Chapter Text
The scapes of the past
Morty woke up with tears in his eyes swelling with tears, another night. He stared at his watch which just changed from 1:23 to 1:24.
Morty doesn’t remember a day that he felt sane, and strong enough to go through the night, without believing that the images that his own mind created were real. He stared at his shaking hands, trying to stop them from shaking, before wiping his tears.
He thought that adventures were meant to be fun. But ever since Rick has gotten a new obsession over finding the one that has killed his original family, the adventures consisted of repetitive murderous behaviour, which could not be described with simple words, but instead with complex equations, that made that portal gun that Rick himself held.
Morty decided to go to the bathroom, to wash his face. But the moment he saw himself in the mirror, he couldn’t bear to see that weak, fragile creature that he was.
“Just grow up.” Morty said to himself, before opening the cabinet which the mirror was connected to, just to make him stop seeing what he was.
He stumbled back into his room, turning on a lamp, pulling out a notebook from behind his bed frames. That was the only place that nobody even figured to check, for anything. After all, Rick always entered his room when he was at school, and looked around, as if it was a treasure hunt to find something that was considered close, to Morty.
Morty flipped to the first empty page, and started writing, about what he felt, what he wanted to do, anything, and everything, until his own pencils led snapped from the tension of his own words.
2AM.
Morty stared at his watch, yet again, reading, over and over his entry from 3 weeks ago. Where he wrote a whole calculated plan to escape this burden of a house. But yet, he was always too afraid of Rick finding him.
After all, Morty was like a dog to Rick. Always so forgiving, always so… kind. Rick wanted that. After all. He was afraid of being replaced by the one and only that has created who he is.
Staring at the blurry words, that were interrupted by Morty’s own tears, that were only created because of his true fear of Rick. He closed the notebook, and decided to start packing…
After all, who would care if he left?
Even his own mother preferred summer.
Even his own grandfather definitely loved Summer more than him, after all…
He was just a toy to all of them.