Chapter Text
Back against the grass, eyes to the starry sky. A backpack with his limbs spread out near the smoldering embers of a campfire. Loose and limp as a corpse. His body lies in this circular valley, surrounded by a ring of steep clifftop - here his forest green form makes peace with the natural surroundings, the damp grass and the waterfall running nearby. Perfectly motionless.
...Except for his broken leg, propped above the ground by the structure of his wooden split, swaying side to side anxiously.
He tries so hard to cease. Like those contestants from the world of "humans", he's trying to make his limbs and face vanish, get rid of all he uses to feel the world. How nice it would be to not feel anything! To go slack. Cease perception. Cease function.
Like Bassy.
He feels a twitch in the back of his mind, like a vestigial muscle awakening from a coma, but the twitch becomes a sharp jerk as his leg leans too far to one side, slightly twisting the aching bone - he winces and hisses sharply, even with his eyes already closed.
Without that leg, he'd be in no pain. Maybe. He hopes. He should probably do this on the bed instead of the wet grass, it's really hard not to feel anything when your entire back is stained with cold water.
Take #2. On the bed this time. The dry reeds feel terrible, but it's better than the wet grass.
How did she put it again? "It's just, like..."
Pop.
The backpack jolts back upright, startled by the memory. He remembers-- feeling awful for her especially, just seeing her lying on the ground - after she concluded it wasn't worth it. He puts an exasperated hand to... his...
...head? He tries to wave the arm in the air, confirming that yeah, nope, he can't feel it at all. It's gone. Perfectly on cue with that pop... maybe that's what it takes? A pop.
He lies back down. Eyes closed. Imagined his other arm disappearing like that. With a pop.
It really is that easy, he supposes armlessly.
Now the leg - pop. Oh, it is painless. That's awesome, seems he happened to get the other leg out too. Cool.
He's kind of astonished, actually, that he managed to keep his focus for so long. The backpack burnt through his anger and hatred pretty quick, really he's just tired. On second thought, he probably could've done yoga to get his spirit back, but, you know, this feels better, actually. Lighter. No offense to Scenty. Sorry, Scenty.
Limbless. Faceless. Pop. Nothing.
Hours pass.
Days pass.
Months pass. His body is so still.
He doesn't hear white noise.