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“I don’ wanna, I don’ wanna…” Strawberry sobbed, jam leaking from every orifice. Their scleras were tainted red, capillaries having burst. Jam steadily flowed from zher nose and dripped from hxs mouth and ears. They laid on the ground, their right arm torn off somewhere in the middle of the upper arm, near the shoulder. Her breaths were coming in short, frantic gasps. Many other wounds littered her body–including a giant gash across jams chest–but the most severe was the dismembered limb. You could see the bone, its sharp, broken edges sticking out. And lots and lots of jam. Like, everywhere. It was a miracle that she wasn't dead yet just from bleeding out. But this sick, twisted cycle kept them alive no matter what.
“I know baby, I’m sorry,” Mold Dough said, pressing a cotton ball dabbed in hydrogen peroxide against the open wound. His other arm was used to pin them down as pix thrashed about, screaming in pain. He carefully forced a needle through the torn crust of their arm. The frontliner had learned time and time again that reconnecting the dismembered limbs before death would let them heal back better. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he profusely apologized, wiping away a stray tear before going back to reattaching the torn off limb. It wouldn’t do much in the moment, but it would make the process less painful, not having to fully reform the missing limb.
“C… can you watch me sleep,” Strawberry asked, voice wobbling. Mold Dough nodded. He would do it every single time no matter what. He would protect their body from the vultures that circled. He would not let their beaks tear into the soft, supple flesh of a child, even if it meant that he would become the target of their hunger.
He then reached out, large hands closing around such a fragile, brittle neck. With one swift movement, Strawberry’s neck was snapped, the heart shaped pupil breaking. It was a torturous loop, always ending in her death. Never his. Only hers. And when the cycle repeated, Strawberry would appear, memories gone until the very last second. Strawberry always forgets until the last second, but when she finally remembers they never lash out with hate and malice. Just a more quiet acceptance of life, of zher fate.
Rearranging hxs body to look comfortable—including making sure their head didn’t loll from the break—Mold Dough stood and gathered some nearby flowers. Flowers rarely grew here, in the soil trampled during a thousand battles, until all that remained was muck and mire. But the flowers that grew persisted, even after being battered and broken.
He gently picked the flowers, the delicate stems snapping so easily under his fingers just like her neck. Arranging the battered flowers around them, he brushed a carefree lock of hair out of the way, studying her face. There were the scars of their battles, but they were layered over other, older ones. The most prominent was the left half of them was burned, and the ring and pinky missing on the left hand. On the other side, there was a cheek maw that stretched its way across her right cheek. Right now it was hidden, but Mold Dough knew that if he prodded the dough of zher cheek, he’d feel the fangs pressed just under the crust.
Tucking the flowers into Strawberry’s hair, Mold Dough’s brain silently catalogued the flowers. Higabanas, asphodel, ipheion, amaranth, black scabiosa, and forget-me-nots. Each a quiet nod to their surroundings. It was an empty expanse of red soil, black charred trees dotting the wasteland.
Sighing, the cookie took the other’s clawed hand in his own, rubbing his thumb along their knuckles. With a shuddering heave, he began to sing.
Give me your eyes, I need sunshine
Give me your eyes, I need sunshine
Your blood, your bones, your voice, and your ghost
We’ve both been very brave
Walk around with bowed legs
Fight the scary day
We both pulled the tricks out of our sleeves, but I’ll believe in anything and you’ll believe in anything
As Strawberry’s body began to glow white and the world shattered into black pixels around them, Mold Dough kept singing, even as his body was torn asunder, even as his voice was swallowed up, even as his very existence was denied the comfort of being perceived once more. He sang to every version before and every version after, pleading with the world that kept them trapped here that it would finally end.
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