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ghosts-and-blue-sweaters · 8 months

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hehehe gimme some sandduo

SAND DUOOOOOOOOO

~~~

When Wilbur was young, there had been crickets.

Most nights in the summer, he’d run around outside and try to catch the noisy bugs using a net or a jar. Sometimes Phil or Techno would help, using gentle hands and soft voices; Wilbur always liked it best when Phil or Techno helped.

And sometimes he would simply sit on the porch, laying on his stomach and listening to the chirps and whistles and songs. Phil would sit on the rocking chair with a mug of tea, and Techno would either sit beside him on the other rocking chair with a book, or on the front steps to the porch without a book.

Wilbur always loved the crickets. He loved their noises, the way they jumped, the way he could hold one in his hand and admire it. He always looked forward to summer for the crickets.

Fireflies had long since gone extinct, but Phil would talk about them, and talk about how they would glow with yellow-green lights to attract mates, and how they could be easily caught in the palm of his hand, and how they would sit on his hand for a short while, sometimes blinking and sometimes not, before flying away into the gentle night.

Wilbur loved hearing about fireflies. They sounded absolutely brilliant; he had a feeling that if he’d gotten to witness them in all their small, radiant glory, he would’ve loved them just as much as he loves crickets.

Wilbur is not very young anymore, and there are no more crickets. He can’t quite remember when they’d stopped singing, or what year that was, or how old he’d been; all he knows is that they don’t exist anymore, and the earth is a lot more quiet for it.

Now, the only noise to cut through the late evening is a strong breeze rattling the cornstalks together. Wilbur supposes they create a song of their own—albeit a less beautiful one.

At least there’s something.

“This world was never enough for you, was it?”

Wilbur blinks, pulled from his mind by a familiar voice. Phil. Phil is here, next to him on the other rocking chair. Wilbur had almost forgotten.

“What do you mean?” Wilbur asks, though he knew exactly what Phil had meant.

Phil takes a breath, a smile tugging at his lips. “You know what I’m talking about. Ever since you were young, you always-“

He stops, and the nearly undetectable flickering in his eyes shows that he’s thinking. After a moment, he continues. “Ever since you were a kid, you would look up at the sky in a way that wasn’t… like others. That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t like anyone.”

Wilbur huffs.

“It was like you were looking for something that you knew was out there. It was more than curiosity, it was…”

When he doesn’t finish, Wilbur chimes in, “A calling?”

“Yes.” Phil nods, holding his tea closer. “Yes, a calling. Your calling.”

He turns to lock eyes with his son’s. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Wilbur holds the stare for a long few seconds before sighing, turning to look out at the corn. Corn, in all directions. Fields of it. Miles of it.

“There’s no corn in space.”

Phil chuckles. “Is that so?”

“Yep,” Wilbur replies, popping the p. “Only stars and nothingness. A couple million planets. A few asteroids, here and there, a black hole or two.” He begins to smile. “But no corn.”

Phil says nothing, and together they grow silent.

The wind picks up.

Phil takes a long, deep breath, followed by a long, deep sip of tea. “You want to go out there.”

It’s not a question.

Wilbur shifts, fiddling with the glasses he’d supposedly been trying to clean. They’re probably more smudged now than they were when he’d removed them from his face.

Phil’s right. Of course he’s right; Wilbur does want to go out there. He wants to leave, to sail across the unknown reaches of time and space, to see stars up close. He does. He really, truly does.

“The world is dying, Phil,” Wilbur states, because it’s good to be reminded. “It’s dying. Everything is dying, down to the crops and the bugs. We’re all dying. We all know we’re dying.”

Phil nods.

Wilbur glances at him, waiting for his dad to look back. “We’re living in a hole that’s being covered with dirt. A grave, we’re living in a grave. We’re living in a grave, Phil.”

Phil nods again, giving a small shrug. He turns to look out at the corn but turns back once he realizes that Wilbur hasn’t turned away.

Wilbur holds his gaze. “We were born here. We were never supposed to die here.”

Phil sucks in a breath. “You’ve been reading too much poetry.”

“I’m serious.”

Phil’s eyes soften. “I know you are.”

Wilbur holds his gaze for a while longer before swearing, turning away. Corn, corn, bloody corn.

“Look up,” Phil instructs. “Remember: there’s no corn in space.”

Wilbur breathes a heavy exhale, doing as Phil said.

His breath catches.

The stars are marvelous. White dots painted against a black canvas, as numerous and wondrous as strands of hair on a human head.

“You’re never going to be a farmer.” Phil’s voice is almost a laugh. “I mean, that was clear from the start. You weren’t ever like me and Techno.”

Wilbur chews on his bottom lip. It’s true.

“You were made for the stars, I think.”

Wilbur bites harder. “Phil, do you think I should go?”

Phil goes completely and utterly silent.

“Phil,” Wilbur repeats, taking a breath. “Do you think I should go?”

There’s no answer. The rattling corn is deafening.

“Phil.”

“I don’t know.”

Phil’s voice is quick and almost sharp.

Wilbur’s lips tighten into a line.

After a minute or so, Phil shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t…”

A mug of tea is set onto the table with a clunk.

Wilbur can’t look.

“I don’t… know what I want to say.” Phil’s voice is quiet, now. The soft gentleness that Wilbur knows by heart. “I want you to go because I know you want to, and I know you’re made for it, and I know that if anyone can do something as impossible as this, it’s you. If anyone can find a home in the middle of space, it’s you.”

Wilbur stares down at the dusty floorboards. Techno said that raccoons used to live under them.

“And I also… don’t want you to go, because you’re my son and I know I won’t-“

That sentence is never finished, but the words are heard anyway.

Wilbur’s throat tightens, and he swallows.

Quiet once again.

#INTERSTELLAR AUUUUUU #I hope you like :D #it was really fun writing this #writing requests #my stories #story snippet #I’ve got a bit more that I’ve written but I cut it out because it wasn’t very sand duo-y #I’ll hopefully finish the whole thing and post it #at some point #interstellar #philza #c!philza #dsmp philza #philza dsmp #sand duo #wilbur soot #c!wilbur #dsmp Wilbur #Wilbur dsmp

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