Young Writers Society

J.M.J.

TimeLost

“Bill Cipher.” The Axolotl said, “It has been exactly one thousand years since we last spoke; how do you feel?”

“Bored.” Bill said, “So, do I get to ditch the Theraprism and go be a shrimp or something now?”

The Axolotl laughed, “If that is what you wish. You have, with great effort, passed all our courses and have moved past your personal crimes and shortcomings. I am pleased with your progress, Cipher. You have completed the trial I assigned to you and are ready to be reincarnated.”

Bill squinted at The Axolotl, “What do you mean, "If I wish?””

“You have recognized your faults, accepted that what you have done is wrong, you have felt guilt, and been taught to mourn. You realize that your previous goal was illogical and unsustainable, that your conquering nature would never bring you satisfaction or happiness. But the one thing I believe that counseling will never be able to teach you is empathy.” The Axolotl swirled and swam around Bill, looking at the triangle from every angle.

“What’s your point?” Bill asked.

“I have examined the friendship you had with the human Stanford Pines.” The Axolotl paused, expecting Bill’s interruption.

“He wasn’t my friend. I was using him.” Bill said, crossing his arms.

“And yet…” The Axolotl said gently, “You celebrated his birthday with him when you realized he missed his family; you invited him to join you even before you knew you needed him to spread Weridmageddon to the rest of the world. You were sad when he realized that you were lying to him and stopped talking to you.”

“Hmph.” Bill said,

“That is empathy, Bill Cipher; you recognized a kindred spirit, and humanity brought out the best in you.” The Axolotl said,

“Don’t tell me you want me to be human.” Bill gagged. “I’d rather be a shrimp.”

“Not quite.” The Axolotl said, “I am going to make you a deal.”

Bill rolled his eyes; the last deal he’d made with The Axolotl had ended him up in the Thera-prison.

“I will allow you to reincarnate as any type of being you wish if you complete one more trial.” The Axolotl said,

Bill perked up; despite his nonchalance, he didn't want to be stuck as a shrimp for the rest of ever. “I’m listening... but no promises.”

“You are aware of Sherman Pines, correct? The paradox?” The Axolotl asked,

Bill nodded.

“He is the leading cause of the many successes of your alternates; he is not meant to exist, and therefore, he very rarely does, which leads to his son never being born and his grandchildren never being born, which leads to Stanford kicking Stanley out when he returns to his universe, and he is never able to defeat you.” The Axolotl said, “When he does find himself existing, it is very rarely at the right time; sometimes he is eldest and fights in a war, and sometimes he is youngest and grows up in a lonely house. Most often, time tries to correct its mistake in allowing him to be born and kill him. If it is rare that his grandchildren see their thirteenth birthday, it is rarer that their grandfather sees his tenth.”

"And that has to do with me because?” Bill asked, not liking where this was going.

“One universe.” The Axolotl said, “If Sherman Pines reaches his forties in one universe, you can be reincarnated as anything you wish.”

Bill’s eye widened. “The chances of that happening are—well, the chances of that happening in… heck, even in the universe I chose to conquer, he keeled over at twenty.”

The Axolotl chuckled.

“What?”

“You will be given a temporary form attuned to him and be allowed to interact in any way you wish with the universe of your choice.” The Axolotl said,

Bill seemed thoughtful for a moment. “Do I get my powers?”

“As much as your form can hold.”

“What happens if he dies?”

“You will be sent back here and be reincarnated with no consequence.”

“Alright,” Bill said, there was the impending feeling that this was a trap, but he couldn’t quite figure out where it was placed. “I think you’ve got yourself a deal.”

------

The boy was sitting on the carpet in his room playing with an old stuffed fox. It had at one point been red and white, but now the red had faded to a dull orange and the white to a pale yellow; it wore a once black, now grey top hat and bow tie, and one of its black beady eyes had been replaced with an X inexpertly stitched on by Shermie’s mother.

It was a horrid thing, destroyed by the love of a child and only held together by sheer force of imagination and broken seams. There was, of course, a reason why the fox was so beloved; it had been sent to the house by one of his brothers on one of his birthdays. The note that came with it was only signed as ‘your brother,’ but Shermie had always suspected that it came from Stanley, because Stanford hardly sent him anything, and when he did, he would sign it with large, cursive letters, claiming it as something inherently touched by his perfections. The fox being Stanley’s present made it precious because everyone liked to pretend that Stanley didn’t exist.

He was pretty sure his parents didn’t know that he knew about Stanley, and he’d been too afraid to ask. He’d found his picture in some old yearbooks, beside Stanford’s picture. It made him feel important to know a secret.

There was no warning before his father walked into the room. There never was.

“Sherman.” Fillbrick Pines said, his face was blank and his eyes were blocked by his glasses.

“Hi, Pops.” Shermie said, pausing from his game and looking up at the imposing figure of his father.

“Hmph.” Fillbrick said, “What are you doing?”

It wasn’t a question; it was an accusation.

“Nothing.” Shermie said, refuting it.

“That’s exactly the problem.” Fillbrick said, “You’re never doing anything.”

Shermie felt that deep-seated terror of a child who has just disappointed their parent. He whispered, “I’m sorry, did I forget something again?”

“Are you sassing me?” Fillbrick said, his voice beginning to raise.

“No, sir.” Shermie said, looking down at his hands, still holding the fox, its mismatched eyes looked back at him. Shermie looked back to his father, who was staring appraisingly at the room. He did this every once in a while, as if he was checking for any defects; Shermie followed his gaze with a building sense of calamity.

The bunk beds were both made, the desk was empty except for a pencil tin with only pencils in it, the bookshelf was full, and all the book spines pointed outward; all his clothes were in his drawers, the laundry basket was empty, the window was shut, his backpack sat next to his shoes, and there was nothing on the floor except for Shermie, his fox, and some less important creatures. Shermie took careful effort to not stare at the bed, where a loose floorboard hid a scrapbook and Polaroid camera he had won at the fair.

Fillbrick ‘hmphed’ again and looked directly at Shermie, who shrank under his gaze. Fillbrick looked at the stuffed animals littering the rug, and Shermie’s heart sank.

“A boy like you is too old to be playing with dolls.” He put out his hand, Shermie swallowed at the expected pronouncement, and hesitated for only a second before handing Fillbrick the fox.

“Sorry, pops.” Shermie whispered; he gathered up the rest of the stuffed animals and dropped them in the trashcan.

“Hmph.” Fillbrick said he picked up the bin as he left, leaving the door open behind him.

Shermie sat on the rug, tears pricked at his eyes, but he knew that crying would only make it worse. He took several deep breaths and clenched his jaw, then stood up and opened his backpack. He took out his spelling list and sat down at his desk. He stared at the paper until the words blurred.

Hurry—to rush

H U R R Y

Bill—amount owed

B I L L

Because—the reason for

B E C A U S E

Knot—a lump or knob

K N O T

Safe—a place to hold valuables

S A F E

Leaf—the green part of a tree

L E A F

almost

S O O N

Organ—body part

O R G A N

Trip—to fall

T R I P

Ford—cross a river

F O R D

He whispered them under his breath until they ceased to mean anything.

---------------------------------------------------------

Bill shivered as his mind was pulled across the gap between universes, sensations and sounds that he hadn’t heard in a thousand years suddenly assaulting his newly formed connection to his body. Then his soul was finally sucked into his chosen universe; it was ingenious, really. He had picked a younger Sherman to avoid having to pull him through a war, and one that hadn’t started glitching yet, apparently due to some “time shenanigans.” His plan was perfect; all he needed to do was get Sherman to Gravity Falls, then Bill would push him down the bottomless pit and make sure he stayed properly fed and watered while also blocking his exits so he looped permanently until his fortieth birthday, when Bill would retake his body and let the kid go for being so unproblematic. Heck, maybe he’d even drop some books with him.

His soul settled into his new body, and Bill found that he did not have an eye or musculature. Bill screamed, but of course, he had no mouth. There, that was the trap. His body was useless; there was no way of getting Sherman to his fortieth birthday; the kid was probably about to drink bleach or something, and The Axolotl would laugh at him and plop him back in the Theraprism for another thousand years. No. That was not going to happen to Bill Cipher. It didn’t matter if the game was rigged; he was going to cheat anyway!

He pushed his telekinesis outward; the sensation tingled around his physical form: four legs, one head, two external ears, and a tail. He could work with this. He pushed upward, causing his new form to float, and came up against a barrier almost immediately. He felt a surge of annoyance. He collected his mental energy and pushed upward against the obstruction. There was a moment of resistance before he shot upward; there was weightlessness before he began to fall. Bill tried to catch himself with telekinesis but found that he could only slow his descent.

There was a thump followed by the feeling of pressure as he hit the ground, but no pain. How boring. He was suddenly greeted with exhaustion. Actual, physical exhaustion. Not some leftover feeling from a meat puppet, but he actually felt tired. He needed to get his bearings. Staring ahead blindly wasn't going to solve anything. Now what? He tried to open his eye, or eyes, or whatever this pathetic body had. Nothing. Ugh. Great. He searched internally for any lingering remnants of his powers. There was the fire in his gut, er, what he assumed was a ‘gut’ if the animalistic proportions of his body had anything to guess from. He felt a faint buzz in his skull-less head that he guessed was whatever remained of his infinite knowledge trying to find its way into the pathetic body he now inhabited.

Then… there was something else. A faint tug to his left, the vague sensation of danger passing in front of him, a soft promise of safety somewhere upwards. Somewhere, someone important was crying. There was a gentleness to this new ability that made Bill sure that it was from the Axolotl, that sap.

Still, it was something that allowed him to sense his surroundings. He focused on the sensation, pulling it to the forefront of his mind. The world slowly came into focus around him. Bright glowing particles seemed to settle on everything, like he was seeing the dust particles instead of the physical objects. What was stranger is that everything seemed to have a… rating of sorts. Red, green, yellow, or white particles of various shades marked everything with… danger? That pull toward the left grew stronger, and he used his telekinesis to turn his head in its direction. The blue outline of a child cut through any objects in front of it; there were several walls between them, but he could still see him relatively easily. That must be Shermie.

Wonderful. He looked around the small house. There was a bright red silhouette that caused everything near him to light up in a dark maroon in what Bill assumed was a living room. That wasn’t good; heck, how was this guy making a doily light up the same color as a knife? Even he’d have to get creative with that one; it was almost admirable. In what must’ve been the attic, there was a green feminine silhouette. She didn’t seem to be making the objects around her become safe in the way the man, who he assumed was Fillbrick, made everything around him spike with danger. Although, Bill noticed that Yellows turned a bit more cream around her.

With an internal huff, he tried to lift himself again, but his telekinesis faltered and he was once more greeted with exhaustion. He narrowed his perspective and tried again, this time just focusing on lifting his legs. That was almost comically easier. He walked in an awkward, almost drunk stagger toward the blue glow of Sherman. He wasn’t used to walking with four legs; actually, he only walked when he had to. After the first century in the Theraprism, he got anti-gravity privileges.

He had only tripped over three obstacles that he accidentally looked through when a weightless feeling suddenly overcame him, as if he was falling again. The world around him blurred and spun, the loud whirl of the timestream filled his newly made ears, Already? Oh, sqi- then he was thrown back into real time. A forest had appeared around him; the trees practically glowed in a dark yellow, sometimes bordering on red; even the ground was a painfully bright yellow. In the distance he saw a bright red river; it almost looked like it was made of blood.

As he looked around, his ears twitched at the sounds of animal life; he turned in place a few times before he felt a strong pull in front of him and caught the barest glimpse of blue. Bill tilted his head and began to trot after the feeling. It wasn’t as if he could ignore it; he needed to get to him. Now. A powerful urgency overcame him. He grumbled and forced himself to keep to an average pace instead of bursting out into a run. He walked for a few minutes before hearing the roar of the river in the distance, then, underneath it, the sound of crying.

Bill groaned and turned his path toward the sound of tears. It only took a few more seconds for the boy to come into full view. He was sitting at the base of a tree, his knees against his chest, crying. His face was specked with yellow particles Bill guessed were dirt, and white tears dripped from his eyes, and his hair poofed in the back. Once he saw Sherman, his sense of danger spiked. The branch above his head suddenly began to frantically flash between red and black.

He found himself running toward the little blue silhouette; there was no way in heck he was going to lose this fast. Sherman looked toward him, completely unaware of the danger above him. He wiped his tears and squinted. Bill needed to get him to move. He paused his run and instead let himself drop into what he hoped looked like a playful position that he had seen dogs use. He… might’ve been a dog; the tail didn’t feel right. He didn’t think he was a cat. A dog would make sense, man’s best friend or whatever.

Sherman looked at him strangely. Bill internally screamed, then he tried to externally scream. He had a mouth, but it didn’t seem to open. Or work. He didn’t care. He pushed against his pathetic body, forcing it to change to his will; once more, a wave of exhaustion rushed over him. Then Bill let out a soft, beckoning yip. Shermie stood up and began to walk toward him. The branch fell, hitting the ground where he stood only a moment prior. Bill found himself beginning to fade; he lost his grip on his form.

Literally everything around the kid wanted to kill him. It was almost impressive.