Romangst || A Sanders Sides One-Shot Compilation

Lonely Road

HEY GUYYYYS!!! This one's pretty short - more of a drabble, really, but I loved writing it! Some things are just meant to be drabbles, I guess. This is from a request from MisteriousMarionette (don't worry I'm doing some of your other requests as well they're just longer so it'll be a few days)

WARNINGS: death mentions, ghost, suicide mention, BIG ANGST, MAJOR OOFS, isolation, self-hatred, graveyard, suicidal thoughts, Sad Ending

Doesn't that sound fun! lol

Roman ached.

What for, he wasn't sure anymore. But the dull pain in his chest was a constant companion.

He had theories, of course. Ideas of something that, if it had been possible, may ease the deep painful longing inside him.

He ached to be seen, perhaps. To be alive again - or to be fully dead. He ached for someone to remember him, to know him, to be able to touch him again. The ache was possibly a remnant of who he had been when he lived, though Roman couldn't remember many details, he knew he'd been miserable, that he'd taken his own life.

Why had he done such a thing? Roman wasn't sure. All he knew was that he was stuck here, trapped between existences, isolated and cold as if he'd never stopped living at all.

So, he wandered. Wondering vaguely to himself if he was truly alone, or if there was a large congregation of spirits like himself that hadn't even cared enough to notice he was there. Wondering if, maybe, one of the living might see him like all the stories he'd heard as a child.

He went to theaters, watching in awe. He went to diners and restaurants, watching people interact and shuddering as they walked through him, oblivious. He went to parks and museums, listening to people laugh and play and talk about things that fascinated them. He went to graveyards, pacing among the stones wondering if he would ever see his name on one of them.

In the few years - long, painful, empty, lonely years, Roman had been in this state - he hadn't found one hint of his past self existing in the world at all. Nothing. He scoured eulogies in libraries, headstones in graveyards, records in churches and hospitals, to no avail. As if he never had been real, at all. As if, his entire existence was meant to be this pointless wander through the world he couldn't really interact with.

And Roman longed for someone to see him again, to touch him. To wrap their arms around him, telling him everything would be alright. He wanted to talk to someone, but his voice was as pointless and empty as he was. He wanted to sing again, and he wanted to eat something delicious and dress up in elegant costumes like he had before he died. He even wanted to argue, just to hear the words aimed at him and know that he was real.

But he wasn't real.

Roman wasn't sure he'd ever been real in the first place.

So what was he, then, if he'd never been real?

Nothing?

Oh, Roman hated that thought. He pushed it away, continuing his trek through the world in search of some kind of relief from the agony he felt.

And, in a tiny graveyard in a tiny town, he found it.

Roman R. Prince. 1998 - 2018 A brother, a friend, a son. Gone too soon.

A brother.

Roman sank to his knees in the brown grass, staring at the headstone with wide eyes. Had he been a brother, when he was alive? He didn't know.

A friend.

Roman's hands shook, and tears burned his eyes as he touched the words engraved there. He'd had friends, hadn't he? Before he left them in a selfish act of desperation?

A son.

Oh, god. He'd hurt people by dying, hadn't he? He'd hurt whoever he'd been a son to, and he'd hurt himself by forcing this cold, dreadful isolation.

Roman wished he could make noise so that he could sob and wail his despair into the world. But he couldn't, he was trapped in a silent prison in this afterlife he'd given himself.

Laughter drifted across the tiny plot of land, and Roman turned with a watery gaze as a group of young adults - only a few years older than he'd been when he died, made their way towards him.

He knew these people.

Roman got to his feet, eyes wide as he reached for them.

They walked through him, not even feeling a chill. Roman shuddered, sobbing silently as he spun around to watch them.

They sat around his grave, talking and sending each other sad smiles as they tried to keep their spirits up. One of them, Roman saw, looked just as he had when he was alive.

A brother.

The others, all different, were achingly familiar and he wanted to scream.

A friend.

And another gravestone, a few feet away, reading a name that Roman had forgotten as he wandered his path of loneliness.

A son.

Roman tried everything he could, trying to find a way to get their attention. But it was no use. The napkins moving was just the wind - the cold breeze was because winter was on its way - and the memories of Roman being alive were just there in their minds because they were missing him.

After a while, the people packed up and left, the same way they'd arrived, without noticing Roman at all.

Roman watched them go, and he felt the aching despair in his chest grow deeper and harsher.

He truly was alone, wasn't he?

God, he wished ghosts could kill themselves again.

Writing this hurt me, in the best way possible. I may try another attempt at this sometime in the future - possibly a whole other AU with a much different plot because I like writing ghosts - but that's this story for now! ^-^

Thanks for reading!! More request chapters soon, and maybe some of my own sprinkled in. We'll see. 

Love you all,

-Coby