Stories of the SMP

A Trustworthy Friend.

 Willø looked over their shoulder, searching for any other people.

"Listen, I don't believe that you're a real person, so go find yourself another person to bother." They said, closing the door. The last thing they needed was someone to look after.

Help him.

Let him die.

Words scrambled into sentences, the first to ever arrive in awhile. They had two choices, help him or let him die. Regardless they couldn't tell if they were real. 24 years. Twenty-four years. 288 months. 1251 weeks. 8760 days. So long have they seen another person. They didn't know if they were a bird, a human, or even a sorcerer. The door knocked again.

They opened the door once more, the kid still standing there.

"What if I prove I'm real?" The kid asked.

Willø shrugged, they didn't really care if they were real or not. They were still a kid, and they didn't want them to leave. Well they did, but like get out of their life kind of thing. Eventually the kid would be considered a friend, they didn't want that. They see people as weaknesses, especially friends. I mean, they've spent 24 years alone, what could possibly be special about this kid?!

The kid pokes their arm, "see, I'm real! Now please can I stay?"

Willø sighed, "fine, I guess."

They opened the door more, allowing the kid to walk inside.

"What's your name, kid?" Willø asked.

"My name? Oh my name! It's uh- Number. I'm Number." Number.

Willø didn't believe their name was Number, but they played along.

"Well then Number, I'm Willø." They held out a hand, which Number took a hold of for a hand shake.

Willø led them down into the basement and into a spare room below the basement. It wasn't the prettiest room, but it was a room. Number looked over their new room. They smiled. Willø didn't really understand them as much. How could a kid look so happy, especially in this world.

"So, did anyone else come with you?" Willø asked.

Number shrugged, "A few others. My brother, a green guy, and apparently a red dude." They said.

They have a brother? There's more people here? Are they here to kill me? Who do they work for? How come I'm not getting names? Do I know them? Willøs mind ran faster than a marathon runner. They quickly snap out of their trance.

"Interesting. Welp make yourself at home, I guess." Willø said, as they grabbed the ladder to the room. 

Their legs ached, as well as most of their body. They walked upstairs to their own room, sat at their desk and fell asleep. Weirdly enough they gave their mattress to Number after they showed up. Willø had to improvise their sleep.

They're in a cage. A prison. They look up and there's an anvil. Multiple men surround that cage. One with glasses, one with dark hair who looks kinda tough, and one who has a scar from their left eye to the bottom of their mouth. It's an execution. The one with glasses begins to talk.

"We all have a reason why we should kill them." They say.

"Why can't we do it now." The one with dark hair asks.

"Because we can torture them now." The one with the scar says.

The one with the scar jumps on a platform, making them a bit taller than the cage. They hit Willø with a stick and chuckled. They jump off the platform. Willø is confused and cautious. Their wrists are cuffed together, connected to a chain that connects to the floor. They looked at their arms, they were scarred. Their hands were covered in blood. Whose blood? Anyone's guess. The anvil hung, it looked heavy and could kill anyone and anything. It looks old, as if this happened before.