handplates

“Just let me die…” “Oh, don’t be silly, Dr. Gaster. We both know it’s a little late for that, don’t we?” ***** He knew only pain. A thousand lifetimes of pain. There was no reality except this. Except his sins. A thousand voices screamed in with nothingness. Fragments of him? Or other hims? A thousand other selves suffering for the wrongs they’d caused. That was all he was. A culmination of mistakes and pain. You should have died with your family. He saw a thousand splintered realities. The things he’d done. The things he could have done. The things that would happen now that he wasn’t there. Time ran in cursive curls – dancing and whirling back on itself. He saw the war as he’d known it, and the war as he’d not known it. How it had been. How it could have been. How little difference he’d made. He caught glimpses of the underground – sometimes empty, sometimes teaming with life. He saw the king and queen walking with their children by the hand… and then a buckling of