one shots by yours truly

why?

"I can't stand you!"

His eyes stung. Tears formed rivers down his face. His knees buckled under him and his lungs refused to accept the air he was trying to inhale.

"I hate how I've made you all so nice!" He wailed. He wailed and wailed. His heart was killing him, just as the pitiful glances and confused shuffling was.

These characters, these extensions of himself had caused him so much happiness, so much relief from every shitty thing in his life. Every one of them helped him come to terms with himself, helped him deal with what his life was.

"Why?! Why is it... that when I look at you all, all I feel is envy?!" He screamed. His voice began to get hoarse. His throat dry. Face red and puffy, he looks up to his self-made friends.

"What did I do to make you make me feel this way?" The boy's voice had lowered, breaking at every chance it could get, threatening to leave him.

"Why aren't you all real?" A soft whimper escapes into the air.