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Space Funeral: The Novelization

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Phillip woke up that morning feeling better (but not much), though he knew full well that he’d be deep in the THRONGS OF DEPRESSION by the end of the day, the eternal cycle of MISERY and SLIGHTLY LESS MISERY continuing.

 

He remembers when he wasn’t filled with a never ending sadness. He remembers when orifices did not drip blood, so much that it would pool around his feet. He - no, EVERYBODY - remembers when the world was normal, when everything wasn’t so fucking weird.

 

-REMINDER: THINGS WILL NEVER BE THE SAME-

 

That was the proclamation throughout the provinces a few days after the Great Change occurred. Reactions were mixed. Some people fell into despair and became WANDERING HOODLUMS. Some people were like “well, I guess I’ll have to deal with my ceiling leaking blood now” and tried to make the best of it. Some people broke out into VIOLENCE, because, well, THAT’S HOW PEOPLE ARE.

 

On the day the proclamation was issued, Phillip, in his new form - a pink man with a wide frown and baggy yellow pajamas - cried for the first time.

 

And he has been crying ever since.

 

“Son, you gotta stop crying. Don’t express your EMOTIONS and morph all of that into TOXIC MASCULINITY instead.” His father had once said to him; his form resembles the green bleeding heads that dotted the landscape, except with HIGH CLASS BUSINESS ATTIRE and NERD GLASSES. “Be violent, SPORT. Crying is for people who aren’t violent.”

 

“Honey, don’t tell our son that.” His mother had said in response. His mother was… he actually had NO FUCKING IDEA. She looks like a blob in a robe with a ponytail coming out of it. He thinks.

 

But of course, he couldn’t help but cry. The Great Change had instilled in him a great emptiness. All he could do is cry and think of worst case scenarios. However, nobody could understand that he simply couldn’t stop.

 

“Everyone gets a little depressed sometimes,” some FUCKWIT once said to him.

 

“Just think about being happy and somehow your depression will vanish away,” a PERSON WHO IS PERFECTLY HEALTHY AND DOESN’T UNDERSTAND HOW DEPRESSION WORKS said to him in one instance.

 

People just don’t understand that he can’t stop. It was the state of the world that was causing all this, the fact that nothing will be the same ever again, the fact that they all have to adjust to a more frightening world.

 

Then, ONE DAY… actually, the time of the present, when Philip just woke up:

 

“Your mother and I think you should leave.” His father said to him as he got out of his SLEEP COFFIN (oh how he missed beds). The statement was quick and to the point, the bloody face looking at Philip with such a serious expression that Philip could tell it wasn’t a joke.

 

“M-Mom?” Philip choked through his eternal tears.

 

“Eat your greens.” She offered as motherly advice, but was otherwise advocating kicking him out of the house.

 

Philip would be breaking into tears if he wasn’t always crying. “Why? W-why are you guys kicking me-”

 

“We can’t deal with your DEPRESSION anymore, son.” Father said, cutting him off. “You must understand how your depression hurts US NEUROTYPICAL PEOPLE.”

 

“Yes, think about how we feel, for once.” Mother said, presumably nodding.

 

The pajama clad boy could not believe what he was hearing. Are they calling him a BURDEN for what he can’t control? That certainly seems to be the case. Looking at them through his tear-induced blurry eyes, Phillip allowed his eyebrow to furrow, making his expression look ANGRY. He rose his hand up in their direction, letting them revel at the sight of HIS MIDDLE FINGER.

 

Without another word, the young man left his house.

 

The Scum Village looked as it always has since the Great Change. The buildings, the structures of which looked like huge heads with gaping maws for doors and empty sockets for windows, are excreting blood like they do every morning, like the morning dew of the past. Spikes rise up from the ground, the substitute for trees ever since LIKE FOREVER. The SKULL BRICKS look nice and red that day, forming around gardens of CABBAGE HEADS (and you can probably guess that they are literal heads). The SAD STREETLAMPS reflected Philip’s eternal feelings, though they were turned off as the morning sun rose up, a HUGE STREETLAMP IN THE SKY. There used to be a MOON that rose like the sun, but that was gone, the Great Change simply removing it all together. Phillip, standing on the doorstep of his old home, looked upon it all and its malformed residents: the STRANGE BLOOD OCTOPUS, the SHADOWY HELL DOGS, and A WEIRD THING THAT HE’S NOT SURE HOW TO DESCRIBE (AS DO I AS THE NARRATOR).

 

Phillip hated it all. He hated it so much. He feels his tears getting hot on his face. It all needs to stop. It all needs to change.

 

Then, he remembers his current predicament: kicked out of his house by his own parents. Part of his hate is redirected to them instead. He had nowhere to go. Nothing to do. He is just a LOSER IN PAJAMAS.

 

But then, he realized.

 

If he had nothing to do, what if he could use his NOW CONSIDERABLE FREE TIME to SAVE THE WORLD?

 

SPACE FUNERAL: THE NOVELIZATION

Original Game by thecatamties

Lousy adaptation and various liberties by HyperInuyasha/LordHyper