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The sun beat down and scorched the dry desert sands. The heat haziness made the horizon shimmer and faintly distort into wavy patterns, and the sands below were stained dark and bloody red. Vultures circled high overhead, knowing and sensing the unmistakable smell of death.
He stood, frozen, at the edge of the cliff. The already giant cacti felt like they were towering, inescapable walls.
Scar lay by his feet, unmoving. Scar lay by his feet, a small trickle of blood dripping out of his mouth. Scar lay by his feet, lifeless and cold.
He backed up instinctively, away from the corpse in front of him. Away from the body of the only person who had managed this godawful game feel easier.
His foot slid on the grains of sand, off the ledge, and there was nothing but air behind him. Nothing to catch his weight. Nothing to catch him as he slowly tipped backwards. So he fell. He needed to escape. His guilty conscience was too much. He had killed Scar, and how many others. So he fell, and he didn't resist as he heard the wind whistling past his head. Death was the only way out for his friends. For Scar. So it was the only way for him to escape. So he let himself fall. He let himself fall, and relief washed over him as the last thing he heard was the crack of his bones as they hit the sandy dunes.
Grian awoke with a start, heart beating out of his chest. It was a dream. It was only a dream. It was only a dream, but it had felt so viscerally real. What had it been now, four years since he had woken up in a strange new world, with nothing to his name? With strange voices echoing in his head? Sometimes the voices still echoed, but they were gone for the most part. Had it really been four years already? Fuck, his head had started to spin. He lay back down on his bed, and let the pain of his throbbing head subside.
Grian didn't want to get up. He wanted to stay in bed. The bed was comfortable. Soft. Warm. Heated by both his body and the sunbeam shining through his window. Kind of like sand. Warm and soft, like sand. Suddenly, Grian didn't want to be in bed anymore.
He begrudgingly rid himself of his blankets and slowly walked downstairs. He still felt faint, and he didn't want to fall down the stairs. He hated falling. That was just another reminder of the games. He turned the corner to the kitchen and peeped through the doorframe, not wanting to accidentally come across an explosive. He knew it was an irrational fear, none of his friends would try to blow him up here. This was Hermitcraft. No one was being tricked or manipulated here, but he still carried a fear and sense of unease with him wherever he went, and the sense was always stronger on these anniversary dates.
Surprisingly, there was no bomb. Hallelujah! Instead, there was a man in his kitchen. Was he an invader? Wanting to kill Grian? If so… why was he making pancakes? Chocolate chip ones too, by the smell of it. Wait. Were the pancakes poisoned??? Was that how this mystery intruder was going to kill him??
“G! Hey!”
Oh. It was Scar. Somehow, Grian’s fears melted away. Scar was safe. He knew that. Sure, in some of the other games they had been shoved into had pitted them against each other, but they had always made up. Scar was safe. He wasn't going to try to kill him. Probably. No. No, he trusted him.
“What are you doing here? You- why?”
“I know how you get on days like today,” Scar said, not taking his eyes off the pan full of pancake batter. “I may not be the most observant, but I'm not stupid. Now sit down, I'm making pancakes!”
“Yeah. I know.” Grian rubbed the back of his neck with resign as he sat down. “Thank you, by the way. These smell good.”
“But of course! Anything for you, G!”
Grian smiled weakly, and Scar smiled back. He smiled back with that sickeningly sweet smile of his, that smile that made Grian's stomach twist inside-out. Grian averted his gaze and turned his attention to his pancakes. He was nervous about trying them. He didn't eat Scar’s cooking that often, and he didn't even know if it was going to be any good. It could be burnt, undercooked, it could give him food poisoning-
He was overthinking.
He trusted Scar.
He didn't trust Scar's cooking, but he wanted to make Scar happy. After all, he had bothered to come over, make him pancakes… Yeah. He was going to trust the pancakes.
That didn't mean he wasn't going to be nervous trying them tough.
He picked at the pancake on his plate with his fork as Scar put the dirty dishes he had created in the sink. He didn't feel like eating. He could feel Scar giving him concerned looks, and his eyes burned into his back, but still all Grian did was break off little bits of pancake and push them around his plate.
“Everything okay?” Scar asked after a while of this. Grian groaned. Scar probably hated him now. Grian had said he would eat the pancakes. Grian told himself he would eat the pancakes so he wouldn't disappoint him. Yet, Grian failed to eat the pancakes. All because he was rendered too nauseous by memories to eat. What a friend he was.
“Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just… not hungry. Don't mind me, I'm sorry.”
“No, don't be sorry, it's not your fault!” Scar fretted, and put a hand on Grian's shoulder, trying to reassure him.
“I'm just… nauseous. It's not that big of deal,” Grian said defensively, shoving Scar's hand away. Probably too defensively. Probably too harshly. Scar looked wounded.
No.
No.
He had hurt Scar again.
That look of betrayal and sadness in his eyes… It wasn't fair. It wasn't. Scar didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve any of the things that had happened to him. It wasn't his fault that Grian was trapped in his own bitter memories.
Bitter.
That's all Grian was. A bitter person full of bitter memories. Someone trapped in the past, who couldn't appreciate the future. He was probably being irrational and insufferable.
“Scar- Scar I'm sorry I didn't mean to hurt you-”
A flash of pain shot through Grian's head again, and he was in the jungle. A jungle that he hadn't seen in years, but was still fresh in his mind. He held a sharp rock in his hand and his eyes were tunnel visioned in on Scar and the panda who he was playing with.
“Scar! Scar look at me!”
Scar turned his head, smiled that sickeningly sweet smile of his, and answered him. “Yeah?”
He tossed his stalactite up in the air and let it fall back onto him, hitting the part of his head that had been hit by the rock before. Regret washed over him as Scar's face of confusion turned shell-shocked as an identical gash opened up on his forehead and slowly oozed down a trickle of blood.
He was in the caves. Surrounded by deepslate in a dark and dingy environment that made him afraid to make a sound. He was running up a long flight of dimly lit stairs. Quickly but quietly, he knew that if he made a sound, it might be the end of him. And Scar. Him and Scar were linked, of course. If he made a sound and perished, Scar would die up on the surface. Their lives were in his hands. Their lives were in his hands and he tripped. He tripped on one of the stairs in the dark, and fell to the ground with a grunt. He quickly pushed himself back up with his scraped hands, but it was too late. The creature chasing him had caught up, and the last thing he heard was an intense ringing in his ears before it all went pitch black. That meant Scar… Scar was dead too. And it was his fault.
There he was. Back in the desert. That godforsaken, godawful desert. The smell of death around him sickened him. The cacti encircling him and Scar felt like it was taunting him. He knew what happens next, but yet he can't look away or stop himself as him and Scar start beating the life out of each other, until Scar ragdolls to the ground, and he is left to stand there and soak in what he did. Vultures circled and cawed their awful caws overhead. He instinctively backed away from the corpse of the friend he cared so deeply about, and slipped. Slipped off the ledge, and he embraced his fate as he fell towards the sands below.
Grian was forced back into reality from the onslaught of bitter flashbacks with a shock with tears in his eyes. His fork was on the floor, and Scar's arms were wrapped tight around him.
“I don't blame you, Grian. You did what you had to do. I don't think any of us were in our right minds.”
Grian had only mentioned his griefs about the pancakes out loud, but deep down, he knew that Scar knew that it wasn't just about the pancakes.
“I love you, G, and even if I did blame you, I would forgive you over and over again. It's not fair to put all this pressure on yourself.”
Grian knew that Scar would forgive him. Grian knew that Scar was foolish enough to give him as many chances as he did- Wait. Wait a second. Go back? Scar wiped a tear from Grian's face and gently kissed Grian's forehead before bending down and picking up the fork from the floor.
“I should give you some space, I think that's what you need right now.” He exited the room quietly, fork still in hand. Grian picked at the chunks of pancake on his plate with his hand before picking one up and hesitantly putting it in his mouth.
Sweet.
The pancake was too sweet.