somewhere, a clock starts . somewhere, a clock stops . the tick of a beginning . the tock of an end . tick . tock . click . clock . the ticking alternates with the clicking, always tocking from the end of the click . the clock didn’t sound natural . the click was erratic . click . tock . tick . clock . something was wrong . tick . clock . tock . click . the bell begins to ring . ding . dong . ting . tong . click . tick . tock . clock . the world slows . tick . ding . click . dong . tock . ting . clock . tong . whispers fill the air, growing louder by the second . tong . him . ting . him . ding . him . dong . him . click . him . clock . him . tick . HIM . tock . HIM .
HIM ——— HIM ——— HIM ——— HIM ——— HIM ——— HIM .
who is HE ? the whispers disappear, but are replaced by a warped, old, familiar voice . it fills the mind, squirming, drilling, digging into the brain . a voice you could never forget, even if you tried . even if you took a memory gun to your head —— && pulled the trigger .
❝ M I S S E D M E, P I N E T R E E ? ❞
his thumb stops. he tenses up, the fingers of his opposite hand curling into a fist at his side. he’s been on edge ever since Mabel told him what happened, ever since they had to start worrying about BILL CIPHER all over again. he shuts his eyes tight, squeezing the pen in his hand.
click click click click click
drown out the clock, drown out the whispers. ignore it, ignore it, ignore it, it’ll go away.
click click click click click
IT’S NOT REAL
IT’S NOT REAL ANYMORE
HE ISN’T REAL ANYMORE
his teeth clench && the unmistakable resounding voice of that DAMN DEMON echoes. Mason’s pen drops, his hands come up over his ears, && he bends at the knees. hunched over, head low, he is in COMPLETE shut down. his breath comes out in short && shallow spurts. he feels like he’s going to throw up. but he doesn’t, && instead of stay quiet, he manages two words.