
But is it worth it?
Is the darkness worth the loss of the light? With light comes warmth, and Wilbur has been frozen for far too long.
Wilbur sometimes fears the dark. He fears it because of the light.
The dark is temporary safety from the blaring of sounds. The flashing red lights which provide nothing but anxiety.
The whoosh of a train tearing its way through his station, not caring to stop and pick him up.
The loudness of it all, it began to drive him mad.
Was it worth it?
Was it worth the cold? The freedom?
The loss?
No, he thinks.
Nothing is worth what he lost.
And even when time goes by, and he adjusts to the whirling torment of a train which never stops; he still finds himself confronted by his past, his mistakes.
And it all comes to a crescendo with the golden haired child who haunts his dreams.
A normal day for Wilbur, that’s how it started at least. The train had passed through 26 times already that day- or was it even a day? Time passed strangely in his limbo. He never saw the sun, so who really knew how long it had been.
And then, it changed.
A screeching sound violated his ears, causing him to whip his head towards the noise. To his disbelief, it seemed the train had finally come to a stop. Hope filled his chest, as slowly the doors opened up-
And it crumbled as a broken boy exited the train.
A boy, just barely 17, covered in cracks and bruises, exited the train.
Golden hair stained with blood, eyes that were clouded and lacked spark.
This was worse than any torment Wilbur could recall.
And as he stared at the boy who had died too early, he couldn’t help but feel ill.
The boy took a shaky breath, “Hey Wil.”