All Chapters of The Boy who Circled Time: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

"So, how are you feeling? We found you lying down outside unconscious,"There was suddenly a lady in front of Jasper. She had the same pale skin and almost black hair of the little girl. Oh, the lady was the little girl's mother.Jasper blinked. "Did you see another man with me, wearing a lab coat with a shirt and tie underneath?"His voice sounded raspy, and he wasn't expecting to sound so broken, and pleading when speaking. Jasper blinked again, his vision suddenly becoming more blurry. He moved his head to the side, and back, watching the outlines, and colours of the woman stretch out, and wobble."No. You were on your own. Now, I need you to answer my question: How are you feeling?"The woman sounded concerned, and kept one arm on the little girl, who was fiddling with the edge of the pink blanket. Wait, this would be her blanket. Jasper was in her room right now, lying down on her bed.He blinked again, and felt two scorching, wet, itch

"Lebensmüde. It means tired of life. I'm going to get you some food." Jasper wanted Emmet. He wanted Emmet. But he had left Emmet behind. He had betrayed Emmet. He didn't deserve Emmet. What did Red_Two want? What did Red_Two really want? Jasper thought back to when he was Red_Two and thought back to the dead man in front of the library. He remembered back the pool of blood, reaching out to him, rolling along the grey floors towards his legs, whipping itself up to try its hardest to wrap itself around his hands. It was a crying, sobbing, pathetic mess. It was pitiful and lonely, trying to find company wherever it could. It was lonely and small, begging for any small scrap of love and acceptance and affection. That blood was a small wish. It wanted to not be alone in it's final moments. It wanted to have the comfort that it was human, in a world that treated it less than human. It needed to know that it had lived,

The little girl was precise in her movements, her eyes sharp and hands steady, unshaking. She had placed herself down on the bed, on top of her pink blanket, and looked down upon Jasper as he slowly ate, feeling every twinge in his jaw as he chewed the rapidly softening food. They did not speak to each other, as they did before, and Jasper distantly wondered if he was going to even be able to finish the bowl with the way he was feeling.  The girl's face did not change, as she fed him, single-mindedly dedicated to her task, but as her legs began shift, and she started to rock forwards and backwards, swirling the spoon in the milk while she waited for him to chew, Jasper could tell she was getting bored. "What's your name?" he asked, attempting to alleviate the awkward silence. Back before when he was like this, he remembered staunchly trying to push everyone away from him, crying and screaming, a

Fantasy was comfortable and a way to escape the dread of everyday life. It was easier to think you were strong and powerful, than admitting that you were weak. It was so much easier to pretend that you were some sort of lone wolf warrior than a weak man, bruised and broken after so many failed ventures, trying to uselessly appease your own bruised and broken ego all the while.That's the truth, isn't it.Life is hard, and its painful to face that suffering head on. You need to be able to look away, to explain that suffering away, to belittle it, to pretend that it isn't there, just so you can justify your own inaction. So why do we enjoy tragedy and sadness so much? Why are you even here? It can't be the world building considering its so shoddily done by all metrics, only really tossed in when the author remembers that she needs to explain herself. It can't be the characters. They're pretty much all author

"I should go home," the bandaged man gulped out, breathing in and as out, as slowly as he could to the counts of five. The bearded man blinked, eyes wide and slack jawed at the reaction. You like that you bearded bastard?! I can flick between moods too, you know! You're not the only one who can do that fucking stupid trick! What does it feel like, to get a taste of your own medicine, you confusing bastard?! The bandaged man wondered whether he should actually ask what a crayon was or not, as the bearded man gave another bellowing laugh, tipping his head back once more as he did so. The bandaged man blinked in annoyance and scowled silently as he waited for the other to finish his now seemingly hysterical, never ending series of giggles. The bastard just kept fucking giggling, as if he was the happiest man in the world, something the bandaged man knew for a fact wasn't true at all, seeing the outline