SBI oneshots and ideas

A Deathless Worth (Wilbur, Tommy, Dream, Sam)

The man scrambles to his feet, his dead eyes holding hope in its irises.

Ghostbur falls to his knees as Wilbur stumbles onto the train.

Ghostbur takes a small fraction of a second to look at a screen in front of him.

'Oh him, we shouldn't speak of him.'

'Wilbur...Wilbur wasn't the nicest person.'

So many negative words splayed upon the board. Then the board flickers and suddenly new words replace the old ones.

'If you just listened to me Ghostbur wouldn't be dead!'

'He's already dead, Tommy.'

More words, a conversation flashes before his eyes. If the ghost was anyone else he would have thought that at least someone cares for his death.

All Ghostbur could think about was the feeling of betrayal. Not towards Tommy, or Sam.

He felt he betrayed himself. He allowed himself to feel safe in a situation so dire. He let himself believe that everything would be ok in the end, that Tommy would help him out.

But Tommy had failed and now he is hear, his, or rather his and Wilbur's, personal hell.

Limbo, between the in-between, death, whatever you want to call it.

His eyes well up with more tears. Big watery tears scorching his face as the board constantly changes each passing second.

An unmeasurable amount of time later and the dead ghost is wiping away his tears. Now watching as the words on the screen whiz past three at a time.

It felt good to feel appreciated, loved by so many unknown faces. Yes he would see one or two whiz by with no knowledge of him, but that was few and far in-between.

He barely registered the messages before they fly past. Like little specks of dust in their world.

He peals his eyes away from the screen. observing the platform around him.

He saw old scratch marks on the walls with patches of dried up blood. Holes in the wall. Instances of a crazed man's attempt at getting out.

Even the guard rails meant to keep people off the tracks looked broken, bent like the man tried fleeing a different way, a brutal way.

The tears continue to fall down his face as realization settles in.

He was never getting out. Everyone would move on eventually, forgetting him in the space of Alivebur.

The ghost cries a heart wrenching sob.

He's never going to get out.

He's never getting out.

He's not getting out!

ꁝꏂ ꅐꄲꋊ'꓄ ꍌꏂ꓄ ꄲ꒤꓄.

ꋊꄲ꓄ ꋊꄲꅐ, ꋊꄲ꓄ ꏂ꒦ꏂꋪ.

ⱧɆⱠ₱! ł ₵₳₦'₮ ₲Ɇ₮ ᓍᑘᖶ.

ᒪᘿᖶ ᘻᘿ ᓍᑘᖶ!

ᒪᘿᖶ ᘻᘿ ᓍᑘᖶ!

Sorry about that...

That wasn't meant to happen.

I am the narrator.

I am not bound by ties.

I can roam the universes.

I narrate.

...

I narrate people's lives.
...

....

.
.
.
.

I can leave.

I have freedom.

I have literary.

I have will.

I have control.

Let's move on from this universe...

Onto the next, less dangerous one.

Why are you still here?

Why do so many people listen to me ramble?

Oh well.

I'm waisting your time.

Dragging the chapter on.

Let's go, bye.

_______________________________
:)

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