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You've reached Frisk. If I'm not answering my phone, please leave a message or find me on the second floor, Room 12.

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I made him. He didn't want to.

It fixed me anyway.

[They won't let him be punished for a mistake. He'll punish himself for it brutally. He doesn't need someone else haunting his steps and reminding him of something he knows he's done, and hates himself for.

Of course, then, things turn and go the way they always do. You're so miserable, Frisk. It's like you want to be upset. It's like you don't even want to feel better. You just want to wallow in your self-pity forever, don't you? It makes a convenient excuse for when you make mistakes. Wasn't you at all. Just the horrible angry thing you're feeling that makes you act that way.

Chara will leave again, and the ache in their chest will renew, and...they'll be okay. They'll live because they must. They'll live because - no, not because they must. Not out of any want or need to. They'll live because, quite simply, that's what things that are alive do. They live.

Until one day they don't.]

I told you I don't want them.

[For just a moment, there's a nauseating twist in their gut, and they wish they could rip the words away the moment they type them.]

Or do you not understand the meaning of the word "no"?

You made him, just like I made you seek LOVE in the first place? You're getting better and better at picking and choosing when your wise advice gets to apply.

Fine. Fine! I'll take all your stupid presents and toss them in an incinerator. God only knows I've learned what happens when I don't do what Frisk wants, right?

[They just drop their phone into the stupid dumb wagon full of stupid dumb garbage. Go haul this unwelcome mess down the trash chute, like they should have done in the first place.]

It was very easy. I almost made Sans do it too.

Children are very fragile.

[Children are very fragile, but it can take so long for them to die. Their little bodies hold onto life for so long. Maybe children have more determination than adults do. Maybe there's something about them that's literally unwilling to die, even when it suits them.]

Give them to someone who needs them. Do what you want with them.

If you don't, I will.

Edited (my worst enemy, john html, we meet again) 2017-01-01 08:37 (UTC)

So we're right back to "everything people do that's hurtful, we MADE them do it." Cool.

See, what I "wanted" was to bring them to you, in the useless misguided hope that tangible physical evidence people care about you might help, or that even a half-second's distraction of ripping off paper and looking in boxes might entertain you more than clawing your flesh off.

But ha ha, that's sure off the table, huh? So I'm dumping them. Not your problem anymore. You're free. You can even tell everyone who gave you things that I did it, if you're so hellbent on being perfect.

No thank you. They'll know it was me.

You give very good advice for someone who doesn't follow it.

[Perhaps that can be something else they have in common. Only they shouldn't be thinking that. Shouldn't be talking to them at all. Supposed to be ripping the band-aid away, or something. Bad for each other and just making things worse, and this is, once again, the proof.

Are you happy now, Frisk? Have you gotten what you wanted?

They can't want anything.]

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