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i promised fics so here u go : checkmate : fic one Pencil was in a state of dreaming. Almost as if a made up world in her head was bleeding into reality. Almost as if her life was a tragic play, where each and every chess piece was plucked off the checkered board every single move. And she was the only piece left, a king that had no safe place to run. Only a broken, once “awesome” clubhouse. Her rooks and her queens had left her behind, their mangled bodies resting in Pencil’s head. They weren’t dead in real life. Right? The game had ruined their heads. All of them. She knew this was inevitable. It had fucked with their heads — it had broken their bones and tore their flesh into tiny, bloody tissue scattered across the pavement. Once, she was in a group of four. Trying to fight for survival. A way to live without murder, a way to live without an inescapable violence that rewarded nothing. A way to live without death, or killing, or hurting yourself. That’s all Pencil needed. All she longed for. Poison ivy and oleander wrapped around the barbed wire fence. Red and blue lights flickered in the distance, a siren wailing in the distance. Somebody’s gone. Just another flea-infested rat using an illness as an advantage. Just another life taken, just another person leaving. All Pencil could do was wait. She was stuck. She couldn’t climb the fence. She couldn’t pick a lock. But when all else fails, you try the impossible. Pencil gripped the wall of the metal fence tightly, avoiding each and every barb that could puncture her already bruised skin. She swung her leg over the fence, careful not to cut herself. But she missed. Dark red blood spilled out of her. No one was around, yet she was bleeding out. She didn’t know first aid. She took off her shirt quickly, rubbing it against the wound. Shit, that could get infected. It didn’t work. She tied the shirt as best as she could to stop the bleeding, but her leg was still useless. All she could do was wait. And wait. And wait. Each hour was time ticking, minutes wasting away. Each tick of a second could mean life or death in this world. It was only a matter of time. Only a matter of time before enemy territory found her. Only a matter of time before she was eaten by a monster. Such twisted beings, they had all become. Not one could recall the last good meal they ate. The last chug of fresh water from a tap they had. The last time they texted somebody, saying “When’s our date?” All they could do was call out their name and “Don’t die on me!” Pencil couldn’t even remember when she was prom queen, or when she won the high school talent show. But nothing mattered anymore. They were all rats in a trap, chasing the cheese that was really just cheap plastic on a string. Plants in a science experiment, the researcher rationing and separating them into their leaves and spines again and again. And all Pencil could do was fight or laugh in the face of the hellhole. All she knew how to do was fight. And be rude. And be a fucking nobody. Once, she was the fun, cool, popular girl in school. Now, she was bleeding out on the pavement right next to an ugly metal fence. The disgusting hole in her thigh would only get worse. Just a matter of time. She was already skinny; the lack of consumption was rotting away at her, eating away at the organs she had. Hunger would overcome her body soon, bit by bit. Headaches pounded at her whole face, straining away the energy that wouldn’t be used anyways. Her leg would get infected. Delirium would steal all she could think of away, snatching every thought out of her mind before she could process it. The two days laying there with nowhere to go was agonizing. She was skin and bone. Her mouth was dry, no saliva able to keep it moist. Her soft lips cracked, revealing fragile skin. She was barely even able to move her body. So she closed her eyes, and let it own her. She was supposed to long for a reason to stay alive, to stand and walk away from her grave. But all she could feel was satisfaction. She felt as high as the clouds once above her. She felt as if she could do anything in the world if it came to mind. It was over. All she felt was numb, and then nothing. Absolutely nothing. Checkmate. pen’s inferno : fic two I feel like I can taste the ashy frustration seeping out of my mouth and to the tip of my tongue. It’s almost as if it’s trying to escape, cracking the hidden message in the shipwrecked bottle. My lungs can’t breathe in, and I don’t exhale in return. I think the dead body in front of me has obliterated any sense of calm in me. That’s my sister. And she’s bloody, mangled, and lifeless. Lightning strikes the sky, thunder rolling in— it’s a typical Tuesday at this point. The blood’s everywhere— a gaping hole in her leg just compliments the tragedy in front of me. My knees buckle, my eyes unfocused— maybe they’re unsure of where to look. I drag the tip of my pointer finger across the red staining her skin. It’s thick. She’s been out for so long. My head sinks nearly to my knees as shaky sobs escape my throat, mucus trapping any air outside of my airway. She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead. I can’t recover her now. Four ruined the recovery centers and is sadistic enough to discard any use of their power. Her face is pale. The junkyard is barren. The air sours of death and longing. I should go find who did this. Kill them. Find revenge for the one hope I’ve lost. But I can’t fight nature. No one can. So I have to bottle it up, and walk away. However, I unclip her bracelet so I can clean it on the way back to the makeshift bunker I’ve created. The jewelry has a stench of loss, but it also smells like the tropical body mist Pencil has been wearing for the past two years. I steal the bottle out of her purse just in case. I walk away. I have to walk away. If I stay longer, another person would have lost their life. And I know it wouldn’t be me. —— I get to the treehouse. The whole room is messy and dirty clothes are scattered across the wood. The small bedroom is the only place I have to live, and it’s not the best, but I make it work. Nobody lives with me. I only have a small photograph of Eraser, Blocky, and I. I miss them. I grab the image and throw it out the window— it plummets to the weeds below. I clean the bracelet with an old shirt. The charm still looks ancient, but it will do. I buckle the clasps so the jewelry loosely hangs on my wrist. I’m going to miss her. But sadly, I’m just used to it. I’ve lost Liy. Needle’s gone. Eraser quit the competition. Sometimes I wonder if I should quit. As I sit on the pile of towels I’ve placed in the corner as a bed and couch, that’s all I can think about. If I quit, that would just be admitting I’m not strong enough. But I know I’ve already admitted that. I always have. yeah!!!