It would be so easy.
It was a thought that Mango, King, MT had often. It dug into his mind like a weed. It crawled through his thoughts like an infection.
It would be so easy.
There were so many opportunities. When they're asleep, when they're back is turned, when it's just him and them. All alone.
Do they think they could really stop him?
It would be so easy.
They're sitting across from him, eyes half lidded and unfocused, staring at nothing but the inky void. The sounds of the flying machine chugging beneath them filling the silence. Only pieces of piston, slime, and honey form the barrier keeping them from the neverending black.
It would be so easy.
They think him docile, subdued and compliant, but he is not broken. How foolish they are to think he would just roll over and submit. When a dog is cornered, do they expect it to give in without a fight? What is a dog without its gnashing teeth and ripping claws?
It would be so easy.
They wouldn't see it coming. Not when their eyes are closed. Not when it's just them and him, all alone in this little pocket of space.
One step, one lunge, his arms outstretched, and their neck between firm hands.
It would be so easy.
Where would they respawn? Back at the Castle? Which one?
When the light leaves their eyes, would they wake up in their bed?
And what if he destroyed their bed beforehand?
Where would they respawn?
Back on the desktop?
Back in Interspace?
Back near that cliff he found them on all those years ago?
Or maybe…
It would be so easy.
He could do it. He could do it right now. He should do it, bed destroyed or not.
How many chances does he have like this?
He could do it.
One step.
He could do it.
One lunge.
He should do it.
His arms outstretched.
He should do it.
His hands around their neck.
Do it. Do it.
DO IT.
It would be so easy.
But MT never does.
And he doesn't know why.
It should be so easy.
They're there. They're right there.
He could do it. He should do it.
Hands around the neck. It'd be easy.
It should be so easy.
So why, why can't he?
He hates them. He knows he does.
And he knows they hate him too.
It should be so easy.
It's not fair. It's not fair!
Why? Why can't he do it?
How many times, how many times has he tried?
It should be so easy.
The two of them, alone.
Their back is turned or they're distracted or they've just laid down to sleep in cursor knows how long.
And he's there. His hands raised to push or his hands ready to grab or his hands holding a pillow just above their face.
And he's going to do it.
It should be so easy.
And he can't.
They turn around or they walk away or they mumble something in their sleep and slowly, so slowly, their eyes open to stare up at him. Their eyes are hazy from sleep but it's them. That horrible green barely present in those large trusting eyes and they smile at him and wish him a slurred good night and fall back asleep as if there wasn't years of resentment and hate and pain built between them. As if they were back at the start, before the egg, before the crown, before they entered this accursed game. As if it was just the two of them, back on that cliff. As if they were still friends.
It should be so easy.
But he can't.
So he drops the pillow and stumbles back. And he runs. And he finds a space away from everything. And he cries and screams and for the next few hours while they're still asleep, he mourns and wonders how everything went so wrong.
It should be so easy.
And then the sun comes up and the day is new.
They wake up and he stands by their side, awaiting orders.
And they both hate each other and everything is normal.
A giggle echoes across from him.
MT sits up straight, jolting from his thoughts.
He can't do it. He won't do it. Because he is afraid.
Afraid of the thing wearing Purple's face.
Afraid of what might happen if Purple is gone but it's still here.
It watches him and it laughs.
He hates it. He hates the way it smiles. He hates the way it laughs. He hates the way it spreads poison across purple irises.
It smiles and delights in his misery.
He knows it does. And he wants to scream at it. Shout at it until his voice is sore and gone.
He wants it to leave. He wants it to leave him alone.
He wants it to leave them alone.
It laughs and knows he won't.
And he knows it's right. He is a coward but he is not a fool.
He knows this game and he knows the consequences.
So he sits in fear and holds his tongue.
Its grin stretches wider in satisfaction.
And then he blinks and finds Purple with their eyes shut, rubbing small circles into their temple. MT releases a breath when they finally notice his presence and glare at him. The green had retreated back to surround a blackened pupil. They snarl at him and bare their teeth. A threat no doubt forming and he looks away as it spills from their lips. But it's them and that's all he could ask for.
They hate each other and everything is normal.
But even as the familiar feelings of resentment replace the fear, a new old feeling reemerges. He doesn't know what it is but it aches in his chest as he watches what used to be someone he's known for years, complain about a headache.
They're distracted.
It would be so easy.
But he won't.
He won't do it.
No matter how much he wants to. He won't.
But if he could,
It would be a mercy.
One last gift for a friend who no longer exists.
