Goretober 2023

19. Knives

**Warning for cutting and suicide
**yeah now it's angst

He sat with his hands holding his head, one of his sockets being held closed while he was practically dissociated. The Anti-void was quiet, being a blinding white all around. There were no shadows or colors that gave any sense of direction or time. It would drive a person past insane, pulling at their psyche and at their physical codes, tearing at their soul as they could do nothing but watch and suffer. Strings used to hang by the ceiling, holding bright red souls that were once gods of time were now mere decorations. These souls were caught and extinguished by the only remaining soul in this white desert. They were pitiful trophies. Trophies of the countless universes he's pushed to the history books, the lives he's taken. He's become a genocider, worse than the humans who had once killed a hundred times over out of pure pleasure. He was nothing more than a murderer. Entire universes based on the simple idea were more innocent and sane than he was. He didn't know mercy yet he begged for it when he was hurt, when he was beaten for his misdeeds, when the cries of those he killed screamed at him the depths of the void. He didn't deserve something he couldn't give. He was just as bad as the humans who fell. Ten times worse even.

Error refused to move. His body was tired and if the cracks along his bones didn't prove it then maybe the bags under his eyes, or maybe his ragged and ripped clothes were enough proof. It was never enough. Not in the eyes of the Council, not in the eyes of those under Negativity, not enough to enstate a truce. Monsters all around the multiverse felt no shame or pity for him. He never deserved it but it hurt to be treated as something lesser than.

He always tried to escape this purgatory. He should've been dead decades ago so it's only fair to believe he had fallen in that black void—where golden words floated in the sky and he was forced to watch his entire life from a third perspective, watching as his brother and friends would die over and over and over and over and over—and died. He was living a lie and he was already dead. Nothing else made sense. The world couldn't be this cruel, he couldn't bring himself to believe that a world outside his own small universe could do such things to a person. That the good guys could cause pain and destruction and the bad guys could be hurting so badly.

Blood began to dot the white expanse, being an escape from the cold reality he's tried to live in. He can't keep doing this repetitive cycle of pain and self-destruction.

He's tried every which way to escape this purgatory. Hanging himself, the void, burns, drowning, any and all types of 'accidents', high cliffs, sharp objects, poison, bleeding out, illness, anything. And nothing worked. Nothing would work. He was to endlessly suffer for whatever he did in his life before.

He dug into his bones even deeper, using the sharp blade to perfect all the cracks that built up over time. He couldn't even be hurt properly. His entire body was an abomination. It broke unevenly and didn't care enough to repair itself. It wanted him to fail, to fall down and take the beatings he deserved. So he pushed the knife deeper, planning to fix himself if no one else bothered to.

A cut here.

Another there.

He cut until a pool of blood had made itself known. His ulna was nearly sown off, barely hanging on. He pushed aside the pool of blood, smearing it along the floor of the Anti-Void and continued to cut, cut, cut, and cut.

And that's the funny thing. He doesn't remember shit from the SAVE SCREEN. He doesn't know what he did, who he pissed off. Nothing. He was absolutely clueless.

He couldn't die. He wasn't dead. He was just fucking delusional...

**What's more important? My future college education that could lead me to a life of debt or success
**or Goretober
**Defiantly Goretober