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A small yet thick blue book lies on their bed, presenting itself as a delightful opportunity.
Asriel remembered seeing that book before. He remembered pretending to be asleep and watching them write in its pages by soft, golden lamplight, clutching a pathetic little stub of a pencil they’ve been insisting on using since they fell down. He remembered them speechlessly reading the words inside back to themselves, some nights laughing silently, other nights making a strange, uneasy sort of expression that he couldn’t explain. Afterwards, they’d always fold it closed, slide it in their pocket and finally go to sleep. He spent a long time wondering what it could be. Were they writing a story? No, he figured, they write stories with him all the time. Why would they hide one from him? He supposed that it could be —ugh— a pun book, and that they’re jotting down more of those utterly execrable ‘jokes’ they and Mom love to share so much.
But, as time passed, he ended up almost certain that it was their journal.
(Mom said it’s called a Diary but he insists on calling it a journal, because that’s what Chara calls it. Besides, isn’t that a much cooler word?)
He allowed himself a malevolent laugh when he recognized it. Here it was at last, all alone.
They had left with Mom, roughly thirty minutes ago, to pick up another batch of snails from the quaint little farm down in Waterfall. But, Asriel hadn’t wanted to go, because even if Chara would be there, it still sounded boring. Dad was home, but he had been gardening all day long, and if he starts that means he isn’t going to stop until Mom baked a pie to lure him in or else dragged him away by the ears.
Still laughing (deep and sinister. He does not sound squeaky or ‘cute’), he repeated the realization in his head over and over, giving each pass a punching emphasis like the thump of fireworks in the sky.
There’s nobody to stop me. I’m all alone. With Chara’s journal. Their secrets.
And, yes, reading it would be quite cruel of him, with all the effort they put into keeping it hidden. He’d grown tired of guessing and simply asked them about the strange little book, some weeks ago. They had tensed and given him a chilling, solemn glare. It was an adult look, akin to the kind Mom or Dad wear when they were addressing the people on a matter of severity. It did not belong on their face.
But… they had read his journal just a few days ago, so it’s only fair! And he had told them not to, and he had scrawled all over the cover in huge, emboldened bubble-letters, “Asriel’s Diary Journal, DO NOT READ!!!” with three exclamation marks! They had been mean to him, so he gets to be mean to them back. That’s probably how justice works.
“Two wrongs do not make a right! I do not care who started it, it ends this instant!”
Mom’s voice echoed in his memory. He shouldn’t be mean to them back, that wouldn’t be right…
…But they had made fun of him for it, too! It wasn’t enough to rummage through his deepest personal thoughts and private dreams as though they were some worn-out old Libarby book; they had looked down upon him with a cruel, belittling, insolent little simper.
“May I call you Mr. Hyperdeath now? That has to be the coolest name I’ve ever heard!”
They should have pinched his cheek, tousled his fur and told him, “My, look how tall you’re getting to be!” while they’d been at it. Yeah, sure they thought it was cool. Right. That’s why they looked at him like he was a baby, cooing its first words.
The longer he stared at that little blue book, the more the silence of the room seemed to whisper to him. Twin beds on either side, the cabinet in the middle, the drawing of a buttercup pinned loosely to the wall, all sang a building hymn of temptation, thundering about his head. “Just read it, Asriel. They don’t have to know.”
A peek, then. They must have something embarrassing in there that he could bother them about. Rambling gushes about how cool it was to meet a monster for the first time, or about how awesome their new best friend is. He’d see how much they like being called ‘adorable’ or ‘precious’.
He hesitated in grasping the book in his claws, almost expecting it to burn his hand on touch. He peered furtively left and right in a cartoonish gesture, sat cross-legged on their bed and began to read, giddy with mischief. Their writing was compact and deliberate. The form of the letters seemed onomatopoeic, summoning in his mind’s ears their calm monotone.
Day 1
It’s funny how quickly my plans always fall apart.
So far, my new life isn’t going as intended, possibly for the better. It sounded like a fantastic idea in my head, but I’m starting to realize that surviving alone on the mountain would have been exceptionally difficult. I attempted to capture a squirrel on the way up for tonight’s dinner, with no success. Perhaps I could have sustained myself on lost hikers for a while. But, then it started to rain. I ducked into a cave for shelter, tripped on a branch and fell into a hole. Broke my leg really badly, bone tearing through the skin. Hurt like flaming hell. That should have been my end, bleeding out on a sunlit patch of grass. Alone and begging for help (I’d have died as I lived!)
Instead, I met Asriel. I believe he is a goat, perhaps a lamb of sorts. Young, around my age, perhaps younger (a kid, ha ha). Humanoid, strangely so. Definitely not an animal, because he wears a striped shirt, speaks with a soft inflection, and helps fallen children into a comfortable bed and promises them that he’ll escort them to his Mom, who can fix them up no problem.
I didn’t question anything initially, I was certain that I had died and received my wish of being free from people. Goats are just fine in comparison. But my leg still hurts, so unless I am in a very gentle hell, I’m still alive after all. I’ll have one or two questions to ask in the morning, though I do not know how either I or Asriel will be able to tell when that is, with no sun.
For now, he led me to a cozy little cottage that he and his parents once lived in, before they moved to the ‘Capital’. I’m borrowing his old bed, he’s in his parent’s room. He patched my leg up too, crudely (he looked like he was about to puke while doing so. I can’t blame him, it is really gross). He said that if I needed anything that I could just give him a shout. He seems strange suspicious nice.
Hmm. A capital, so there must be plenty of his kind down here. I was assuming this to be more of a ‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears’ situation. Or three goats, whatever.
Or perhaps ‘Hansel and Gretel’ would be more applicable. Asriel said that when we get back home that his mom will make me a pie. I bet I taste like chocolate.
Asriel cringed after the last line. He remembered they day they first met with perfect clarity. With it, he remembered trying to comfort them with promises of a fresh-baked desert, and the look of wide-eyed horror they had given him in response. He hadn’t understood why at the time.
Day 2
They call themselves ‘Monsters’. A flattering name.
Asriel brought me to his home on the other side of the kingdom. Took most of today, especially with my broken leg. He carried me most of the way. We received a few odd looks, but nobody thought to stop and question us. I suppose they assumed all was fine, because I was being escorted by the prince himself.
His parents, the king and queen, terrified me at first. They are colossal, the king especially—his horns have left gouges lining the tops of all the doorways. I’ve already developed a terrible flinch whenever they raise their arms even the slightest bit too quickly. However, although they seemed unusually nervous, they welcomed me with open arms. They possess quite a lot of hospitality.
Well, that is what I’ve seen so far, anyways. There was in fact a pie tonight, butterscotch-cinnamon. They brought it to me in bed after healing my leg in an instant (Magic, they said. Actual magic. That’s an existential rethinking that I’ll have to do later). Absolutely delicious. But, if they run out of cinnamon…
I may get the axe yet. The queen, Toriel, told me that she bakes with fire magic, so I won’t get an inside view of that oven (why do they even have it, then?)
Hmm… I wonder… does one stuff the human in the crust whole and bake it alive, or would they have to chop me up first? Perhaps they would have to mulch my body into some sort of chunky, jam-like paste and—
Asriel decided to skim a little bit. He didn’t really want to hear the part about jam.
—the smell of it would be utterly rancid, though. I suppose they would have to bleed, gut and skin me first, like any civilized person would do. Maybe they have a flaying spell. Alternatively, they could just—
Yeah, no, they were still going. He decided he would just skip this one. They didn’t really have the cleanest sense of humor.
He was getting frustrated now. He wanted to embarrass them and they were giving him nothing! What was he supposed to say?
Ha ha, you were afraid that we were going to murder you when you first met us, ha ha ha you’re such a dummy, fearing for your life.
That wasn’t funny at all. He had to keep going. He considered hastily flipping through the pages, but he admitted to himself that he wanted to see what they thought of him, behind his back. Curiously, he continued on.
Day 3
The King told me of the barrier today. I can never return to the surface. It was hard to stop myself from laughing at the mournful look on his face, the way he knelt down and placed his hand on my shoulder. It was rather heartwarming how his eyes misted up as he said to me,
“Chara… I’m so sorry, but you can never return home.”
Irony is simply hilarious, is it not?
Day 7
A week has passed. Already, Asgore and Toriel (they insisted that I call them by name, not by royal position) have moved a second bed into Asriel’s room. I’m staying with him and his parents, now. I thought about asking for a room somewhere else in the castle, but truthfully? This seems far better than anything I could have ever asked for.
These monsters are so very curious. After so little time, they show me great compassion. They treat me as if I were one of their own. I do not understand why, unless their kindness is a deception, in favor of some sinister plot. If this is the case, then they are far more intelligent and patient than those I faced above. I must be careful.
They did not think to lock the knives away, however. I have already stolen one; it was trivial finding a moment when they weren’t looking. It is hidden beneath the mattress right now. Just in case.
But, perhaps they are genuine. Asriel seems sincere enough. He’s very naïve, full of hope and smiles and innocent little questions with big, awful answers that he can’t really handle. As well, Asgore and Toriel place tremendous amounts of trust into me. They do not watch me closely. They let me sleep in their only son’s room. Me, a human. Alone with him. Either they are honest, or simply very foolish. Possibly both. I could bring great harm to Asriel before they would be able to intervene.
He forgot, for a moment, to laugh at Chara’s little joke. They have a weird sense of humor. He began to skip over clumps of pages.
Day 39
Asriel said I was “a great friend” today. It felt strange to hear. I have never had a friend before, but apparently, neither has he. It is a learning experience for both of us, then. I suppose he is a good friend, too. That would mean more if I had any point of reference.
We fight sometimes, but it doesn’t last. It’s always something petty. Is that normal?
We get along, too. He is always showing me his favorite drawings or his favorite spot in the underground or his favorite toy. I enjoy spending time with him, even if it’s only to satisfy my curiosity. I suspect that I will tire of him later.
I like having a friend. I may as well admit it.
Day 112
Nothing much happened today. Dad and I did some more gardening. Asriel joined us, later. He is very adept at keeping flowers alive. His half of the garden is a dazzling myriad of bright, blooming colors.
Mine aren’t doing so well. Dad gave me a curious look when I started giggling aloud at the sight of wilted daisies. I could have told him that it’s because of course, all I touch is destined to die, but he doesn’t quite have the context to understand the joke.
Still, it was pretty funny. And I do enjoy gardening, somewhat. More so the weeding, than anything else. The dagger Dad lent me feels good in my hands. Although, I find it harder to control myself when I have it. Weeding time is alone time, I don’t think it would be safe for Asriel to join me.
He didn’t remember to laugh this time. He had been distracted by a sudden need to look over his shoulder.
He felt as though he should perhaps stop. Just stop, this isn’t even right. Put it back where you found it and just pretend you didn’t even see it there. Forget it.
He flipped to the latest entry. It hadn’t been dated, for some reason. In general, it looked oddly out of place; a jagged, chicken-scratch mess of an entry amidst the normally clean and professional logs. It appeared to have been written in a panic. On some parts of the page, the pencil had torn clean through.
I almost killed him today. We were gardening. I had the knife. I was weeding, he was knelt on his side of the garden watering his flowers. I finished before he did, and I went over to check on him and ask if he needed any help, but when I walked up to him I just wanted to all I could think about was how easy it would be. His back was so exposed. It looked like fresh canvas. All I could think about was the knife and how easy it would be and that there would be no body I raised the knife. I was about to do it, I was so close and I didn’t even have a reason. I stood there for what felt like years. He started to turn around and I threw it back over to my side and dodged all his questions. He didn’t suspect a thing, because he trusts me. Because we’re friends. Because he lo He’s my only friend and I almost killed him. I have no idea why. The knife is still in the garden. The other one is still under the mattress. I should get rid of it, too. Or else I’ll get him in his sleep something like that could happen again. I don’t even feel as if it’s wrong. I know it is, I really do, but I don’t feel that way. I feel as if it’s simply something I could do, like crumpling a piece of paper up. A loss of paper, perhaps, but ultimately meaningless.
He went to drop the book, but wound up throwing it against the wall. When it landed, the pages all danced about in the still air and fluttered to somewhere in the middle. Across the bed, he could make out one of the earlier entries. Something sweet and heartwarming about their time together, being a family. A nice, happy family of people who love each other and think about killing him in his sleep, or while he’s watering flowers. He remembered asking them ‘questions’— “Why’d you sneak up on me like that, Chara? You trying to startle me?” or “Did you hear a sound over by your garden? Maybe it was a snail! Wanna check it out together?” They had answered in a strange and stilted manner, of course, but that’s—
That’s just what he thought they did. They do it all the time. He just thought they were shy. That’s all it seemed like.
“Azzy, are you in there?” It was them. They sounded worried. “I’ve misplaced something… um… dear to me, do you think you could help me—“
They saw the book. He thought, for a fleeting moment, that they had returned a lot sooner than he was expecting. He thought, for an even shorter moment, that he had been looking forward to this. Of them walking in and seeing him with that book, and he’d get to taunt and tease and ridicule them.
Now, he noticed that they were blocking the door. Staring at him with nothing all over their face.
“You were reading my journal.” They seemed let down. “You weren’t supposed to do that. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that it’s rude to invade the privacy of others?”
In some other world, he had a snappy comeback to that.
“No matter. You did not read far, correct? I haven’t been gone very long. You couldn’t have gotten far.”
A faint shift in the air flicked the journal to the page of the latest entry. It sat tauntingly on the bed, the entry’s scribbles burning into both their eyes.
They stormed out of the room in a panic before he could say anything. Which is good, because all he had was “I’m really sorry please don’t hurt me.”
He heard them crash through the front door even from the bedroom. Mom and Dad hadn’t seemed to have noticed, locked in a conversation about snails. His first thought was, “Oh great, now I have to go find them.” After that, he wondered if he should. He wanted to think he knew them well. That this was like all those other times they had panicked and run away, because they had broken something or because he’d said something he shouldn’t have. He wanted to think he knew they were freaking out right now and were ashamed or frightened, but he had worries. Healthy worries, the kind meant to keep you safe.
But he knew he couldn’t leave them out there. He had to go find them, even if he didn’t want to.
They didn’t end up going very far. He found them propped against a gray stone railing, overlooking New Home. Their hands were stiffly folded into one another. Their posture seemed overwhelmingly artificial. As he drew nearer, he saw that they were tapping a rhythm-less beat against the stone, as if working through a troublesome puzzle.
“Howdy…” He started still a few feet away from them. “I’m… I’m sorry I read your journal, that wasn’t nice. I shouldn’t have done that.”
They nodded, shallowly. “What you do think stopped me?”
“…Pardon?”
“You know what I’m talking about. I didn’t kill you, back in the garden. Why was that, do you think?”
“Because…” he trailed off, squirming under his own skin. Desperately wishing for a subject change. “Because you’re my friend. Right?”
They shook their head with a gentle, robotic motion. “No. That wasn’t it.”
He could tell they wanted him to ask, “So what was it, then?” But he didn’t want to say that, and he didn’t want to know.
“I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to laugh. It’s a bit silly.”
He felt a glimmer of hope in his chest. Maybe they’d crack some snide remark, and then they could both laugh at him and go home. They’d just tell him that they write stuff like that for fun. It’d all go back to normal. “Alright, I promise.”
They smiled at him in such a way that it was obvious they could tell there was nothing to smile about. “I was worried that you would scream if you saw the knife, and that someone would hear and come and check on us. So I didn’t. That’s all it was. But, you probably don’t think it’s that funny.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Hmm. We’re far away from home, right now.”
He said nothing.
“Nobody would hear you, even if you yelled. Well, I would hear, but what good would that do you? That’s a worrying thought.” Something rotten dripped from their tone. “It isn’t safe for you to be out here, you know.”
He stared at them, eyes wide, and began to take a step backwards, but stopped.
(They were a faster runner than him. They always beat him at tag. But he won’t have to run, he won’t.)
He dug his feet in and hardened into something steely. “Chara. Stop. Mom told me what this is, you know. She said… she said that when you start acting weird, or cold, or scary, that it’s a ‘defense mechanism’. I don’t really know what that means, exactly, but I think I have an idea. When you’re afraid, you can be mean and say things that you don’t think are true.”
Their smile faded. “You think I’m afraid, do you?”
“Yeah, I do. And I’m right. I read that entry, I saw that you… weren’t happy about what happened. I know that you didn’t want me to read your journal, because you were scared of what I would think about you.”
Red hot embers seemed to glow behind their eyes. “You say that like you know a goddamn thing about me.”
He shied away from their glare. “Can I tell you something personal?”
“Like you’ll care if I say no.”
He ignored that hurtful little comment. “I’m serious. Can I? Please?”
“Fine.”
“I used to lie a lot. I… still do, but not so much. But, I figured out pretty early that people were predictable, in a way. I could always figure out how people would react before they did. And I started using that to get what I wanted. Like, if I did something wrong, I’d go to Mom or Dad and start bawling my eyes out, and they would see how sorry I was and they wouldn’t get mad. But, it wasn’t just that, and it wasn’t just Mom and Dad, it was everybody. I could work my way around anyone I met, even if I didn’t know them very well. I could always figure out exactly what to tell them so I could get my way, or so they would like me, or to make them feel bad if I didn’t like them. And… I started to view others as ‘less’ than I was, because they were all so easy.”
Their mouth opened, and then closed again. He thought he could hear their voice die on their tongue.
“But, one day, Dad was talking to me about trust. He said something like, ‘Trust is very hard to get back, once you’ve lost it’. And that got me thinking, about all the lies I had told Mom and Dad and all sorts of other people. And I knew then that it had been wrong of me, that I had been hurting them, even if they didn’t know it.”
“Where are you going with this?” They were awfully quiet.
“What I’m trying to say is that I know what it’s like to… not be good, all the time. If that makes any sense. I still lie to people, every now and then. I try to be honest but it’s so easy to lie, and I want to do it all the time. It feels good, to be in control that way. Do you think I’m a bad person?”
“No, of course not.”
“Even though I’ve been dishonest, and think about doing it still?”
“You’re the best person I know...” They mumbled, nearly silently.
“You’ve never hurt me. And even if you… think about it, or w-want to, you don’t. So maybe you’re not the healthiest person around, so maybe you have a lot of bad thoughts. You don’t do bad things.”
“I came close…” They rubbed at their eyes.
“Yeah, well, it was a knife, not a grenade. Close doesn’t mean squat.”
They laughed, shakily. “Good thing we weren’t playing horseshoes.”
“Horseshoes? Is that another human game?”
“Yeah.”
“We should play it some time.”
“I… don’t actually know any of the rules. It’s part of an old saying.”
“We could just play something with shoes and horses in it and call it horseshoes.”
They laughed again, steadier now. It faded away as they shifted their view to nowhere at all and took on a pensive, worried look. “Hey, Asriel… you haven’t been lying to me, have you?” They examined him meaningfully, trying to catch him hesitating.
“No. Of all the people I’ve met, you’re the one I can’t predict. It’s… one of the things I like about you, actually.”
They smiled, a nice, real one this time. “Oh good, I’m too dysfunctional to be manipulated.”
“Too what to what now?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t put yourself down like that. I um, at least I think that’s what you did.”
“If you paid attention during Mom’s lessons you’d know what those words mean.”
“If you weren’t such a dumb smelly nerd you’d ignore her like I do.”
“The Capra-Hominem wallows in philistinism.” They chimed, smugly.
“What.”
They stared back condescendingly. “Idiot.”
“Dork. Oh, wait… how long have we been out here?”
“I’m not certain, a while. Why?”
“I didn’t actually tell anyone I was leaving.”
“Idiot. We should hurry back, then. What are we going to tell Mom and Dad?”
“We…” he paused for thought. “We’ll tell them that we were bonding. That’s technically true.”
“Not a lie at all, just an omission of fundamental details.”
“Whatever. Let’s go, I don’t want to miss dinner!” He grabbed their hand and tugged them back towards home.
After bed-time, Asriel again pretended to fall asleep, one eye open and focused on Chara, lying on their back, tucked neatly into the covers. Eventually, they had been convinced that it’d been too long for him to still be faking it (they were mistaken), and they pulled out the blue book yet again. They shut their eyes and grimaced as they flipped to the blank pages. It felt weird knowing why they made their little faces at the book, now. Before it was always such a mystery as to what they were seeing.
They stared at the page for quite a while before writing anything down, looking contemplative all the while. When they did begin, it was in the calm and careful way they always do, each letter meticulously formed. He was glad he hadn’t been watching when they wrote the previous entry.
When they finished, they held the book at arm’s lengths and looked it over. Their eyes shimmered and their face softened into a comforted, warm look as they re-read. They appeared as though they were tempted to hug the book to their chest. He was about to start smiling right along with them, but they suddenly froze and snapped their view over to him with a scrutinous glare, and he had to close his eyes and enter the open-mouth-drooling-on-pillow position to maintain his cover.
They scribbled down a quick addendum, closed the book, and turned off the light.
Asriel read my journal today. I was stupid. I took it out of my pocket to get changed and I left it there out in the open. I don’t know how much he’s seen exactly, but he read that entry. Maybe he’s read others. Maybe he skipped all over and got unlucky. I suppose I’ll never know.
I won’t forget how he looked at me, when I got back and found him with it open on the bed. There was fear in his eyes, clear as day. Genuine terror. It hurt to have him look at me that way. Fear can be useful, yes, but I don’t want him to fear me.
I didn’t do anything to reassure him, of course. I panicked, ran out of the room and left to hyperventilate outside. I wasn’t sure if he would come after me, but I got myself into a nice, professional looking stance in case he did. I wanted to look as though I was in control, still. I always have to have the upper hand, of course. Always.
I choked out some heartless drivel about how I could hack him to pieces and not feel a thing, and that the only reason I didn’t was because I’d have gotten caught. Told him he wasn’t safe following me out of the house. You know, ho hum. Big scary Chara likes to watch them squirm.
But then he I’m not even certain what he did. He looked like Dad does when he’s sincerely angry, all serious and cold as stone. Said that he knew exactly what I was doing. Called it a defense mechanism; apparently Mom told him that’s what I do. I suppose I haven’t really been hiding it, have I?
‘Defense Mechanism’. I don’t like the way that sounds.
Then, he told me about how he used to be a compulsive liar, and still sort of wishes he was. Had a big speech about bad thoughts, and how I’m an okay person because I don’t act on them (haven’t yet). He gave me that wide-eyed innocent look he always does when he’s telling me that I’m his best friend in the whole world. I want to wave it all away as meaningless, him merely saying what I ‘want to hear’, but it felt as though it came from the heart.
I don’t understand him. He knows exactly what I came so close to doing. To him. What I almost did to him. Yet he isn’t fazed. He really cares about me, I don’t doubt that anymore.
Maybe, just maybe, the feeling is mutual. Maybe.
P.S. Asriel if you read my journal again I will actually murder you for real.