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Language:
English
Series:
Part 4 of crack but serioused (probably)
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Published:
2020-12-25
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1,030
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1/1
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Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

Summary:

And it is with the crunch of bones like autumn leaves under foot that bring the harsh realities of loving, living, and leaning on him to light.

Notes:

VIENNA... U DID THIS

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Wilbur finds Friend one day, alone in the snow; trekking his blue stained hooves and fur through the collecting piles as the day went on, distantly the sheep had heard the calls of name and conversation to both him and the man who lived in the wood roofed home. Friend never did expect the ghost to stumble on by him, nor expect the ghost to and such interest in his pelt. He'd found the praise of his dyed fur exhilarating, almost, and when Wilbur slid the braided lead over his head and around his neck Friend had no objections to the sudden tugs this way and that. 

Nor did he have objections to a new name, a new life, and the proclamations of friendship between the two. He found it endearing, almost, and he assumes that's why he stuck around. 

He assumes that's why he suck around after witnessing the execution of the man who lived in the wood roofed home, the arrest, and the escape. Wilbur, or Ghostbur, as nicknamed by seemingly everyone around him; had done nothing to help, his naivety and interest in Friend distracting him from the harsh realities of death that seemed to find their way to his friend [brother?]- no, to put it light, Ghostbur was a blind fool to everything and Friend had no idea how or why. 

He, of course, would come to learn why and how; but at these moments, these moments before, he'd known not of anything-and knowing not of anything led him to find the actions he'd witnessed... dare I say it... cute, rather than worrying or fearsome. 


And, it seemed, Ghostbur found the way Friend followed without a single objection, a single differing idea, and a single question why to be cute as well. 

Yes, Friend never did question when the title of Friend was elevated to Spouse, he never questioned it once. It felt natural, it layered a new meaning to their actions; a new thought to every hug, every walk alone, every hand that ran through his hair... it was beautiful; as beautiful the life of a dyed sheep could be.

Though, however, there were negatives to it all.

Friend did try to ignore the exchanges between Ghostbur and the, as Friend came to learn, Son-also known as Fundy. He'd tried to ignore the scowls, the harsh words, and pleas, and the talks about a past that Friend wasn't too sure of... the name Sally sat on everyone's tongues like a cyanide pill waiting to pop. As soon as it's muttered, the world falls into a place it doesn't seem to ever return; and Friend supposes each reincarnation and repeat of the death is just another sign that he shouldn't have ignored. 

Friend, also, supposes, when learning about Dictators, a country never free, exiles-and explosions, he should have gone back to the tundra, and ran.

But he didn't; one day, walking along with Phil and Ghostbur, a tragedy strikes, having fallen too harsh; having felt pains no sheep should ever have to endure, and it is with the crunch of bones like autumn leaves under foot that bring the harsh realities of loving, living, and leaning on him to light.

Ghostbur is no man to love; no man to fear; and no man to hate; Ghostbur is a man that should be left alone, left alone in the rain to melt away into a memory, left alone to fade into a legacy . . . not to try and revive one that was never looked at as good. 

Friend awakes. 

Friend awakes, Friend rises like a phoenix from the ashes of his own gone out flame; and Friend remembers a death that should have been the end, Friend feels the ache in his ankles, the tender spots of his skin beneath ruffled and dirtied fur. Friend remembers so much in so little time, Friend wishes to forget and move on-to go back to a life he'd once turned his back to with blind eyes.

Unfortunately, Friend will never have it back, and that is a truth for Friend to live. 

In their wake the ghost floats by, Ghostbur, floats by; as if he'd never left, never witnessed his death, never seen the pain in Friend's eyes before puffing into a smoke that should have withered away into the air. No, Ghostbur treats the day as if nothing ever happened. In a way, Friend believes him. How could he be dead if he's alive? How could be walk alongside Ghostbur if he was a mist in the wind? How could he feel the pain in his arms, legs, head if he was a cold and numb ghost?

Though, it is not until he's met with surprise in the faces of others that he realizes then... it's true and real. 

And to his surprise-his, utter, terrible surprise, the feelings happen again.

And again.

And again. 

Until Friend has no more feelings to it.

Until Friend realizes that loving, living, and leaning on Ghostbur had only every brought a terrible reality upon himself; had the ghost never shared his immortality, never shared his terrible doom perhaps Friend would be happy being dead-Friend, will say, that he never seeks death. No, Friend never wanted to die, never wants to die, but it seems that a life without a constant reminder of death-whether that be in the melancholic smile that Ghostbur would give other friends, or the shutter Friend seemed to experience the morning after every. . . single. . . poorly placed footing. No, Friend would rather live a life dead for good, having experienced the love of a ghost who had nothing else to give, having experienced the charm in naivety, having experienced the hate in love-having seen the traumas of someone's past, and understanding in a way perhaps no one else could. 

But alas, that opportunity had passed; and the gift left in it's place was a simple note of falling out of love, falling out of death; too. 

Friend deals with this new life every day, and that was a mistake he'd take to the metaphorical grave; and secretly, Friend prays for him to move on, because maybe. . . just maybe. . .

He can too. 

Notes:

sorry.

 
 

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