Ragtime Pals |♡Wilson X Maxwell♡|

Chapter 5

The grass was slightly wet from the snow beginning to melt. Wilson lifted his head up, his arm still sore. Instead of seeing all of the things Max and him had made, he only saw a clear field. It was dark and there was no light source for him to use. All of his supplies were gone.

He could.... Feel something. His eyes searched around frantically in the dark until they landed on a bright red rose.

The rose was beautiful. It seemed to glow a gentle but vibrant red in the dark. Wilson slowly approached it and sat down. He gently brushed one of the flower's petals. It was very soft! He went to pick it from the ground and ouch!

He looked at his hand. It had a few thorns. It was bleeding a bit. Wilson pulled the thorns out of his hand and watched as his hand bled. He licked up the blood, finding a sweet taste instead of its usual metallic flavour.

More blood began to come out until his entire hand was covered in it. A puddle laid on the grass. The blood puddle grew larger and larger until it began to fill up a small space around him. By this time Wilson had already stood up and was panicking.

He tried to walk out of the space he was in but it was just glass. Impenetrable glass. The blood was up to his knees now. Wilson began to pound on the glass, trying to break or crack it in any way possible.

It rose to his waist, making him beat his shoulder against it.

It rose to his chest, making him push on parallel walls at the same time.

It rose to where he couldn't stand on his feet without being able to see. He tried to push the top of the glass.

It was all no use. No matter what he tried. He was going to drown in his own blood. What a way to go, right?

The blood reached the top. Wilson couldn't stand on the floor because the blood had more density than water. He let himself let out the air he held in his cheeks and accepted his death. It was pretty interesting nonetheless.
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Maxwell slowly raised his head up. It was still aching like hell but a little less than last time he had checked. He tried standing but still shook violently as he did so. The sunburn feeling felt bad as well.

Maxwell sat back down and already felt exhausted. Chester wiggled out from the blanket and nudged Max's arm and lightly licked his hand in comfort. Maxwell sighed and pet the monster dog.

A groan was heard outside of Max's tent, making Chester lightly growl. Max pulled back the flap of the tent to scope out the scene. The fire was out and Wilson was passed out on the wet ground (ew).

Chester bounced towards Wilson's body and licked his face. Wilson jolted upwards, surprised to see that he was not dead.

He looked at Chester and gave him a big hug. His heart was racing and he needed a little pillow to calm his nerves.

"Wilson? You look a bit shaken up." Maxwell said with a scratchy voice. He might need a bit of water.

"O-oh, I just had a nightmare is all!" Wilson replied, rubbing the back of his neck. It was a bit sore from the uncomfortable position he had last night.

"I see. I'm feeling a bit better now so I suppose I could handle doing something." Maxwell stood up, trying his best to not shake. He was tired of lazing around all day when he could be doing something. A silly fever was not going to keep him from doing so.

Wilson got a bit closer and began an examination of the man. His legs? Wobbly. His face? Pale. His arms? Shaky. His forehead? Hot. He was not ready.

"I'm sorry Maxwell, but you're still sick. I can't let you do anything until you're better." Wilson said as he pushed Maxwell back into the tent.

"No! I need to do something! You can't just push me away!" Maxwell, with a little force, pushed Wilson away. "I'll be fine."