In another crueller world, in a different, kinder time, there are three boys on the moon. They live there in domes made of glass and metal, nestled in the craters like eyes in sockets. These eyes are green and blue and brown, windows to the peaceful soul of this place. The rooms are filled with trees and soft moss, nourished by a shallow creek carved through the dirt they had spirited away from their old life. Flowers in every hue they managed to bring with them stand still in the air, hanging out of baskets and poking up from the moss covered floor. With no breeze and no bees to rustle them, still they remained, until one of the boys found himself brushing a hand across the soft petals of a pink tulip. Sitting cross-legged in the quiet, he imagines he’s holding someone’s hand.
At his side, his companion lays on his back with his hands outstretched, peering out at the stars through his fingertips, which are now translucent like much of his skin. Lazily he turns his head to look at the other boy, eyes flicking down to the tulip before catching his gaze.
He creases his brow, sitting up beside his friend shoulder to shoulder, but he says nothing. Words are nothing compared to understanding.
For a time, they bask in silence. The boy with the tulip doesn’t dare pluck it from the soil, no matter how much he fusses with the stem, or imagines placing it in the window back home, where breeze could touch it. He won’t allow himself to take the tulip because it would wilt again.
They are untouchable here, by breeze or anything else.
As a ruined planet begins to show itself outside the glass of the dome, the silence is broken by the tapping of small hooves on oak floors. The boy and his companion do not turn, but they smile and wipe any tears from their faces.
The third boy enters the domed room, smaller and pinker and with the scent of decay following him. He is young, and stumbles as the wood turns to moss and dirt under his hooved feet. Ungracefully, he runs on short legs to face the other two, grinning. In his small fist he holds a gift behind his back for his remaining father.
The boy and his companion wonder aloud what it could be, perhaps a sweet of some kind? Maybe even something shiny and golden that the kind child adores?
He shakes his head with a grunt, revealing a crumpled object made of paper sitting in a glass, presenting it to the boy with the tulip.
The boy takes it delicately in both hands, running his fingers along the ridges of the paper. While it is clumsily done, it is very clearly meant to be a flower. The paper is coloured in dye to be green and soft baby pink. He does not cry a second time, and sets the gift next to the tulip at his side with a smile, and a ‘Thank you, Michael’
Michael flops onto the ground to sit with them, leaning back onto the boy’s crossed legs to gaze at the stars and planet above. He asks questions about it as he always does; ‘What is that part?’ ‘What are the big dark spots?’ ‘Why did we leave?’, and as he always does, the boy’s companion spins wild tales that make the child's eyes go wide with wonder. Tales of heroes and magic and the greatest city in the world. Tales of traitors and villains who all learned their lesson. The wildest half-truths he can muster about justice and love and family.
It is late when his voice sputters out, his vocal stamina not what it was after so much damage sustained to his body. The translucency of his fingertips has spread down his shaking hands- he will be needing another dose of potion soon.
He does not get up though, none of them do. Michael is nestled between them, snoring gently, as they lay back and watch their old home glide past the dome’s glass. The craters that marr the surface are as dark as the day they left, and more have cropped up over time. Areas that were once a sea of green foliage have turned brown and grey, and in some places crimson red.
They stare up in guilt and grief and relief at the world that could have been saved, an unkind world that might have taken their hundredth sacrifice as the price of peace, if only they had given more. If only they had killed themselves one more time.
They stare that place in the face, and they rest as it falls out of sight.
Sorry it’s taken so long to post but I recently graduated high school! Finishing school and getting prepared for college has been a lot and I haven’t been motivated to draw much but I made this :D I’ll post more updates on the Tommy animatic and regular drawings soon. Happy late birthday Techno!
Hey I forgot to post this here but due to recent events I remembered I needed to so here! Have a commission I did that I really loved the concept of but then drew and has now lead to me now being ready to fight Tubbo and Ranboo on sight (/hj)! Follow me on @sigmaverseproductions on here and @/ imaginarythetasigma everywhere else except Twitter :) I draw better than this when I’m not on the verge of a mental breakdown, I swear