For Shits and Giggles (complete first draft)

Chapter 07

When Flippy woke up the next day, he was in his room. In his bed. Who had put him there, not even he knew. But Flippy was thankful for it, even if he was waking up alone. It was the first time he had woken up by himself since his wedding night almost three years ago.

Flaky had left him. She'd left him and he wanted to die for it— really die, erase himself from existence for all the pain he had caused his wife and everyone else around him. Flippy didn't know which the worst fate was, but any future without Flaky wasn't a future he wanted to live through.

His cheeks were soaked with tears. Flippy needed someone, anyone, to find him in his darkness. He thought about Giggles; the way that she insisted he wasn't a monster and worthy still of redemption. But he had killed her, again.

"God damnit!" Flippy yelled, sitting up. He screamed into his hands for several seconds, minutes. He screamed until his throat was raw and he couldn't scream anymore. When he was done, he threw the covers off of his body and walked towards his dresser mirror. He gripped the sides and stared into his own eyes— or rather, the eyes of someone who looked remarkably like him.

The man stepped out of the mirror and grinned from ear to ear, taking slow, creaky steps towards Flippy.

"This is all your fault," Flippy yelled through grit teeth, lunging at the man. He tried to grab him by the throat, but the man dodged him. Flippy fell to the floor.

"My fault?" He asked, looking down at Flippy who was scrambling back onto his knees. "I am you. This is your fault," he jabbed a foot into Flippy's rib cage. Flippy doubled in pain and fell onto the floor again with a painful cough.

"You drove away all of your friends," he kicked him again.

"You caused Flaky to leave you," and again.

"It's your fault Giggles hates you," and again.

Flippy coughed up a glob of blood, his vision blurry. He grabbed the cruel man's foot, twisting it around at an unnatural angle. Something snapped and he howled in pain.

"That's not true," Flippy spat, pulling him down to the floor next to him. Flippy scrambled on top of him, pinning his arms down with his knees. The man didn't struggle, he simply grinned a bizarre grin.

"I'm not a monster!" Flippy screamed, punching him as hard as he could. Flippy heard a sickly crack and blood burst out of his nose, but he punched him again anyway.

"I'm not a murderer," This time his mouth poured blood, his eyes too. But Flippy punched him again and again. Flippy needed him dead. He needed this man dead so that he could have his life, his love and his friends, back. But behind all of the blood, there was only a grin.

"That's exactly the problem," The man finally laughed, his yellow eyes tearing into Flippy's soul. He just wouldn't die. He bolted up suddenly. His arms were still pinned under Flippy's knees, but he managed to catch Flippy's nose with his forehead. Flippy yelled, falling back as the gash on his nose oozed blood.

Flippy grabbed his face in pain, cursing loud. The man grabbed the dresser to help himself up off of the ground, all his weight on one foot. Flippy did the same with the other end of the dresser, slowly. They stared at each other.

"Please," Flippy whispered, he had no will to continue. "Why are you doing this? Why won't you just leave me alone?"

The man's grin faded immediately.

"Leave you alone?"

He reached out and grabbed Flippy's throat, Flippy clawed at his wrists.

"Don't you understand Flippy, we are inside of each other. Two minds damned to the same body," his grip tightened on Flippy's throat.

"Just because you're in control most of the time," Flippy's eyes rolled back into his head, unable to breath, "doesn't mean I'm not fucking there."

He finally let go and Flippy collapsed onto the floor, gasping desperately for breath.

"I was stuck in there even before the tree," he continued, turning towards the mirror. "I was born while you almost died. I had to fight on that battlefield. I had to watch our brothers get tortured and killed, and I had keep our body alive." He raised his voice as his fist collided with the mirror, it shattered.

"And I did. I fucking did." He limped over to Flippy and grabbed his hair, dragging him over to the shattered glass, bits of glass stuck in his own fist. Once, twice he slammed Flippy's head down onto the shards.

"So why do I have to sit back and watch you take all of the glory? You who did nothing, you who hid."

He slammed Flippy's head again, who was crying now through swollen, bloodied eyes.

"No one knew," he laughed miserably. "No one knew I existed. They thought it was all you."

"The only one to even begin to acknowledge me was Giggles... barely. She accepted you. She accepted what thinks is this part of you."

He slammed his head even harder.

"But it was me, all of it was me."

Flippy was sobbing miserably.

It's true, they had been ambushed. Flippy and the rest of the soldiers by his side walked right into the enemy's trap. They were being killed, one by one, one after the other. Two feet away one soldier was getting his head caved in, just a few feet from there someone was being stabbed through the chest, another soldier had his head face-down in a puddle, underneath an enemy's boot.

Flippy couldn't bare it. He was petrified. He was scared not only to die, but that he wouldn't get to see Flaky or anyone else ever again. Despite that fear, he gave up anyway. He couldn't will himself to stand and fight, so he blacked out in the middle of it all and welcomed death next to his comrades.

When he finally woke up several hours later, everyone was dead; enemies and allies alike. They weren't just dead, their corpses were dismembered and broken.

Flippy came back a war hero after that. Even though he couldn't remember a second of it, even though he never knew what exactly had happened that fateful evening, Flippy basked in the praise and admiration all the same. He loved the adoration and pride in Flaky's steps whenever she hung on his arm. He claimed a glory that didn't belong to him, and now he was paying for it. He was a selfish coward, and this is what he deserved.

The man in the mirror wouldn't stop reminding him of that as he continuously slammed his head into the shards of broken glass, scraping, cutting and stabbing his cheeks, nose, lips, forehead, and everything else on the surface of his face. It hurt like hell and Flippy wanted nothing more than for the pain to stop. He wanted to die like he should have died that night on the battlefield. So he didn't fight the man, not anymore.

Suddenly, the door to Flippy's bedroom swung open and slammed hard against the wall. Someone was yelling for Flippy, then there were frantic footsteps. That was the last thing Flippy heard before the sweet, albeit temporary, relief of death claimed him.