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What do you do when God abandons you?
It's hard to really envision. Religiosity was never a big thing for you. More of a loose set of expectations and a vagueness of belief on the back of one's mind that otherwise didn't pop up on your day to day.
Surprisingly, it isn't any harder to keep that up when your Lord and Benefactor walks, sits, and commands among you.
Really though, could anyone be blamed because of that? Blamed by the banality of it all? A… 'digital Circus' as his Creation, and little cartooney avatars as the chosen people? Of course it wasn't taken seriously! No fucking wonder people had break-downs about it, the entire setting was a sham from the start! You couldn't keep your cogs together in such a place. Anyone with half a mind slowly broke down from the ridiculousness of each day, or went so kooky that eventually they reached the same conclusion in different ways.
You either coped, or you roped. Though it was an easy guess that, for the latter, abstraction worked as the equal term.
At least coping came much more natural for you than for others. Easy to make up jokes, to string it along on others. Make them the butt of words that spit and cut. It was one way to maintain the facade, and for what its worth? Everyone played along.
Perfectly, to the damn T.
The damned… Amazing Digital Circus! That's right! Where a snarky funny rabbit, a two-faced miser, a mentally impaired chess piece, a hypocritical ragdoll, an angry toybox and a vagely lost and pensive jester all lived together! Where they frolicked along doing dumb adventures day after day after day after… day. Forever.
Forever.
How long is forever?
Pretty fucking long, it'd turn out to be.
Long enough for the miscreants in the crew to begin conspiring. There's a story somewhere, back of the mind in the old biblical lectures from a granny long forgotten; something about a rebellion against God. How'd that end up… ?
It was hard to really think up those fuzzy details. The general feeling was enough, it mapped pretty 1-to-1 on that itch through every vein that coursed during their so-called hatched plan. Hard to really… say anything against it, though. The world was upturned, a veil of your own making turned over. It was almost a little ridiculous how docile the entire thing went along, maybe if something had been said, if that irritating little rabbit voice had rung out to say something- anything- on the potentials of everything then this wouldn't have happened.
And what a waste, for it mattered little. Armaggeddon hath fallen upon them, and such and so on. Was there any worth in the blame game by that point?
Whatever remained of that 'cope', that layer of protection so carefully crafted was pulled taut; and the skin it held onto was skinned raw. And the mask it clasped around became undone. And the fibers of the muscles beneath it dissolved. And the ears that listened to it clogged with the sound of laughter and mockery. And the eyes that saw for it were filled with visions most great and horrible.
And then, darkness.
Hard to really map days into weeks nowadays.
Not that anyone ever did, or wanted to, here. It was the sort of thing that just drew you more despondent. Being unaware of the passage of time felt like a sort of blessing, being blissfully ignorant of the current issues.
It did become harder to tell when one date rolled onto another without the day/night cycle though. With things being as grey as they are and devoid of color, the sun and the moon weren't even around anymore. With Caine gone, sleep stopped mattering too, somehow.
Most things felt like they mattered 'less'. Not that they weren't there, but feeling pain, touch, or taste was all so much more fickle than before. If anything, at least Caine tried to make those feel real back then.
Now, though? Sure wasn't much. No fancy new assets. No new noises. No access to other areas. No sane NPCs to keep oneself entertained. No…
No life, really.
Everyone had each other, one could say that, but realistically that had its limits. Especially in a world where your simulated mind had nothing to focus on or distract itself aside from your companion's woes, thoughts and quirks. And the best part? Given to everyone was all the time in the world to ponder if only they had done things differently then they wouldn't be in this predicament.
Passing by the spot where this all started, there are some marks on the floor caught on the edge of an eye. Oh, yeah, that was Zooble's idea some time after this new existance began. Floor scratches to measure the passage of time. Said it'd help keep everyone 'sane' and manage their time.
It was covered in those lines, tally marks akin of a maniac.
Even to the last of their days, they still clung onto making scratches on the floor. Admitting to yourself that you envied their hope was harder than you wanted it to be.
There was someone else with an infectious level of hope, wasn't there? Someone with such a selfish, self centered and enviable irradiating warmth that ironically caused her very own doom. Who was it… ?
Oh, yeah. Ragatha.
You know, for someone that seemed to espouse quite the resilient attitude, she fell prey to the panic and the temptation a little too easy. Almost a shame, there always had been a sort of wish within that hare skin that she would hold on for you- for all her faults, unconditional care was not one of them.
It was never really deserved, anyhow.
Regardless, all this reminiscing made it easy to remember that day, particularly as you glance down the edge onto that inky black abyss of a skybox; jagged, glitched floor edges givin way to the very limits of the system boundaries.
It had only been what… six? Eight hours since Kinger's message? And she was like a raving lunatic, holding onto the paper. "He must be right! He must be!" Ragdoll yelled, a small chuckle rousing up from the memory. "Going out of bounds… Kinger is the only one that knew the ins and outs of this game. It'll bring us out."
'Or it'll just kill you.' Came the reply, and an ardent glare was shot from the entire group towards its sole, snarkful speaker. Yet what lulled within that mind was not snark, nor manufactured malice. You were kind of over it. This wasn't fun at all! It was just being realistic, because who could know if old man Kinger genuinely found a damned exit, or probably just lost his marbles even further and clocked his shift before everyone else?
Oh, but it was too late for the 'real' act. Far too late. A boy that cried wolf far too many damned times, now every comment was met with a slight, with suspicion. Because no matter just how good-intentioned is your camraderie, an eternity in hell will eventually turn even the most pious soul into seeking someone to blame for their plight.
'It's okay, we get you Jax!' 'You're part of us, Jax!'
Bullshit.
It's always been. But you could hardly blame them, could you? How many bridges had been burnt? How many attempts to redraw a bond rejected?
Their hatred was shared, and none could blow on its red-hot embers any stronger than its own bearer.
Well, one fucking less imp to worry about. At least Ragatha jumped soon after argumentation broke out against you, taking her chance before Pomni could stop her.
The plunge was silent, that you also remember well, much more than any of the million of insults hurled after.
Funny, your intentions weren't even bad.
Real funny.
And— you know what the best part is? That good for nothing charlatan, she jumped, knowing no one had any way to know if her or Kinger's theory was right! Not that he was present either, but Gangle previously came up with the theory of him potentially being hidden as a cop-out from facing a similar truth. In contrast, this was the true show, the endgame, with all the pizzaz and big suspense pfffuoooshhhh of one.
If this life wasn't hell, maybe a cool monicker would've been good for what came after. Something like.. 'the Birth of the Noclip Cult' owing to the believers in Ragatha and Kinger's story, and the detractors that believed otherwise; that they had simply thrown their lives away to nothingness. Or have their consciousness eternally floating in a void of data miasma unable to do anything.
With any luck, perhaps they finally managed to flicker their light out.
Reality was a bit more boring than that. There was no cool cult nor long and winded series of dramatic betrayals and surprise turnovers. It was pretty simple, Zooble was an ardent pusher for joining the other two, with Pomni tacitly supporting them- while Gangle was the hold-out that staunchly wished to stay.
Neither of them wasted energy trying to convince you after the first few no's, though. You're hardly deserving of redemption.
Gangle, though. Poor Gangle. Downtrodden Gangle. Those two wanted so badly for her to take the plunge as well! Every time those rabbit feet looped around what remained of the dilapidated circus over to their claimed meeting grounds (that you tacitly weren't really super welcome within) you could hear a myriad of different arguments, each time a different one.
"… —hole is a mess. It's actively fucking falling apart. There's nothing for us here anymore! There's a real chance that, just maybe, we have a life outside if we do this. Please, Gangle." Said the toybox, pleading to their one care in the world.
"It's not as if we didn't try… alright? Look, you remember Kinger— of course you remember Kinger, Gangle. I mean the projects he tried after? Getting back Caine? None of that worked. We tried to make our own adventures and without him it really just… there's… there's nothing." Whined the jexter, rationalizing the situation as much to Ribbons as it was to herself.
"And I'm content with that! I really was! Being able to spend time with you guys was one of… the greatest moments of my life. But Gangle, it's been.. years here, and like Zooble said, this is all it is and I don't… want… that. We're stuck on a box, a cardboard box. We have to at LEAST try to gnaw our way out!"
More whining.
Gangle never answered, or peeped much of a reply back. She wasn't the kind to, nor had much to argue back on. Sometimes, after they left to give her space to think, soft little sobs could be heard coming to the subterfuge those hare ears committed.
You had to wonder why she, of all people, wanted to stay. It dug into your soul a little, the explanation. Only because there held potential in it for an answer you loathed to think about.
Kind of a fucked up thing to do, but the absence of knowledge back then was more comforting. Easy to ignore, to be blissfully ignorant and continue in eternal self loathing. Episodes of solitude enforced both voluntarily and otherwise only occasionally interrupted by whatever stray events happened in the rest of the broken Circus.
Things get fuzzy around this point. Time begins to stretch out, empty time. There was a sort of impasse with Gangle that had happened, that much you recall, and things felt overall tense the rare times you were included in group meetings to discuss and touch bases with one another.
Otherwise, days were occupied by empty wandering. By your own. With Pomni, at times. She paid some attention, tried to beat past latent accusations. Oh, how she tried still to push the issue- to leave, that it would be something they'd have to try sooner or later. How there was no alternative.
'There is no alternative, this is it.' was the natural answer, the one that made the most sense. Because you were a coward.
You always had been.
And Pomni, bless her Soul, she tried to understand. Not perfectly, no, none could. How far anyone was from that. The attempt was enough to cease many intrusions upon that egoist psyche, at the very least.
"I hope the other two are okay…"
Another common topic. How were you supposed to know? Not that you cared, you didn't want to. You really, really didn't want to. Because it was obvious how it would end up.
Or so you thought. At least in part, because some of your predictions were right. The first to crack of the remaining four was Zooble as expected.
Your arrival was late that one time, at least by a few minutes. The memory surfaces strongest when recalling the sight of Gangle sitting by a half-glitching chair, by what remained of the dining area. Idle tears down her face, Pomni by her side comforming her. "They couldn't withstand the waiting around anymore.", a vague explanation- or the "I tried to stop her, but they just wanted to go back to real life."
You remember looking at Gangle. Her sight, unfocused on the floor. You hadn't looked at her directly in so long, almost since this hell had began— you dared not even come close to inflicting a modicum of pain upon her again. A self imposed exile from her mind and presence.
And yet, there she was. Catatonic- practically. Ribbons hunched, vagely curled around herself. Yet they barely held any strength to them.
Would she be like this if you had taken a step forward to mend things? Provide her with support she could've used, the knowledge that perhaps in this limbo that she chose to stay in with the only other person sharing that opinion - that she'd be accompanied?
That's wishful thinking, though. As if she'd ever want you as a friend.
Whether you had talked to or not, it was unavoidable— the past. It always has been.
The pit within that stomach swells, and tugs. Tugs so terribly, and the scene slowly lingers less and less until it fades away from vision.
That was the last time you saw Gangle.
Even Pomni didn't seem to know, though per her word she'd see traces of her at times, turning a corner, or in the distance. These became more and more rare as time went by, how long had it been since the last mention of those ribbons? Weeks? Months? More?
At some point, her name became but a memory of itself.
And so, there were two.
Jester, heart of gold. One must wonder how someone can have such resilience and constitution in their soul. The suffering weighing upon both souls felt alleviated to an extent knowing there was someone you got to see every few days (or was it more?) with a little update. Interactions were short, a few minutes long at most.
Still, that became, seemingly, the most saught after part of the routine. More than the daily glances down the large abyss that oversaw the exit of the circus gates, more than pondering over what you'd do once you were truly and properly alone. Those moments of rare, human interaction.
Tragedy had, ironically, brought people closer together. Weird how that worked.
Perhaps that's why her dissapearance was the one that hurt the most.
It wasn't even anything you witnessed directly either, or had direct gaze upon the aftermath. It was something subtle, not a stab but a slow trickle of poison that eventually began hard to ignore. Something simple, something that you had not need to directly see happening to know what had happened.
As menial as merely passing by the usual spot she always spent her days in, and finding it empty.
Each hour that ticked by confirmed a truth that had been evident from step one.
Oh, how you wanted to blame her. It felt natural. You're leaving me alone, you thought, You're leaving me alone here to rot you selfish fuck.
Is it not selfish yourself to deny her the only wish she had? That she wished you to join her in the end of the world?
Easier said than damned done to kill yourself.
The reminiscing ends.
And now, there was nothing to do. Truly nothing to do! You were alone, all by yourself. Your lonesome.
Your lap finishes. You're back at square one, the same starting point of every day, with that last memory fresh in your mind, barely an hour past the revelation. It made every other gouge itself up, like a sick, deathbed life-remembrance.
Was there even any pain to feel? It felt so dull still. So, so dull. Whether to blame the non-existance of that old ringmaster or a pre-established apathy borne out of regret was hard to decide upon. A certain sense of guilt encroached up nevertheless over the inability to even pour out a single tear.
A gaze to the floor, you note the tally marks still present. Their creator long departed, yet the memory remained- for there was no custodian to repair or clean them up.
What awaits you? A plunge? Most likely, lying to oneself was barely conductive to anything at this point. Either that or going crazy and slumping over the edge accidentally, hah… that … that would be ironic after all this defiance, wouldn't it?
Maybe there would be something new that would happen with enough aimless traversing done. The physics of the place could finally buckle under the weight of nothingness now and, with some luck, a jittering prop glitch would become the visual highlight of the entire month before subsuming back into nothingness.
That's what you wanted after all, right? To exist? That's life, and— hey. That's a Sinatra song, right? Hahah…
…
Most importantly above all, most immediately pending upon your current psyche was a previous assertion that throbbed itself more and more imminent. The memories of your past companions now gone had flooded into your mind, and their absence was more than ever present. Even the bickering became a source of trickling, dopamine-dosing nostalgia. But there would be no more of that, no more names called, no more annoyed grunts, nor pleading sobs, nor hopeful calls or friendly smiles. Nothing.
You were alone.
Truly.
Until, from the edge of your eye, you notice a ribbon. Then another, and another, sitting by the edge of the scratched floor; abyss overlooked.
Woe.
You don't say a word, you don't want to. It doesn't come forth natural to mutter something.
You just walk, and sit by the edge.
Staring down to the abyss, to the prevailing, grey backdrop into darkness that consumed the skybox of the Circus past its jagged limits.
Thankfully, that insidious cowardice doesn't hurt again; the voice that breaks the silence is not yours.
"I'm sorry."
The sound of idle teardrops hitting the scratched floor tiles becomes the second auditory stimulation you've felt in so, so long.
And yet, nothing comes out. For it can't. For it isn't deserving, you aren't deserving of acknowledging such. It isn't for you. It can't be.
Rejection.
"… She's… S-She's gone, too, isn't she?"
…
"That's… um. That's what she wanted to, in t-the end. So I hope s-she's happy with that."
You hope so, too.
…
"… Y-You know, um. I get them, I really did… I have a life out of h-here. Sort of." She giggles, grimly. Stiff. More akin to a pressured animal than anything.
A sound had never felt so comforting before in life.
"… B-But I don't, a-at the same time. Pomni, Ragatha, I—…"
…
"… Zooble … they wouldn't u-understand what it's like. I couldn't—"
There's a pause, a deafening silence after. Your face remains stretched towards that inky nothingness, feeling your legs tether back and forth past the limit. It would be so easy to tip over the edge, it felt more comfortable than this pause.
…
"…"
A touch, so grounding, so electrifying, so defiling. It grazes upon a shoulder, before properly catching on to a tuft of fur. Never since this hell began had you felt the physical presence of another person. Never had you thought you'd feel the sensation again.
"But you do, don't you?"
…
"Jax," A name uttered from that voice felt like it impaired a sin upon it ", you k-know what its like, isn't it? To only h-have yourself… I put with s-so much knowing that you… y-you're going through it, too, haven't you been?"
…
"All this time?"
…
"… please …"
Don't do this.
"… I … I wouldn't have stayed if I d-didn't know you were going to, too. I just c-couldn't bear t-to show my face around with Pomni after what happened with Zooble and-" Her voice quickens, the grip upon your shoulder turning into a vice grip. It hurts.
"— please t-talk to me. I'm sorry." Gangle pleads, "I a-apologize for l-leaving, please."
You want to.
"It wasn't my intention for what happened! I wish I w-would've tried to b-be nicer to you, o-or included o-others more… I w-wish I had b-been more brave to defend you m-more often, Jax! I'm sorry!"
The plead turns louder, but the object to receive it remains inanimate. It didn't want to.
Something tightened. You didn't let it.
…
"… I can't do this a-alone, please…"
Churning, beckoning; a press upon one's very heart.
The abyss' silence feels deafeningly loud.
"…"
Finally, a feather slipping. The ribbon slithers back, then away.
But you don't want it to truly let go, do you?
So long this moment had been coming, so long it had been something that was bound to happen yet equally abhorred from ever coming to light.
How much longer were you going to deny your equal which you denied? Which you tortured unknowingly for so long?
How much did you long, as she longed?
Prove it.
Stand up, and go. Stand up and seek her as she's walking away, as the pitter patter of her ribbons tread past whatever neared by you.
Catch up to her. Ponder upon a million things to say, a million things to speak. A hundred clarifications, seventy two apologies, and an infinite words to merely ask her to
Stay.
Please.
With me, until the end of the world.