"A Conversation No One Was Allowed to Hear"
The room wasn't real.
The ceiling flickered like an unfinished sketch; the walls breathed in and out like tired lungs.
Only two chairs existed with certainty — one occupied by Creator, the other by Fool, legs swinging, head tilted, eyes glowing with a mischief that was too soft to be dangerous and too sharp to be harmless.
Creator exhaled.
A long, shaking exhale that didn't sound like air but like something breaking.
Fool:
"You called me again.
You only do that when you're drowning."
Creator:
"I'm not drowning."
Fool:
"Fine. You're dissolving. Same thing."
Creator didn't argue.
He looked at his own hands as though they were borrowed.
---
Creator:
"You know…
I told the world a thousand times.
Not directly — I'm not allowed to.
But I told them.
In the cracks of my jokes,
in the length of my silences,
in every night I vanish for hours...
I told them."
Fool:
"Told them what?"
The Creator's voice dropped into something too soft to exist.
Creator:
"How many times I wanted to die."
The words hung in the air like wet clothes no one wanted to touch.
Fool didn't blink.
He only tilted his head further, like he was trying to figure out how much a heart could carry before it snapped.
---
Fool:
"And?
Did they hear you?"
Creator:
"No.
They laughed.
They said I was dramatic.
They said I was lazy.
They said I was quiet because I'm 'just tired.'
They don't know that 'tired' stopped meaning sleep years ago."
Fool leaned forward, elbows on knees.
Fool:
"That's why you talk to me.
Because I don't interrupt with advice."
(smiles)
"Or hope."
Creator almost laughed.
Almost.
---
Creator:
"I'm so tired…
Tired of pretending I'm okay.
Tired of pretending I don't think about disappearing every morning.
Tired of holding myself together because everyone else needs me to be the strong one."
His voice wavered like a dying signal.
Fool softly:
"Then break."
Creator:
"I can't.
People will panic."
Fool:
"Then break here."
He tapped the empty air between them, the space that belonged to no one.
---
Creator:
"You know what the worst part is?
I don't want to die every day…
I just don't want to exist like this."
Fool:
"I know."
Creator:
"There are days I wake up and think,
'If I vanished today,
would it even matter?
Would anyone notice before the world resets?'"
Fool:
"They would."
He paused.
"But not the ones you expect."
Creator swallowed — the kind of swallow that tries to hold tears back with pride.
---
The room flickered harder, edges trembling like a worn-out soul.
Creator:
"You're not real.
You're my imagination.
Why am I telling you this?"
Fool:
(smiling gently)
"Because your imagination is the only place where you can tell the truth
without getting punished for it."
Creator's eyes dropped.
For a moment he looked younger — like a kid who grew up too fast and forgot how.
---
Fool:
"You said you're tired.
You said you want to die.
You said it many times."
He leaned closer, eyes now soft as moonlight.
Fool:
"So say it again.
Say it until the weight becomes smaller.
Say it until breathing becomes something you do, not something you fight."
Creator flinched.
Creator:
"…I'm tired.
I want to stop hurting."
Fool:
"And I'm here.
I listen.
Even if I'm just ink and shadow."
He reached out — not touching, just existing close enough.
---
Creator:
"Do you think I'm pathetic?"
Fool:
"No.
I think you're human.
And I think being human is the most exhausting curse ever invented."
Creator finally laughed — a broken, quiet laugh.
---
Fool:
"You're not done yet."
Creator:
"How do you know?"
Fool:
"If you were,
you wouldn't be talking to me.
People only talk to shadows when they still want to survive."
Creator looked at him for a long time.
A long, painful time.
Then whispered:
Creator:
"…Stay?"
Fool:
"I never leave.
I'm the part of you that survives even when you don't want to."
The flickering room steadied for a moment.
Just one moment.
Enough.