[Redacted]tale.

entry #3.

!warning: overdosing, suicide attempt.!

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Psychologists referred to an issue called 'Paradox of choice'. Basically, the more options we are given, the less satisfied we become with whatever we choose, because we are aware of all the other options we are potentially forfeiting. If you had a choice among ten places to live and pick one, the paradox of choice says that you will likely spend years agonizing, doubting, and second-guessing yourself, wondering if you made the right choice, and if you are truly satisfied or just extremely dumb for choosing that option. And this ongoing anxiety, this desire for certainty just to find happiness will make you unhappy.

"Good evening. Why alone so late?"
Papyrus turned his attention to the one that distracted his thoughts. Was it late? It was about 10PM when he came here. He was sitting near the fountain, admiring the sky's glowing freckles and letting the cold wind swing his hair here and there. It was now around 2AM.
"Good evening." He replied. "I didn't know I was out for that long. I will stay anyway.."
He broke his stare from the guy's eyes. What was his name? Alternate-? Alter- Altered. It was Altered. And Papyrus seemed to be comfortable around him.
"Alright. I'll stay with you, if that's okay."
"Yes. It's okay."
And so, Altered sat next to him. "Aren'cha tired?" He asked, taking out a cigarette and holding it between his upper and downer teeth. He lit it up by flicking the lighter with his thumb, then took a long puff, and exhaled the toxic smoke. Papyrus watched as if it was interesting.
"I think I am. A little." He turned his head away to look back at the sky's magnificent gift.
"Then why don't you sleep, Redacted?" Redacted was the name given. He remembers that, too. Redacted thought of not bothering to give an answer, but isn't that rude?
"I am scared." He hugged his knees and tilted his head to the side.
"What are ya scared of?" Altered coughed a little, then continued satisfying his addiction.
"Nightmare." So many questions yet so little answers. Does he not want to talk?
"Wha'was the nightmare about?"
"Alone. So alone. Guilt. Shame. Blame. Blame. Blame." He kept going for three more times. Altered seemed caught off guard.
"Who was blaming you?"
"Alone."
"..Were you blaming yourself?"
Redacted nodded. Altered sighed; he rotated his neck in a way to crack it. "What did we say 'bout that?" He asked as if he won't be surprised with any answer.
"Altered. I think I did something bad." Instead of answering, he gave out a new problem.
"Mm? What did ya do?" He took the last puff of his cigarette, then turned it off by pressing the burning tip on the blockwork of the fountain.
"Dream gave me a bottle of sleeping pills." He stopped there by assuming that Altered would understand. He didn't.
"Yes?"

"..And I took one. And I thought it wasn't working. So I took another one. Then another one. Then another one..."
Each time he continued, Altered felt more sick in his stomach than ever.
"Redacted... that's-.. you CANT DO THAT."
"I KNOW!!... I was-... I wanted to stop the voices!!! I wanted to sleep!!..." His voice cracked, it was a threat for the start of a breakdown. Altered didn't want that.
"..Redacted. One pill is enough. Thank stars you are not in a coma or something..."
"I did throw up.."
"Better." Altered sighed in slight relief. "I will help you sleep."
Redacted frowned sadly. Will he do that? He is helping him too much. He owes him. He does feel very tired right now. Without thinking, he slowly leaned more into Altered's side, then down, down again, then rested his head on his laps.
"Please don't be angry at Papyrus..."
"I ain't angry. I am worried."
And that comforted Redacted more. He slowly closed his eyes, then felt a soft touch on his head that brushed his hair gently, which made him fall into deep peaceful sleep.