Chapter Text
It’s itching
to the eye.
Kris can’t lie
even if they wanted to.
The obscured
but noticeably
solid magenta notepad
peeks out from Susie’s purple pocket.
It begs to be noticed.
No matter how intense
the itch gets,
Kris remains still in their seat,
stuffing their fists into
their yellow-striped shirt.
The clock adds ticks
to their misery.
For the first time
ever,
Kris pays closer attention to
Ms. Alphys’ stuttering voice.
The quadratic formula,
something about a squared,
a radical, a fraction
Kris barely remembers it
from the homework.
They try to remember more.
Maybe if they counted
the ticks, they’d remember better.
But that fails when a screech
against the floor grates their ears.
They look up.
Susie pushes herself out of her seat.
No warning, no question, no preparation.
It’s ten minutes
before class ends.
Susie decides to leave early.
Like she always does
on Fridays.
Ms. Alphys says nothing,
just leaves the monster to her tales.
Noelle says nothing,
but she closely watches Susie
as innocent as ever.
Berdly says nothing,
but a scoff pushes past his beak.
Kris says nothing,
nothing about the fallen notepad.
When nobody calls for it,
nobody comes for it.
And it’s theirs for the taking.
A paradox occurs.
Time feels like an eternity,
but class ends in seconds.
Kris takes their time,
keeping their gaze low to the ground
while it shakes from busy steps.
They envision the silence
like when Susie left.
A shared silence.
Everyone chose to ignore it,
but fully participated.
There are witnesses.
Ms. Alphys can report
theft if she wants to.
Kris, quiet as a Whimsum,
stands up and reaches down anyway.
Kris knows Ms. Alphys
doesn’t want to.
Their soul hammers
in their chest.
A red heart-shaped outline
see-through.
They nearly swallow,
the gush of spit triggers a
rainfall of sweat.
A quick swipe,
a dash: out the door,
a race: out of school,
the finish line: a home sweet home.
Mom isn’t home yet.
Their bedroom is heaven.
Kris closes the bedroom curtains, and
briefly glances at the accomplished side
of the room.
As hard as it is,
they shake their head
and plop on their creaky bed.
This is their secret,
and their secret alone.
Kris takes the time
to devour the delicacy.
It’s fun to play with the meal
before it’s gone forever.
Their fingers grace over the
bland cover.
No words.
All to be felt was cheap,
stiff leather.
Pretty worn, but
it has its own beauty to it.
The holes, claw marks,
strips of paper close to the silver rings
build its character.
Kris licks their lips.
An open book finally
presents itself.
First, they flip through
pages upon pages.
Filled with words that
shortly tickle their brain,
teasing them to read the full thing.
It’s not the time yet.
It never stops.
Words fill half of pages,
the entire paper, or only
six lines,
five lines,
four lines,
three lines,
two lines,
one.
It’s halfway until
Kris realizes to check the dates.
They skip past them.
Unimportant.
Until they’ve met a
quarter to the end.
May 5, 201X
Kris pauses,
anticipation cripples their spine
as they lean in closer.
Finally,
today’s date.
Kris scouts the room.
Checks the door,
once or twice,
makes sure Mom doesn’t come in
makes sure Ms. Alphys doesn’t come in
makes sure Susie doesn’t come in.
It’s all clear.
Their eyes never leave the page.
Even if the handwriting
is sloppy
barely coherent as if she needed to
write like her life
depended on it.
May 5, 201X
it’s raining outside by Susie
at first it’s 3:00
in the afternoon.
the front door
is locked.
a knock, a kick, a smack, a strike
it stays stubborn and unwilling.
it ain’t made of bricks
either,
it’s a new door from last month
and it’s already taken a beating.
trying the windows is pointless.
like trying to open a damn jar.
they’re never open,
not allowed to be open,
for the whole world to hear.
burrowing a whole in the ground
takes time and resources.
things that ain’t always available.
it might not even lead to
anywhere.
instead, the door is treated
like a massager.
slide against it with your back.
it feels nice for a while.
gentle tension to the scales
never hurt anybody.
it’s 7:00 now.
crickets make their presence
known.
stars are countable,
you can’t see your own damn shadow.
you shout
at the door.
it stays quiet.
you yell
into the windows.
you can see
into the windows.
you remember
its purpose.
it’s there to be seen,
not heard.
the dark sky
decides to drown the world.
it wants to take you along
with it.
Kris holds their breath.
Excitements stirs
in their gut.
The thrill of a secret.
Wanting to be caught,
knowing the consequences,
but in some cases,
the payoff is worth it.
They just need more time.
Where is something
not obvious?
In plain sight?
Kris doesn’t know.
A glance to the lone cage,
the unflattering red stain
on the carpet.
Worry comes into play,
about the “Kris” at night.
The only way
to seek comfort
is to imagine
Asriel, laying in bed.
Playing on the DS.
Together, merely two feet apart.
It hits them.
Asriel’s side of the room
is a museum.
Nobody touches artifacts.
An old SAT guidebook
is perfect.
Relevant now, has its uses
for later.
Kris slides Susie’s poetry notepad
into the latter pages of the
thick book,
wedged into the spine.
Kris tries to hide
a smirk.
They fail miserably.
They don’t want to fail anymore.
Unzipping their backpack
unleashes the wrath of academics.
They believe they have a
test on Monday.