Memory Lane |wilbur soot angst|

Memory #4

<Wilbur's memory>

"GO TO YOUR ROOM!" Phil shouted.

Phil never shouted. Never at anyone.

"YOU CANT JUST ORDER PEOPLE AROUND WHEN YOU REALIZE YOU'RE WRONG!" Wilbur yelled back.

Wilbur hated yelling. He always felt it was unnecessary and it give him a headache. The brunet stomped to his room in anger. It had been a stupid fight, Wilbur had gotten fed up with Phil leaving with Techno for weeks on end. He had looked after Tommy for a month and a week this time. Longer than he ever had too. He was only 14 for Christ sake, Wilbur didn't ask to practically be the parent for his younger brother.

He had to get out of here. The room felt tight and Wilbur was debating if it was anxiety or if he developed claustrophobia. Panic was rising at a rapid rate and very soon Wilbur knew he wouldn't be able to think clearly.

Window, Wilbur's mind supplied. When windows were open they let air in. His arms felt weak and the window felt heavy. Everything was more effort than usual and he almost gave up when finally the window slide open. The cool night air was refreshing and almost froze the tears prickled in the corner of his eyes. Wilbur needed more. He climbed out of the window and onto the roof before jumping off.

His feet hit the damp grass and he sighed in relief. Wilbur needed to get farther though. The urge to scream was there and the only place he could let out his emotions were the forest.

So the teenager ran. Faster than he ever had before which caused lots of stumbling. Cardio was never one of his strong points. He made it a good distance into the forest and heaved in deep breaths as he leaned on a tree. Wilbur's fist pounded against the wood in frustration and he vaguely heard a shout. It was raw and ugly and when his throat was sore Wilbur realized he had screamed. His shaky hand made it to his face and the water that came back on it glistened in the moon light. He couldn't feel the tears.

Wilbur's eyes stung and made him want to cry more. Hadn't he cried enough already? Why did the world need to see his pain. It was so frustrating why couldn't he stop, why couldn't the water stop leaking down his face? The forest felt like it was collapsing in on itself (just like his life) and he was being drowned by his own tears. Wilbur gasped for breath as he gripped the forest floor, dirt got in his finger nails though he didn't notice.

Anything, anything real to ground him. This dirt was real (was it? It had to be) this tree was real. The air was real so why wasn't he getting any? Questions ran through but no logical answers came.

He hit the tree again. One more time. Twice more. Too many to count. Wilbur was vaguely aware or a liquid on his hand, wether it was tree sap or blood he couldn't tell though his blurred vision. Soon enough exhaustion set in and the hits became shaky taps as sobs overtook his body. The ground felt cool and refreshing and he sunk to his knees. Wilbur pressed his back against the tree and counted to 20 in his head (he had heard Phil tell techno to do that once).

The wind whistled through the trees and Wilbur was thankful for that little bit of noise. Something so insignificant and petite, but it could make all the difference.

White noise was beautiful and under appreciated. It was so calming or unnerving and it's fascinating to see which it was in different situations. Most people tended to it notice it but it was always there. Something to be the background and fill the dreadful silence.

"Why do I have to feel this way?" Wilbur's quiet and broken voice came out quieter than he intended. The brunet didn't expect to get an answer, but he wished he would have gotten one. His voice and question lingered in the air. It stuck to the forest and never went away.

-

Phil had forgotten about that memory. It had been so long ago. The older remembered being so worried when he went upstairs to apologize that morning and Wil was gone. He looked everywhere and finally in the mid afternoon Wilbur had walked into the house with pine needles in his hair, blood on his hands, wings with bent feathers, dark bags under his eyes and dried tear tracks.

Phil remembered letting Wilbur go to his room and pretend like nothing happened. Within two days Phil and Techno had gone on another trip. Some part of the blond wanted to cut it short, get back to Wilbur and little Tommy sooner. A larger part of him wanted to stay away. Avoid the awkwardness that their home had become. Stay away from confrontation and the way the little Tommy looked at him like he was a stranger and not his father.

It hurt. It all hurt so much but Phil couldn't suck up his pride to apologize and try and be better until it was way too late. Even then he wasn't that much better.

Phil closed the memory door with a sad sigh and looked at Ghostbur. What a sad sight, Phil thought once he took a glance at his dead son. Ghostbur anxiously fiddled with some blue in his hand, and with the other arm desperately tried to wipe away the burning tears from his face.

"I don't like this. Is all this stuff going to be sad?" Ghostburs normally light and airy voice held emotional weight to it.

"I dunno know mate," Phil was going to be truthful with Ghostbur. He had lied to Wilbur too often, the least the ghost deserved was the truth after helping him. "Hopefully there'll be some happier ones in here. Let's try the next aye?"

"Mhm!" The ghost nodded and put a smile on his face as he tucked the blue into his pocket. Not too deep though, it stuck out the top and was easily accessible.

The two ventured towards the next door. It looked the same as all the others though the smell was different. The last one spelt like pine trees, and this one smelt more like a wooden house.

"Let's go in shall we?"