It is still screaming from after the two knives stuck in its chest. I cannot stand to listen to the screaming. I yank the knives out, and fall backward. I feel weak. My arms will not lift, and my legs will not either. The creature still screams, and as it continues to do so I feel weaker and weaker. I feel so ill; I want to leave the room but it’s like the screaming is keeping me here, making me listen to it. It is a punishment, like what the arms did to my thumb, and I deserve it.

I cannot even bring myself to speak, to say sorry to the creature. I try to and all that comes out are whimpers. The creature is whimpering as well, slowly, as it dies. I do not want it to die, I never did. I will not feel better when it does die.

My head slides to the side, pulling the rest of me towards the ground. I fall, resting for the moment, and still unable to move. My hand is in front of my face, and lying suivant to it is one of the knives, red and wet.

I cannot look at it. I need to shut my eyes. I feel so ill from seeing it that I may throw up again. I squeeze with my eyelids, and slowly I am able to close my eyes. I feel the same amount of illness and sadness but at least it is not getting worse now. I only see black in front of me.

I want to fall asleep again but what will happen if I do? I need to make sure that Mickey is alive. I need to make sure that the creator saved h-

A whirring… the arms are here?

I find myself able to open my eyes, and stand up as well. I still feel ill, but not as weak. I must be afraid enough to? Either way, it does feel… a little better to be able to déplacer I guess.

The arms open the ceiling and déplacer down in front of me. They do not touch me, and instead they déplacer over to the dead creature. After a short while of staring they turn back to me. “This does not count.” A voice says from the arms. It is the creator’s voice I can only assume, I do not remember it well enough.

Why would this not count? I did not care about the creature as much as anyone else and I… killed it. “Why?”

“This is a beast.” They, ou he, say… says… uh- “Beasts do not have souls.”

How am I meant to “know what does and does not have a soul?”

“See if they can speak. Pick up your weapons. toi are not finished yet.”

I look down at the knives, with the creature’s… the “beast’s” blood still on them. It was hard to stab anything in the first place. N-now, I, I have to do it again? Why does he want me to kill things?!

“WHY DO toi WANT THEM TO DIE?!” I scream. It feels like I am watching someone else picking up the knives and attacking the arms. They of course grab hold of me, but I am still struggling, trying to stab at the tubes at their top.

The arms then begin to drag me into the ceiling and through the tunnel further. I am still struggling, I am so upset that I have practically forgotten about my question. When the arms actually answer it seems to instantly wake me up from my anger-state. “You are not old enough to understand yet. If toi are lucky toi will never understand.”

I am dropped into another room. My protection makes a clang against the floor when I land. I hurts but I am able to stand up again. I look up but the arms have already left. I am in a new house, and there is most-likely a new person to kill.

I am less afraid this time. If this person IS a person and not like that creature then they will probably be less violent… and… and easier to kill. ‘I have to do this for Mickey’ I keep telling myself. It feels like something heavy is on haut, retour au début of me, and when I keep getting closer to finding the person the weight becomes heavier. Because I am standing it feels like it is crushing me, my Bones cracking, my body breaking.

The cuisine is empty. The suivant place I can check is the bedroom. I turn around to walk out of the cuisine but the door begins to open. The… the person is coming inside? No- no, I, I-I have to hide!

I run to the side then quickly go behind the counter. I hear the person’s footsteps. They are very close. I look over to my right where they déplacer towards. The person is at the fridge. The person is taller than I am but not very much more. He is… I think it is a he… a-anyway, he is grey, and he looks like Mickey, Chowder, and I. He has the same ears, face, tail, and such. He is less… strong-looking than Mickey and Chowder. His arms and waist are much skinnier. He is not wearing any clothing except for small pants.

The person is pouring water into a cup. He takes a sip and moves towards my location. I have to move. I try to sneak to the side but my feet slip from my crouching-position and I fall flat on my face. The person hears this.

“Who a-“ I do not know why he has stopped talking. I do not get up, I feel too… ashamed, and afraid, to do that. I feel a tugging from my hands though… h-

I try to tighten my grip on the knives but he has them already. I déplacer quickly to get up, and turn around to face him. He is not holding the knives but instead he has placed them on haut, retour au début of the counter. I try to talk but all that comes out are stutters and stammers.

“You were going to hurt me with these, weren’t you?” He asks me.

“He… s-said I had to.” W-will this person attack me now? He has my knives and he knows I was going to attack him.

He has not attacked me yet, and asks me “Who is ‘He’?”

I don’t know whether I should tell him that. Should that be kept secret? I don’t remember being told to keep it a secret… “The person who made us.”

He gives me a confused stare. “Why would he want toi to do that?”

“I don’t know… but if…” He doesn’t even hurt me and I was going to kill him… I can’t do this, I can’t kill him…

I fall to the ground supporting myself with my hands. “I’m sorry!” I keep yelling while shaking my head. He hates me, he has to. My face is wet from crying again, I’ve been doing that so much it starts to hurt. Why does someone have to die?!

He pulls me up. H-he’s going to stab me now, isn’t he? I-!

“It’s okay.” He tells me. He has his hands gently on my shoulders. He doesn’t look angry, he looks… s-supportive? C…cofort… comforting…like uncomfort only… comfort.

“What happens if toi don’t do what the maker says?” He asks.

I find it hard to make myself calm enough to talk normally. When I start taking deep breaths they are short and jagged-like. “I… my, f-friend is dying, and the m-maker said, I h-had to…” Every time I say that word it hurts more. I cannot bring myself to say it again.

“… kill me, to save your friend?”

I nod. I do not know what else I can do. What should I do?

“What is your name?” He asks.

I sigh. “I do not have one…”

“Oh!” He seems startled. I become startled par the loudness of his voice and jump a bit. “Sorry.” He continues. “Um… are toi hungry?”

“I…” Why is he asking if I am hungry? I… I was told to kill him shouldn’t he be mad? “A-aren’t toi mad at me?”

“Maybe I should be, but no, I’m not.”

“B-but the knives and if-“

“We…” He takes a deep breath, looking sad almost. “We can talk about that later, okay?” He looks directly at me with a serious face. “Now do toi want to eat something?”

I suppose I would be hungry normally but this whole situation has made me feel too ill to be hungry. “I… don’t think I could… I don’t feel very good.”

“Well toi would at least need some water, right? That’s good for when toi feel sick.”

“Sick?... is that another word for ill?”

“Yes. There are a few others aside from that but that’s not important.” He walks past me and opens the fridgerat- refri-… that. “I was coming in here to eat something myself, and make some coffee. I hope toi don’t mind.”

I am very confused par his actions. There has to be a reason that he is doing this but I do not know it yet. I don’t even reply to him because of how strange this seems. For a moment… for a moment I look over at the knives. He has his back turned and they are right there… I could-
“NO!” I yell. I pick up the knives and throw them away. I don’t know where I do not care where they fall ou crash into, I just do not want to see them again. The person is startled, he jumps up and turns quickly around. He looks over at me with wide-eyes, then notices the knives stuck inside one of the cupboards.

I start stammering “I’m sorry” again. When I get past my apology I try to explain, but the person puts a hand up. I stop. “You don’t have to apologize.” He tells me. “You don’t… like those knives, do you?”

I shake my head repeatedly and quickly. I don’t stop so he has to hold my face still before slowly letting go. “I think toi should sit down. C’mon.” He leads me out to the living-room and sits me down on the couch. “I’ll be back in a minute ou two okay?”

“O-… yes…” I say id…idly.

“There are some livres on that shelf if toi like reading.” He points to something at my left before walking off. It IS a bookshelf. I decide to walk over to it. Many colorful livres are on it… thick books. I pull one out and open it. The titre letters say “34 a n d a h a L f p a r a b L e s”

“Thirty-Four and a half par a’ blis” I sound out. I open it. There are many listed words going downward on it with little dots attaching them to numbers. The first one is called “The Sower”. It is attached to the number five. I notice numbers at the haut, retour au début of the pages… so… page nine.

On page nine it has the words “The Sower” in big letters. Below it many many words. I try to read them, sounding them in my head. “Thee re one’ss wa’s ah so-“ I cannot read this, I cannot understand it… I put the book on the table. Maybe the person can read it correctly?

I feel terrible. He is being so nice to me even though I was told to kill him. What am I going to do anyway? I’m wasting time and Mickey is dying. I failed to kill the person, I couldn’t, I don’t want to, but something has to happen. I’ll lose Mickey otherwise.

He comes back, wiping with mouth off with a cloth and holding a cup, each in a different hand. “Find anything that toi like?” He asks.

“I am not very good at reading.” I say back. “I tried to read this book,” I hold up the parablis book “but I don’t think I used the right sounds for the words.

“Do toi want me to read it to you?”

That would be interesting. I… guess I should let him. “Alright.” I hand him the book. He sets his things down and sits suivant to me. He turns to the Sower story and begins to read. “There once was a sower who went across a field. As he went across the field-“

“E-excuse me.” I interrupt. “B-but what is a sower?”

“Oh. Hm…” He puts his hand to his chin, looking down. “It’s… a gardener… toi know where salade, laitue comes from? salade and such?”

I shake my head.

“Well,” He continues, “All vegetables and fruit come from seeds ou roots. Seeds are much smaller and grow into the plants which become vegetables. The sower is the one who puts the seeds in the ground so that they can grow into plants.”

“I think I understand…” I am a bit confused still but I do not want to make him stop again.

He nods and continues reading. “As he went across the field he scattered seeds around the floor. Some seeds fell on hard soil. These seeds grew quickly but because of their soil they dried up and died quickly, their roots were not strong ou deep enough to survive. Other seeds fell where thorns grew. They began to grow with the thorns but eventually were choked and pulled down par the thorn-vines.”

“But didn’t the seeds need to grow?”

“They did. That’s what this story is about.” He clears his throat and continues again. “Some seeds however fell on good soil and grew very strong and tall. They became wheat—wheat is a plant that is used to make bread—and this wheat fed thousands.”

“So… it’s a happy ending?” I ask. I’m not sure what this story means. Is it meant to mean something?

“This story talks about how seeds of Faith are planted.”

“Faith?”

“Faith is a sort of trust. toi cannot prove something but toi still have enough trust to believe it’s real.”

“But… what should I believe is real?”

“You can have faith in many things. toi can have faith in someone to do the right thing, toi can have faith that there is always something watching over you, toi can have faith that everything will be good in the end. I have faith that there is definitely someone watching over us, but only if we have faith in that.”

Do these seeds have something to do with faith? He a dit they did but how? “How do the seeds have faith?”

“Well,” He begins, “the seeds that fell among the rocky soil? Those are the seeds that begin with a lot of faith, but they soon lose that faith because of bad times ou persecution. The seeds that are with the thorns choke because they are pulled down par others who doubt. People tell them they are wrong and not to have faith. They have doubt, so they lose their faith. But the seeds that fell on the good soil became strong and dedicated to their faith and helped others because of their fate.”

“So… this story wants us to be like the strong seeds?” I ask. He nods to me with a smile. “But… how do I have faith for my friend? He… he’s dying.”

“You can have faith that he will have a better life after death, ou that he will be saved.” He gets up and begins to place the book back on the shelf but them he stops and hands it to me instead. “I think toi can use this. It will help toi in the future.”
I nod and hold the book closely. “Th-thank you…”

He nods again, this time with a sigh. “Someone has to die to save your friend, right?”

“Yes…”

“Alright… Do toi think toi can eat something now?”

I still do not feel well. “No… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright… Oh! We still need to give toi a name, don’t we?”

I just remembered that myself. What will we do for my name anyway? “How do we do that?”

“Let’s see… is there something toi like doing?”

I never thought about things I enjoyed doing I suppose. I liked the swings I guess… and for a little bit I liked that game. I liked being with Mickey and Chowder. I think I liked the stories and figuring out words the most. “I like… words, figuring them out on papers and books.”

“Okay… well we can’t call toi book-worm, that’d be rude.” He stays silent for a while. Sh-should I be thinking of a name too? U-um… book? Paper? Words? Letters? Parablis? Rea- W-wait… “I never found out what your name was.”

He stops and looks back to me. “Oh that’s right, I never told toi did I? My name is Mason.”

That sounds like an interesting name. “Does it mean something?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Most names do but I’ll never- I never found out.” I don’t know why he corrected himself but I guess it doesn’t matter. “Now…” He walks about for a bit still thinking, saying “Hmmm” sometimes.

“Do toi like the name Rea- w-wait no, no, that’s a boys’ name… Pap-… Do toi like the name Parable?”

“What does that mean?”

“Parables are stories that have a lesson basically.”

I think about the lessons I have had to learn. They do not bring happiness. I do not want to be reminded of them when someone says my name. “C-can I have a different one?”

“Alright... Well there’s Paige, do toi like that name?”

“That’s a name? I thought… the pages on the book…”

“It’s both. A page on a book is spelled P-A-G-E. Paige the name is spelled P-A-I-G-E.”

“Is… that to make sure there’s a difference between the names?”

“Yes- well I think so. I suppose you’ll find out one of these days… do toi want that name?”

I don’t really feel like the name means anything large, but it doesn’t bother me. I would like to have a name, and it does sound nice. I nod. He smiles to me again. “Good. From now on when people ask who toi are toi can tell them that name. It is your name and that means toi are special.”

I manage to smile back. I… I have a name now. I hope Mickey will get to hear it. “Now,” The per- er- M-Mason, says, “I think toi might need to get back to your Friends now. Okay?”

I immediately remember what will happen if I come back and someone isn’t dead. “But that means he’ll-“

“Just-“ He interrupts before closing his eyes and calming down “… try to trust me on this. Okay? I can make sure your friend will be okay.”

“H-how?”

“That doesn’t matter right now. I’m sure he will want toi back. Do toi have everything of yours? I’m guessing toi don’t want those knives back.”

“No… I have everything.”

“Good. I hope toi have a nice jour with your friend.” Mason walks away back into the kitchen. I look up at the hole I came from. It is still open. I should leave now.

I am about to jump up to the hole but I hear something from the kitchen. It sounds like a cutting noise, followed par a large groan… o-or a scream. Is Mason alright? I walk to the cuisine and open the door. Mason has his back turned to me but he doesn’t look hurt. “Are toi okay?” I ask him.

“… Yes…” He replies. It sounds hard for him to say this, like he has to force the word out.

“A-are toi sure?” I start to walk over to him.

“Yes!” He says loudly. I stop walking. His breathing sounds low and stutter-like. He looks like he’s holding his chest. Did… d-did he “Please go.” He tells me while slowly beginning to sink towards the ground. He stabbed… he stabbed himself- he’s going to die!

“B-but you’re d-“

“Your friend,” He grunts, “ne-needs… y-y-you…” He slumps into a sitting position. I don’t want to leave him, I want to help him. Why does everyone have to die.

“PLEASE let me help you!” I yell back, immediately tearing with a sore-throat.

“Trust me… P-Paige… g-go to your friend. I’m… s-sorry that this…”

“Th-that this…?” I start towards him again.

“It’s… too late and it’s what’s needed. Please… PLEASE… go to your friend.”

I stop walking towards him. I know why he did this… I… I don’t think I will ever forgive myself for this. “Th-thank you…” I force out during my sobbing.

“You’re…” He stresses with plus deep breaths, “W-wel…welc-…c-…ome… Paige…”

I hear his body beginning to thud before I see it and am not able to watch so I turn. Hearing it alone makes me feel as if I have started falling forever and am about to die from splatting on the ground.

I force myself out of the cuisine and brace myself against the couch. He… he barely knew me and he did that… he killed himself so Mickey could live. Wh-what happens to his body? I can’t ours to go back inside and look at it. I wish I was strong enough to but… I’m just not. I need help… I need help…
…
…
…
…
I don’t know when I fell asleep but when I wake up I find myself back at my original house. I am on the couch. Someone is here though… it’s the creator… the Melvin corbeau, corneille person.

He is not looking at me directly, but he knows I am awake because he tells me one thing… one sentence… “It was too late.”