// TW \\

DEATH

ABUSE

NEGLECT

HOMOPHOBIA

TERMINAL ILLNESS

———

Don't ever tread upon a grave

Not even to prove that you are brave.

A spirit rests just below,

And one day you'll be like them you know.

Your body to the earth returns.

Your mind sat still, and soon left to burn.

You fade away to ash and dust,

And nothing remains but nails and rust.

You rest upon your final bed,

As your soul departs to the land of the dead.

———

Microphone shivers in the cold of the winter wind. The fire dim, and dying. Her body aching from her frozen joints. Her teeth chattered as she glared at the others who laid silently in the confines of the cave. Knife and Pickle were probably the most well off, as they were huddled up together, Pickle was clinging onto Knife. Probably from the discomfort of the cold and his changed body. Trophy, on the other hand, looked like he may not have slept at all. He was in the corner, against a stalagmite. Though morning was beginning to shine through the snow clouds beyond the cave, Microphone didn't have the heart to wake Knife or Pickle.

"Trophy?" She spoke up in a half whisper, which made Trophy flinch from across the cavern.

He leaned off of the stone wall, and turned to glare at Mic. A bit startled that she was awake, since, she wasn't ten minutes ago. "What?" He asked bitterly.

"Did I wake you?" She asked in a quiet tone, shakily stepping towards him and sitting nearby.

"No..." He grumbled, the bags under his eyes evident. He rubbed his forearms and looked at the entrance to the cave. "Why? Need something?" He raised a brow.

"No—No... I just... I need to talk to someone..." she shrugged, hugging her knees to conserve her own body heat.

Trophy nodded to himself, "So..." he bit his lip as he thought of a topic. "How's life?" He asked awkwardly.

Microphone gave him a disappointed look. "Well... I'm separated from Taco and the others... Stuck in a freezing cold cave in the snow, there's DEMONS after everyone, and for all we know there's no way back home!" She chuckled bitterly, narrowing her eyes. "So—I guess I'm doing as bout' as good as you." She spat.

Trophy grimaced, looking away. "Mh..." He nodded again. "How about your family?" He asked, raising a brow.

"Last time I called them they were fine..." She thought back to their last phone call a couple weeks ago. "They said they hoped I was having fun on the Gameshow thing." She shrugged.

"Ah." He nodded, "you must miss them, huh?"

"At times..." Microphone nodded. "Now I can't show my face around there anymore because I'm 'dead'! And they probably think I have powers or something because of the whole government situation! Ha-h-hh..." She narrowed her gaze in thought.

Trophy looked over from her sudden change in demeanour. "What's wrong?" He asked.

"If... They thought I had powers... Or potentially did... Would they go after my family? Looking for the route of said abilities...?!" Microphone asked in a sort of panicked tone.

Trophy's eyes widened, "Would— they go after mine too...?" He asked, in a bit of a shocked state of revelation. "Surely they wouldn't full on— TORTURE our families right?!"

"E-Even if they don't find evidence of abilities... Who's to say they won't torture our parents for information on where we are? Or force... Them t-to reproduce to see if it was a recessive gene...?!" She covered her mouth in worry for her family.

Trophy shifted to horror, "I already have a million fucking siblings...! My parents can't handle anymore... Besides that's just plain horrible!" He said in outrage. "There's no way they would— do something like that..."

Microphone blinked out a few tears. "You should've seen what they did to Taco..." She shivered at the thought.

"What... Do you mean?" He raised a brow.

"Her state... it was horrid... Her body was burnt and mangled... a-and she was full of holes from needles and such..." She whined, hugging herself tighter.  "What if they decide they're useless and kill them...?!" She cried.

Trophy flinched, unsure how to deal with her emotion, "I-..." he cleared his throat, worried for his own parents. "I don't... uh..." He didn't know what to say.

"Fuck, I hope they kill my dad..." Knife groaned as he stretched out and sat up. Which had made the two flinch and look over.

"Okay dude, that's just fuckin horrible..." Trophy spat, narrowing his eyes at the other boy. He looked less than happy. "You don't just wish that on someone."

"What?! He deserves it!" Knife grumbled, glaring back at Trophy, "He's a fucking asshole... He doesn't care about anyone but himself. That narcissist bastard needs a taste of his own god damn medicine."

"What did he even do? If you don't mind me asking..." Microphone sat up straight and poked at a small stone on the ground.

"He beats me and my mom. Homophobic too... He hates my friends... While I understand he's religious and what not, he's... ugh... A bit aggressive." Knife crossed his arms.

Trophy thought back, "Wait...is your dad a Kitchen Knife? Like one of those big ones with the wooden handles?" He asked.

Knife nodded, "yeah."

Trophy's eyes widened, "shit... Your dad is massive... I saw him at a family gathering once...!" Trophy flinched at the memory. "God he was rude as shit too."

Knife gave a firm nod, "Listen, I don't hate people who have beliefs, they can think and do whatever the hell they want. It's when they start influencing MY beliefs and identity I have a problem with it..." Knife grumbled, drumming his fingers against his shoulder.

Trophy nodded, "I guess that's reasonable..." He muttered. "The worst thing my parents ever did was forget to feed me. I don't... Hold it against me too since my mom keeps getting knocked up. Because my dad wants more kids so he takes her to the clinic to get her blood put in a vessel despite her protest."

"WHAT?! ISN'T THAT FUCKING ILLEGAL?!" Microphone flinched, a bit shocked Trophy's dad would do that.

"Eh, He says it's because he wants two sons. "Real sons" or whatever. He's not sexist—or transphobic or anything, but I only have one older brother. You know what they say, heir, and spare" he shrugged.

"The worst thing my dad's ever done is put a hole in my back. I needed to go to the hospital... They put a patch over it and I'm fine now." Knife muttered, tapping the back of his shoulder.

Both were silent.

"I'm sorry. What." Trophy narrowed his gaze in utter shock.

"There is absolutely no way you just said that so damn casually..." Microphone muttered under her breath, horrified. "What is WRONG with your guy's family!? The worst things MY parents have ever done is take away my phone for a week because I failed a test! And to be fair, I was being a damn fool!" She said dumbfounded.

"Okay... First of all, Only my dad is a problem." Knife retaliated, jabbing a finger towards Microphone with a scowl. "My mom is a very kind lady who's been through hell and back..."

Pickle groaned, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. "What's goin' on?" He muttered sleepily as the three shared their personal lives to each other.

"We're sharing things about the worst things our parents have done." Knife explained

"Oh..." he thought for a moment. "My mom and dad are both really sick, so my nanny looked after me. The worst thing she's ever done is over fed me." He shrugged.

"You've never got in trouble?" Mic asked, raising a brow, "not even skipping chores? Or failing school work?" Trophy nodded in agreement, skeptical.

"My Mom and Dad have a ton of maids and tutors. I don't really... Uh... Need to try..." He shrugged, "Sorry... for Uh... not having much input."

"WHAT? No fair!" Trophy pointed out his hands, "how come you even joined inanimate insanity?" He grumbled with an upset look in his eyes.

"I joined because My Nanny passed away... and my Mom and Dad's medical bills began to get more costly... and needed someone to look after me." Pickle replied.

Trophy's hostile jealous glare faded quickly, and he pulled his hands back towards him. He rubbed the back of his neck and spoke through his teeth, "Damn..." He looked away awkwardly.

Knife rubbed Pickle's back. "I'm
Sorry bro..." He frowned.

"Don't worry about it, ahah.." Pickle smiled back at Knife and gave him a kiss on the cheek, which made knife flush, and shove him over. "Ow! What the heck!"

"Don't be a dumbass..." He said embarrassed. Which made Pickle snort and then chuckle.

Microphone looked out of the cave and then back to the others. "Knife, this conversation— isn't over. Especially after the lore you just dropped?!" Microphone cried. "But we should really get going." She huffed, jumping to her feet. She nearly fell because her gemstone face was so heavy.

"She's right. Let's get going while the day still is." Knife nodded, offering a hand to Pickle. He gracefully took it and they made their way to the entrance.

"What if we can't find shelter again? We'll be fucked!" Trophy protested, staggering up from the ground and jogging after them.

"It's better than waiting to become popsicles out here." Knife chuckled, limping into the snow outside.

"I agree. We can't just wait around. This place is a desolate snowy wasteland. We'll die for sure if we stay long." Microphone explained, as she tried not to slip down the hill as she climbed down towards a dense forest.

"I guess you're right..." Trophy muttered, rubbing his arms as he stared at the breath which was cold enough to see. Snow flakes fell overhead from the snow blanketed trees above. And the thin layer of snow crunched beneath their feet.

"I wonder where we are..." Microphone spoke up, looking around at the scenery. It was quite strange, but pretty to see this much snow.

"Dunno." Knife shrugged, "Maybe if you look hard enough you'll find the jolly fat man, yeah?" He laughed to himself, Pickle joined him.

Mic groaned. She looked down at the snow beneath her and grumbled to herself, when she saw foot prints. "Hm?" She tilted her head, following them mindlessly into the cold thicket. Snow compacted beneath her feet, and she pushed through bushes and weighed down snowy pine branches.

Knife looked back to see where Microphone had gone to see her wandering off on her own. "Mic?!" He called after, making the other two stop to look.

Microphone continued, and found the footprints thin as it lead out past the tree line. She stepped forwards and spotted a suspicious pile of snow and gasped, running up to it and dropping to her knees. She dug through the snow and her hand his something. Despite the cold stinging her hands, she dug quickly, uncovering a foot. "OH MY GOD...?!"

She covered her mouth and dug faster, rummaging through the snow to find...

"AAAAAAAA"

Knife, Pickle, and Trophy exchange glances. They run in the direction of Microphone. Trophy arrived first stumbling to a stop and gagging, doubling over at the sight. Knife and Pickle cautiously approached and looked at the body beneath Microphone.

She was sobbing through the hand cupped over her mouth. She shook her head and looked at the deceased body of her friend with a grieving grim face.

Cold blueish skin, glazed over frozen eyes, a mouth agape filled with frozen blood and saliva. Their fingertips frozen and stiff, a blackish purple colour. And limbs that were battered and breaking from the dehydration the cold had costed. She saw the cracked frozen lips which showed her friend's struggle to stay alive as they traversed the winter night...

It was Cheesy...

He must have frozen to death. "No—... No!" She whined. Knife stumbled down over to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She placed her hands on her face and cried.

Pickle frowned and went to comfort Microphone too. He knew Cheesy and Microphone had gotten close after Microphone got eliminated. "I'm so sorry Microphone..." he said apologetically.

"How could t-this happen...? H-how...?!" She spoke, muffled by her hands cupped over her mouth. She leaned against her friends.

"Maybe Mephone's revived him already...?" Trophy suggested, rubbing the back of his neck once more as he glared at the black and blue frozen body of Cheesy.

Microphone sniffled, hugging herself. "M-maybe..." She muttered, feeling unreasonably concerned since she had forgotten all about that. "I-I'm sorry—I just..." She bit her lip.

"It's alright." Knife patted her shoulder, glaring at the body with a look of discomfort. "He's a friend. Death is upsetting for you. You don't need to apologize..." He muttered.

Pickle nodded in agreement.

Microphone stumbled up from the ground, and solemnly staggered back. Her eyes not leaving Cheesy's body as dread seeped in. She finally tore her eyes away and walked back in the direction they were heading prior. Knife frowned at her clear dismay and followed after alongside Pickle. Trophy felt disgusted and jogged to catch up with the others. They treaded through the thick snow, the tree over dense because of the white blanket overtop of the trees. Snow fall was minimal due to this, so it made the cold slightly less unbearable.

Microphone wallowed away in her own sadness... Her eyes down at the ground once again as she stared bellow. Kicking the snow along as she walked.

Everyone was silent, the joking environment killed instantly. Ironic how it was killed by a comedian... But you know what they say.

Curiosity killed the cat.

But, then again...

It kept the cat fed.

Trophy stopped in his tracks. And narrowed his gaze at the forest ahead. "Uh..." He had to double take.

"Ugh... Don't tell me you found a corpse..." Knife grumbled, glaring back at Trophy as he stared into the forest. Trophy looked back to knife, appalled.

"What?! No!" He waved his hands in front of him, taken aback by the sudden accusation. "I just— I think I saw some people walking that way..." He pointed towards the forest, which became thinner ahead.

Microphone perked her head up, and wiped her nose. "What...? Where...?" She asked, walking towards him. Trophy pointed over across the way once again.

Knife sighed exasperatedly, "I mean... We wouldn't be heading in complete circles. So... We could check it out." He shrugged, his bored expression firmly pressed into his face.

Pickle nodded, "Hopefully they can tell us where we are...!" He smiled hopefully, and the others nodded in unison. Everyone turned their heals and began in the way Trophy had directed them. The snow becoming thicker as they exited the tree line. Trophy looked out for any sign of the object he'd spotted running. He looked down and flinched, stumbling back.

"Uh... Remember what Knife said about the Corpse thing...?" He muttered worriedly, "I might've been wrong..."

Everyone else looked towards what Trophy had spotted, and to their horror, found a trail of blood and staggering footprints. Microphone covered her mouth. Knife scanned the area... And briefly made out smoke rising into the sky. "There!" He pointed.

Pickle perked, "Is that smoke?!"

"Where there smoke Therese fire. And where theirs fire there's heat!" Microphone exclaimed, stepping towards the rising gas. Noticing the blood trail lead that way.

"Whoever came through here could've killed an animal's and brought it back to their home to cook." Knife tapped his chin as he thought for explanation. Microphone nodded, and started jogging. Everyone followed in suit.

———