admin... did you delete the next part entirely? and what do i need to change? i made certain nothing was any further than ive done already, repeatedly.

I just posted the latest thing we've received from you. It takes longer to review long submissions, so sometimes shorter comments that come in later get posted first.

Admin

Also, @Aza, those drawings are AWESOME!!!!!! :DDDD

MOUTH OFF TO HIM ==>

You hate this guy. You’re struck by that. You know Wren has complex feelings about him, etc, etc. You don’t care. You really really hate this guy. So maybe you’ll sass him off. Use your girl powers for good.

YOU: I dunno. Why are you here, jerk?

Sketch snorts and rolls his eyes. You look around…The scene is dissolving, leaving you and Sketch in a void together. Which is your idea of the worst possible afterlife. You resolve to lead a life of virtue so this hellish experience does not become a reality post mortem.

Sketch: Despite your petulant idiocy, you pose a fair question. Why am I here? Last I remember, I had been sacked through a vortex with Hastur, and I was being turned into a protein shake. And now I’m here. With. You. 

Hastur: Equally confusing for me.

Jeez now he’s here too. You’re officially the biggest hater in the world.

Hastur: This is pretty normal honestly. I think we’re actually just self-aware constructs. My research accounts for reincarnation, but not an afterlife like this! Anyway, no way am I spending eternity with the two least interesting members of the Hawthorne clone family. Peace.

Hastur slings an actual knapsack on a stick over his shoulder and wanders out into the void. What even is your life? What is happening? Why doesn’t it even surprise you anymore? You hate everything and everyone, actually.

Sketch: In short, young man, I don’t know why I’m here. I think it’s your fault though. I’d like you to stop.

Young man? Is he just being a jerk, as per usual? Or, maybe… Maybe he’s a past version of himself?

DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM ==>

Doesn’t hurt to cover all the bases, at the very least!

YOU: Are you… Do you know who I am?

Sketch: Yes, you are Alex, my favorite grandchild.

Ew.

YOU: I’m your favorite? Why.

Sketch: Well, you spoke to me the least.

YOU: I hate you.

Sketch: Good. I never wanted any of you to like me.

MYSTERIOUS VOICE(?): you should offer him a puppy :D 

You shake your head. Who said that? That would be funny, but… Oh well, you’ll chalk it up to an intrusive thought. Whatever. You shake your head again, much harder. Blblblblbl that’s the sound your mouth is making.

YOU: You know… You could have… Helped us? You could have. 

Sketch: Probably.

YOU: Why didn’t you?

Sketch: Didn’t want to. Don’t look for reasons, honestly. I’m not a good person, obviously. I did the things I had to do. I didn’t care for you, that’s true.

YOU: Or my mom.

Sketch: No. The tool I created for a purpose. I did not care for it. This is true.

YOU: Don’t talk about my mom like that!

Sketch: Let’s talk about your “cousin” then. Another tool. Successful work. That’s why I did it, if you’re curious. It’s exactly what it needs to be. Deeply, parasocially connected to all of you. Desperate to please you, me, everyone. It-

YOU: I’M GOING TO STOP YOU. RIGHT. THERE.

You can feel yourself baring your teeth, you are furious. You are alive with hate. Your body is shaking slightly.

YOU: I don’t care if you exist. I don’t. Shut up. I used to be scared of you. And then, once the clone thing came out… I’ve spent the past couple days being terrified that I’d end up becoming you. But I won’t, I won’t. 

Sketch: And why not?

YOU: My mom didn’t. Aubrey didn’t, Aniston didn’t. Of course, you got them killed, so. And Wren will never ever be anything like you. You’re a set of genetics. You became the way you are, and it was your fault. We are the way we are, and you were the way we were.

He stares at you blankly.

YOU: I feel sorry for you. Honestly. I do.

He looks at you, and then turns around.

Sketch: Do not. Do not pity me. I don’t love you. I don’t love Wren. I didn’t love Alice, or Aniston, or Margo, or Aubrey. I didn’t love my wife, even if I persuaded myself that I did. I don’t deserve or want your sympathy. Go away.

You close your eyes.

You open your eyes.

You close them again. 

It’s so searingly bright and white. It’s red if you close your eyes. You open your eyes again, and see a young boy. A teenager? Kinda chubby, pale, brownish red hair, wearing a puffy jacket and orange beanie. Freckles. Long, beaklike nose. Big eyes. Oh.

It’s you. Almost. A couple years, pounds, and moments of genuine happiness ago. He’s you. Ish. 

What do you do?

Approach him and tell him everything that changes and whats happening and maybe disrupt the space time contium