Work Text:
A bad decision had been made leading to Spamton’s downfall.
Perhaps it was one too many nights out with his ex-partner. Or maybe it was the secrets. The lies. The phone calls. The silence. Sometimes he thought it was an innate inability to do anything right at all, simply a result of being a complete and utter defect of an Addison.
He should have known better. It’s all my fault.
Known better? He had no control! What control does a defect like him have? I should have known better!
Spamton dipped his brush in the can of bright, lively blue paint. One brush stroke appeared on his canvas – a board, fair in size, that sat upright against the side of a building.
He hoped that one day, if he painted long enough, he would eventually forget. That he would become free of the burden of thinking at all. All he wanted was to be free. Where exactly had that gotten him now?
In an instant, he had disappeared. What a pathetic way to go out. I should have known better.
Maybe it was better like this. A loop. Nothing to worry about. No calls to receive, No partners, no benefactors, no acquaintances. No one. Paradise.
But why accept this 'reality'? What did he gain from it? There was no point. He knew there was a way out. There was always a way out. I hadn’t tried hard enough yet.
Those who had ever doubted or hurt him would get what they deserved.
He was his own savior. He knew for a fact that he would get out. That he would finally shed the old, wretched skin that was his past. Spamton imagined his future self. My true strength would finally be exposed through you.
These days, that was where he had found comfort. Cold, rusted metal scraps became exquisite feathers of magenta and gold, no strings to be found, nothing to bind them to this 'reality'. Another streak of paint danced across the canvas.
A small porcelain form, curled up and engulfed by the warmth of Heaven’s holy arms.
He didn’t need his old 'reality'.