I tried a new writing style out- dialogue, description, dialogue- tell me if its good :D
Tw for death, suicide, illness, gore, all that stuff.
Sorta joe x cleo but mostly platonic
The end kinda sucks ngl but I couldn't bring myself to edit it.
———
"Hey, Joe, are you there?"
Cleo asked, eyes tear-soaked as she gazed sleeplessly at the ceiling.
"You know I'm not."
The darkness just beyond her vision answered, a fresh wave of tears following them.
"I'm sorry, Joe."
She murmured, voice so breathless and sorrowful even she found it pathetic.
"I know you are."
———
"You missed a piece of dust, here."
A peachy skinned, coco haired, honeyed eyed man appeared in said spot, toe tapping against the cobblestone scaffold of Cleo's redstone project.
"Ah! Thanks, Joe, you're a lifesaver!"
Cleo hummed, already crossing the distance to deposit the dust.
"You know I'm not really here."
Joe spoke, voice mechanical and unforgiving, each syllable a slap to Cleo's cheek.
"I know."
She responded, her voice softened with a sudden wave of despair.
"You can't keep relying on me."
Joe spoke again, appearing to slowly fade out of reality- slipping into a sort of translucent half existence.
"I know."
Cleo's hand tightened its grip around her pickaxe handle, lifeless knuckles white with exertion.
"You have to let me go."
The poet murmured, disappearing entirely.
"He—Hey.. J..Joe? I'm sorr.. sorr.. sorry."
A gentle sob shredded the air as Cleo dropped to her knees, tools clattering to the ground around her body- a sort of false halo. Her head was held downcast, tears a constant stream from her eyes.
"I know."
———
"Do you remember the last time you saw me? I mean saw me for real."
Joe had come during breakfast this time, a bleary eyed Cleo snapping to attention as her cereal spoon slipped through her fingers.
"I- I.. I do.."
She stuttered, unable to help the tears that decided to make home in her eyes.
"Tell me, Cleo, what happened?"
The poet stood in the corner of the room, average height a looming presence to Cleo.
"J-Jo..Joe-"
She stuttered, fingers slowly going to grip at her scalp.
"Tell me, Cleo, what happened."
Joe rose his voice slightly in warning, hands going to lie on his hips sassily- a distorted, heartless version of the position Joe loved to assume.
"It was.. it was a.. pillager.. pillager outpost.."
The zombie gripped the roots of her hair to prevent her fingers from shaking, memories of that fateful afternoon filling her vision.
"Focus, Cleo! What. Happened."
A small sob resonated through Cleo's kitchen, the sound pathetic and whiny.
"We were doi.. doing— doing so well.. and the.. then.."
Cleo's knees shook, even as she was sitting down. She could feel her bones chatter, brittle from the memories.
"Keep going, Cleo."
The zombie swallowed, but it did little to down the lump in her throat.
"You were.. there was.. so much blood.. I was able to.. to get us out, but.."
More sobs penetrated the air, Cleo's words dissolving into nothing but incoherent bubbling.
"It wasn't your fault, Cleo."
Joe was no where to be seen when he spoke, but Cleo couldn't have known. Her sobs had racked her chest, throwing her off balance enough to land on the floor, curled up on her side, the force of her crying burning a hole in her gut.
"I-I'm.. I'm.. I'm sor.. sorry.. sorry.. Joe.."
This time, however, Joe did not respond.
———
"Hey, Joe, how do you think this looks?"
Cleo stood in front of some armor stands, fingers framing a picture. She was quite proud of this particular display, and wanted to get a second opinion.
"Cleo, what did I tell you?"
Joe's voice was cold as he appeared behind Cleo, completely uncharacteristic as he almost scolded Cleo.
"Oh you! Shush silly, tell me what ya think!"
Cleo seemed to ignore Joe's tone, her smile cartoonish, eyes glassy and dull as they barely registered Joe's expression.
"I'm not actually here, Cleo, its all in your head."
Joe persisted, hands resting back on his hips. It seemed as if he wouldn't give in so easily.
"What are you saying, Joe?"
Cleo sighed, brows furrowing in annoyance.
"I'm saying you need to grip!"
The brunette's voice suddenly raised, his hands flying above his head in annoyance.
"I haven't gone mad! I am gripping plenty-"
The redhead's voice rose in tandem, snarling slightly at the apparition.
"Yes you have, Cleo! God! I. Am. Not. Here!"
Those words slapped across her cheeks, loosening the screws to the faucets in her eyes as a new wave of tears welled up.
"Yes! Yes you are! You have to be!"
Cleo's voice rose even higher, volume swelling as her outrage grew.
"No! Cleo! I'm not! Its all in your head!"
A scream of rage spilled from the zombie's lips before she could stop herself, the dead tissue of her throat rubbed raw with exertion.
"Then whats the point! What am I supposed to do without you!"
A yawning cavern of silence hung in the air for a few seconds, before Joe finally responded.
"You're supposed to move on."
———
"You need to get out of bed, Cleo."
Joe came to torment her again, this time she was curled up in bed, the sheets damp with her cold sweat and bountiful tears. She didn't know how long it had been since she got in bed, but it was an assuredly long time.
"Oh! So first you're not real, and now you're giving me life advice?"
Cleo let out a melancholic whine, shoving a pillow over her ear. Of course, that wouldn't muffle 'Joe's' voice, but a girl could dream.
"I'm not real. I'm your subconscious manifestation of Joe."
'Joe' responded plainly, arms tucked over his chest as he sighed.
"Then do me a favor and fuck off!"
Cleo let out a groan, clawing at her pillow. She flung it at Joe's approximate direction, but it missed by a mile.
"No. Would Joe have left you?"
The hallucination fired back, a small huff passing between thin lips.
"As far as I'm concerned, you're Joe."
The zombie glared at the apparition, green eyes angry and sad. If looks could kill, hers would have. If looks could break a heart, hers also would have.
"My point stands. You need to get out of bed."
"No."
"You're being ridiculous. If I'm your subconscious, then that means some part of you knows you need to get out of bed."
"Fuck off."
"No. Get out of bed, Cleo."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"Fine!"
Cleo peeled her blanket away, voice raised as she slung her legs over the side of her bed.
"No- Cleo be reasonable!"
'Joe's' eyes widened, running after Cleo as her shaky legs fumbled her towards the kitchen.
"Fuck reason!"
Her growl was almost animalistic. She found what she was looking for in seconds, and- fingers fumbling- aligned a serrated steak knifewith her wrist.
"There's no changing your mind on this, is there?"
No response was necessary, the flimsy zombie flesh peeling easily.
"Hm.."
Cleo's brows furrowed as beads of green blood clotted the wound, barely any leaking out. She was dead, dying twice would be a trick. Not impossible, however.
She sighed and turned the knife, tip pointing into her stomach. Here goes nothing.
She plunged the blade into her squishy flesh, the green expanse of her stomach giving way easily.
Dark green blood slowly started to seep through her shirt, the thin white fabric clashing fervently against the gore.
She grunted as the knife penetrated her skin, and again when she pulled the blade from her stomach. Then six more times as she stabbed herself three, eventually collapsing to the floor from a mix of pain and blood loss.
"I'm sorry, Cleo."
'Joe' spoke for the first time in a few minutes, his voice slow and somber as he lowered to the ground besides Cleo.
Cleo could only groan in response, curling up into a fetal position on the bloodied kitchen tile.
"I don't think It'll hurt for long.."
'Joe' lied back, next to Cleo, staring up at the ceiling with melancholic eyes.
"You think we'll see Joe again?"
He murmured again, swatting away some chestnut brown hair.
"I hope so too.."
A few minutes of comfortable silence incubated between the two, before 'Joe' finally broke it.
"We don't have long left.."
He sighed.
"For what its worth, I think we'll see him again."
Cleo passed in peace.
———
Messy ending sh I could not be bothered
Im finally gonna do a request i got like 3 months ago next so ye- kinda slice of life fluff ig
School's been stressful, and if it continues the way it is now i will have no goddamn time to write. This was kinda pre written a week or so ago when i had time, but uh
Fuck my english teacher
-yours, stressed n depressed n the wild west