The snow around him melts into the ground, as while as his blood, giving life to the long forgotten grass below, then killing it as soon as it touches one ah another. Pancake’s muscles are stretched and out of gas, his back is not doing well, and his right arm is broken. That doesn’t help the fact that there’s still a knife in his gut, slowly melting into his wound as the metal turns red hot. Pancake can’t move anything; he’s beaten, stabbed, and broken. This might be the lowest point in his life if his daughter hadn’t died from her soul being eaten and then gone insane, seeing a kid in his house. He shouldn’t have gone to Cookie’s house; he should have escaped those idiotic Frenchies Elbow has without beating each one of them down and scaring one of their face badly, poor guy. Now what? What could he do here, bleeding in the snow? Think? ….. He hasn’t really had a moment to think with everything that happened to everyone and himself these past days... It felt like months at this point.
Maybe after all of this… Maybe he can make contact with Zeph and talk about Art…. And life…. God, he missed everyone, even Daisy, even if he doesn’t want to get into whatever evil controller nightmare thing that is keeping her there and everything else that happened. He really needs to say sorry to her about something, he can’t remember what, but he needs to say sorry to he- “You need to say sorry to me.”
A voice howled around him, sounding like a burning forest if it had a voice. Pancake tries to pick his head up, but his neck feels like to snap, so he had to lay his head back onto the packed melted snow. “W-whos the-re..? *Cough Cough*.” Pancake said with smoke leaving his mouth, it felt like he ate a match, and it's not going down. “Well, if I’m going to tell you, then I have to kill you, but I don’t have all day, so…” Pancake heard breaches snapping behind him, and an unwelcoming warmth started to fill the area. Snow crunching begins to get louder and louder. Pancake senses danger, and the bad kind. He has to get up, he has to get up, he has to get up. Pancake with the might of a tiger, or something stupid like that. Peeling out of the Pancake-shape hole, it really does look like a stack of bricks, the pain spiking through his body. His legs feel like split wood. Falling forward onto the snow, feeling the nice cold until it begins to- “Where do you think you’re going? You wanted to know who I am, Pancake, or whatever stupid old nickname they gave you.” Pancake pushes himself up; his good arm feels like it’s going to snap like the other one. Kicking the snow behind him until he gets some footing to walk and then run. Pancake finally turns around to see…. Fire….
(Instead, picture of Pancake looking back at fire. I think you know who it is. Also, I need to draw it or something. Also, the title was going to be thinking on your feet, but that's stupid, so I picked the stupider option.)
