Its Bring Your Kid To Work Day!

it’s bring your kid to work day! 😩

every day I live in fear of ruin building off the ggy bullshit

❛  what do you want to be when you grow up?  ❜ bonnie !

the boy, the mole, the fox and the horse

★ — Question catches him off guard ; his expression scrunching up in something like confusion and distaste. The gaze his tosses towards the animatronic as they continue walking seems to say 'is this really the time?', but he just as quickly turns his focus back forward with even more intent than he had previously, as if he doesn't want to think about his answer.

It's not like it's an unusual question, especially for someone Gregory's age. So common, in fact, that it's probably coded into Bonnie's protocol for moments where kids seem closed off or even stressed ( both things Gregory is, and has been since arriving at the pizzaplex ), an easy way to get them excited about something. He wonders if he did something to trigger the prompt, or if it's somewhat genuine. Either way, he lets a long moment of silence pass before huffing and shrugging, keeping his eyes locked forward.

"I dunno — alive, mostly. Which is seeming kinda hard right now."

His words are meant to be slightly humorous ( dark, sure, but hey, he isn't wrong ), but there's a bitterness that underlays them — both about the situation he's found himself in, and the question itself. Gregory hasn't had any idealistic, childish hope for his future long before he entered the pizzaplex. How could he, when everyone was so quick to give up on him?

The silence settles again. Gregory sighs, releasing some of that anger with it.

"When I was little, I liked space a lot. I thought being an astronaut would be cool. I dunno if I'd still wanna do that, though."

Stranger Danger!

The sky is too high And I want to feel crushed.

— Elisa Gabbert, from "The Vagueness of the Moment," Normal Distance

❛  i  did  a  lot  wrong  that  i  can’t  make  right .  ❜

𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯 𝑶𝑭 𝑨𝑵 𝑶𝑷𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑻 .    (   lyric starters  originating  from  the  works  of  grandson .   mature  &  dark  themes  are  present ,   tread  with  caution .   ) 

★ — "You — you ——."

Everything Gregory could possibly say feels as if it's caught in his throat, slowly constricting until it's cutting off his ability to catch a breath. He wants to scream, wants to yell, throw a fit until his lungs hurt, lash out until Michael is far, far away from him — but he feels frozen to the spot, ice running through his veins as he stares at the man who has becomes the closest thing he's ever known to family in abject horror.

Don't lie to me. It hadn't been a request ; it had been a demand, an insistence to hear the truth he already knew deep down in his chest from Michael, who had done nothing but lie every time Gregory had pushed. He had known, instinctively, from the moment he woke up outside the hospital. He had the confirmation now, in the form of a tape recorder. He just needed to hear it from Michael. And now that's been laid out plainly ( no more lies between them ), he feels sick.

His life would have meant something. His life was supposed to mean something. The people who had died when he survived would have meant something. He shouldn't be here — not when people were still suffering, not when everything was still in ruin, not when the only hope anyone had was so quickly snuffed out.

( yet, the thought leaves a pinprick of fear panging through his heart ; he can see a cruel smile, feel a grip tighten on his wrist, just below the bite wound, keeping him in his grasp ).

He shakes the image away — something violent in the motion, his hair falling in his eyes as he pulls his arms in towards his chest, cradling the bitten arm. It shakes him out of his trance, something akin to a wail slipping past his lips. What had Michael done?

"The fireflies — they were going to fix things! We traveled all that way to fix things!"

There are tears welling in his eyes, an occasional lone teardrop slipping down his cheek. Despite his usual hesitance to cry in front of anyone, Gregory doesn't try to stop it this time. There's far too much to try and hold back.

"I had s-so many questions for them."

Words fall more towards a whisper, speaking to himself despite the way his eyes stay trained on Michael with the harshest glare he can manage. He thinks he might be trembling ; his breath coming in choppy, short bursts.

( he can see the fire surrounding them, hear a rage - filled voice telling him to come out of hiding, that his death would be far more valuable to the world than any life he could live. the ends justify the means ).

"We said — we said we'd see it through to the end. I wanted to see it through to the end."

The last of his resolved breaks, as his words tapper off from a shout into an ugly sob. Gregory wavers on his feet for a second, the tears flowing freely before he simply collapses into a crouch, curling in on himself as if trying to be as small as possible. His head buries into his knees, arms wrapping around to pull his limbs in even closer. The cries shake his body, though they fall silent, instead leaving the occasional whimper and gasp for breath to fill the air. It's as if he's trying to make himself disappear.