The ABC's of Mr. Erratum

Ballad of Hope

For the first time, in a very long time, Horror felt Hope.

There wasn't much going for him anymore. His father had slowly taken every last important thing out of his life and had crushed his self-worth completely down a never-ending drain, that Horror honestly couldn't see a world in the near future with him in it.

(After all, if his brother and mother weren't worthy of life, why would he be?)

Horror knew his father was the scum of the earth, No one needed to explain that to him. Only a certain kind of person could willingly kill your whole family, and only leave one of them because you couldn't be bothered. Horror knew ever since he watched his younger brother drop dead on the floor like a rag doll, that his father meant nothing. 

That, however, did not make Horror believe he deserved what his father didn't. The two did not go hand-in-hand. 

It wasn't as if Horror wanted to die. Not really. It just felt as if he'd never be able to leave that house. It was the only place he ever knew- and he would die there. Perhaps at thirteen, or sixteen. Or maybe, when he turned eighteen, when his father would finally decide to finish the job.

So, let Horror repeat himself. He didn't want to die. However, Horror did not want to live, either. He did not want to exist in a life that only brought pain- he did not want to exist in a world where he thought what he had was his only option.

What stopped him then? Why bother dragging out his life for another- what? three? four? maybe five years? His father would kill him eventually- that Horror was sure of. So why drag it out? What was the point? 

Perhaps, because there was hope.

The hope didn't come from Horror himself, don't be ridiculous. It didn't come from other adults around him- or those stupid flyers that said, 'don't give up!'. Hope for Horror didn't come from the moments his father left him be, or from every breath he took knowing he lived another second. No, his Hope had an outside source.

A source that didn't even know it was a source.

His hope had a name. Or rather- names. Hope came from Killer, who refused to touch anything he considered dirty- but decided to help the crying boy in the bathroom anyway. Hope came from Dust, who- trapped up inside the second story of his house, insisted Horror play the weirdest game of connect-four Horror had ever played to this day.

Hope came from Paperjam, who, while dragging a whining Gradient along with him, firmly declared that we're going to be best friends forever, while only knowing each other for thirty minutes. Hope came from Fresh, terrified out of his mind, running towards Horror begging, 'please get rid of it!' referring to a butterfly that had landed on his discarded backpack, which only needed someone to walk close to it for it to fly away.

Hope came from Undyne, who didn't sit back and watch as Horror's preschool bully teased him for wearing clothes that didn't fit his size, and insisted she'd protect him forever. Hope came from Alphys, who trusted him enough to whisper to him, 'I-I really like her' while they sat hidden at the edge of the school grounds.

Horror didn't want to live, but others wanted him to. 

That was enough.

For a while, anyway.

Because, as a select few may understand, things like that don't last forever. While Horror's friendships didn't deteriorate in any way, shape or form, their effectiveness against his father's actions did. 

Horror had gotten older. He was now far too old for reassurances such as, 'You're seeing Dust tomorrow' or 'The holidays are almost over' to work effectively on him. Any child-like optimism was now gone, and such beliefs were replaced with, 'You'll return eventually' and 'it will come back'.