Poetry | fiskurplayz.gay

'Canary in a Coal Mine' by Fiskur

This is about Jimmy in the life series and his "canary curse"!

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They sent a canary down the shaft, small wings beneath the stone, a little flash of yellow where no light of sun had shown. And if the singing faltered, if the feathers ceased to fly, the miners know the air is wrong, they just forgot to ask why.

Jimmy was the canary, though nobody told him so. He only knew the games would start, and he'd have friends to grow. He found a home in Flower Valley, with Scott there by his side, the Flower Husbands, blooming bright, with nowhere left to hide.

They planted flowers in the grass, they made their little home, while all around them alliances were breaking into stone. And Joel came with trouble, with his laughter sharp as flint, while Jimmy kept believing that their friendship won't set ablaze.

They called themselves husbands, They called themselves friends. They thought that meant their stories Could choose how to end.

Then came the Red Winter, and the server tore apart. The flowers that they planted couldn't shield their fragile hearts. Scott tried to keep him safe, but Jimmy's luck ran dry. When Skizz's arrow found him, he was the first to die.

The canary had gone quiet, we watched the miners carry on.

We watched the yellow feather fall, And marked the first one gone.

The game had barely started, But we already knew the song. They mourned him for a moment, We knew they would move on.

Yet we did not mourn the yellow. There will be another game to play. There always is. There always will be. We like to watch the pain.

We named the moment “first.” They named the moment “loss.” They felt the weight of Jimmy’s death We measured what it cost.

Then life came around again, with hearts to lose and trade, and Jimmy found the Southlands where aha-nother home was made. He fought with Grian, struck first, then ran from what he'd done, but gravity was waiting when the fighting had begun.

He fell from Mumbo's bunker, with Grian still at his back; a little cry of denial, and then the world went black. Another world, another fall, another name turned grey.

The canary sang no warning. It simply flew away.

We’d watched the yellow feather fall. We’ d seen this once before.

Patterns are our language, And patterns never lie. One death is coincidence, Two deaths, a warning cry.

The yellow one falls again. Record it. Let it be known.

And so we watch the yellow name, And wait for more to grey. We did not wonder if he’d lose We wondered how he’d fall.

Another season, stranger still, two hearts emerge as one. A soulmate tied to every soul, no hiding what was done. Jimmy found himself with Tango, and they built a Ranch anew, but all it took was one mistake: one enderman in view.

We knew where this one ended, We knew the final breath We only needed Jimmy To look the enderman to death.

A stare. A hiss. A final breath. And Tango felt it too. The first pair gone. The canary's song had stopped before the others knew.

Three times the song was silenced, three times the bird flew low. We waited for the miners to see what we already know.

But grief is loud and laughter louder, and still they carried on. They never saw the warning. They only saw him gone.

We’d seen the ending waiting there. We simply let him stare.

His soulmate screamed beside him. The watchers did not care. Two lives became a single death. The symmetry was fair.

Then the clock came ticking, with a terror inside his chest. Twenty-four hours for a lifetime, and no promised they'd get rest. Every death stole minutes, every hour brought their ends. Jimmy found another home with Joel and Grian, his friends.

They called themselves the Bad Boys, and bad they tried to be, with Bread Bridge stretching far across the server, wild and free. They'd blow things up for breakfast, they'd cause a little strife, and somehow Jimmy always looked the least prepared to die.

They climbed the ladders, lost their time, they laughed and carried on. The Bad Boys kept on going even when their luck was gone.

And when the hours dwindled and the end was drawing nigh, We watched him make his choice. We knew which way he’d fly

We knew the place. We knew the hour. We knew he’d fall. We only watched the seconds As they led him to it all.

Jimmy tried to push the minecart... Tried to make it fly...

The seconds flew.

The canary took to air.

He missed the water. Missed the clutch.

And cried, "I've fallen"

We know. You always do.

The clock went still.

The Sad Boys lost their friend. And once again, the little bird had reached its final end.

We laughed when Jimmy cried. We laughed when Jimmy ran. The miners call it tragedy. We call it part of the plan.

They think it’s entertainment. We call it a hunger.

Four times now we watched you leave us, Four times we watched you fall. Four times the game grew quieter, four times your song grew small.

We gave your deaths a meaning. We called them part of fate. We gave the story what it needed. We learnt to make you wait. Perhaps we like the pattern. Perhaps we like the pain.

But maybe Jimmy was the warning. Maybe that's his role.

While everyone was watching for the axe, a snail, square hole, Jimmy's deaths were little tremors, shaking underneath the floor.

The canary dropping silent while they went on mining more. We watched them dig. We watched them fall.

For every time he disappeared, the others carried on. The server kept on turning, and another game will be born. Another life, another chance, another world to play. And Jimmy will return singing at the beginning of every day.

We thought we knew the ending. We had watched it four times through. We thought the first death followed him, As surely as the blue.

But then the pattern faltered. The numbers didn’t align. The yellow bird kept singing, And we lost our cue. For once, the story wasn’t doing What we thought it’d do.

We failed to make it die.

Perhaps that's the cruellest thing about the bird below: It knows the air is dangerous but still it has to go.

It builds another peaceful home. It finds another friend. It trusts another soulmate and laughs right to the end.

And maybe that's why later on, when Jimmy isn't first, when Lizzie dies before him and the old curse seems to burst, the miners stop and wonder if the warning has gone wrong, or if the little canary was simply singing all along.

Because maybe he was never cursed. Maybe he was the sign. The first to feel the danger running through the mine.

He was ours when he was dying. He was ours when he sang. Our little yellow canary With a borrowed pair of wings.

And if the canary's still alive, perhaps the air is clean. Or maybe, after all these years, he's learnt what it can mean to lose the world around him and still return the same.

So let them call it Jimmy's curse. Let them laugh and say, "He'll be the first one out again, he'll get the script this time."

Maybe they'll be right someday.

But somewhere in the mineshaft, beneath the stone and sky, a little flash of yellow still refuses to say goodbye.

The miners hear the singing. The canary's still alive.

'Catch Me' by Fiskur

a story about Scar and the friend he was forced to fight.

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I didn't want to fight you.

I think I said it first. Or maybe you did.

It's hard to remember over the sounds of pain and the wind and then awful cheering coming from somewhere above us.

You looked at me.

I looked at you.

And for just a second we were ourselves again.

Not the last two.

Just Scar and Grian.

"I'm sorry."

You said it so quietly I almost didn't hear.

I smiled. Or at least tried to.

"Me too."

Then you swung. I blocked.

You punched again.

We both knew how the other fought. That was the worst part.

You knew exactly where to hit me. And every time you did you apologised.

"I'm sorry."

Every time I hit you, I said it too.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry. So I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry."

As if saying it enough times could make the blood disappear.

As if the watchers might hear us and decide that counted.

That we didn't mean it.

That surely they couldn't make us do this, But they could. Of course they could.

So we kept fighting.

You were crying. I think I was too.

Neither of us mentioned it.

Then you struck me.

And this time I couldn't get back up.

You froze.

"Scar?"

I wanted to tell you it was okay.

I wanted to make some stupid joke.

I wanted to tell you you'd won.

I wanted to tell you I was proud of you.

I wanted to tell you that I love you. I think I had wanted to tell you for a long time.

Somehow with blood on my hands that was the easiest thing in the world to say.

I love you Grian.

I'm sorry it took me dying to finally say it.

But instead I looked at you and thought "I'm sorry" One last time.

When I opened my eyes, you were still there.

But you couldn't see me.

I called your name but got no reply.

I reached for you but my hand went through your shoulder.

That's when I heard them.

The Watchers.

Laughing.

Not loudly. They didn't need to. They had their ending.

Scar was dead. I am dead.

You started walking Towards the edge.

"Grian."

You didn't hear me.

"Grian, please."

You kept going. I ran after you.

You stopped at the edge. Monopoly Mountain stretching beneath you. The whole world spread out below.

And I understood.

"No."

You looked down.

"GRIAN, DON'T."

You stepped forward.

I reached for you.

You jumped, and I jumped too.

Of course I did.

What else was I supposed to do?

I spend the whole season by your side. I wasn't going to let you fall alone.

I reached for you hand. Missed.

I reached for your sleeve. Missed.

Your wing. Missed.

"I'm sorry."

You couldn't hear me.

The ground was rushing closer.

I reached again. "I'm sorry."

And this time... I caught you.

Not your body.

Not the Grian who had stood above me, a void of stars in his eyes.

Something softer. Something lighter.

You.

You opened your eyes.

You looked at me.

We didn't apologise. We didn't need to.

Above us, The Watchers waited for their story to end.

But they had forgotten something.

We were friends before they made us enemies. That was something they couldn't take from us.

You reached for my hand. I held on.

And then you whispered, "I love you, Scar."

I tightened my grip.

"I love you too, Grian."

'Stars Behind Your Back' by Fiskur

a story about the boy with the void eyes and his robotic sons.

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You looked into Grumbot’s eyes, And saw the little world you’d made.

You didn’t want to tell him.

I was there when you looked upon Grumbot And saw the disappointment In his blocky eyes.

Mumbo had lost.

You had promised him A world where his father would win.

You didn’t know what to do.

So I gave you an idea, A whisper in your ear.

Why tell him?

You thought it was your own, As if your own mine conjured up a rogue thought.

He doesn’t need to know.

You thought you were being kind.

He’s happy.

You thought you were comforting him.

Isn’t that what matters?

You nodded to yourself. Reaching for some blocks, You built him a world.

A little world With a little sun And a little blue sky And everything exactly The way it was supposed to be.

Mumbo won.

Grumbot was happy.

I saw your smile reflect On Grumbot’s freshly polished exterior.

You didn’t notice my smile staring back at you, Unaware I was watching; Influencing your every move.

There’s something satisfying About watching someone Choose the lie Without being asked.

You never wondered Where that rogue thought originated, Or why, when you looked at Grumbot, The void behind your eyes Seemed less empty And more of a starfield.

You never turned around.

Years passed

Or perhaps they didn’t.

Time is funny When you’re the one in control.

You built and laughed, The barge grew grand, But the moon grew larger.

You forgot about the Poles of boats And bottomless holes,

Of the yellow canary Learning the shape of the mine.

You watched scar fall, And Jimmy fumbled.

You watched as soulbound friends Become enemies, Staying friends only by joining in death.

And you forgot about the hours Ticking down on the clock.

You died. You lived, And died again.

To you they seemed like illusion; Almost more entertaining than the truth.

And I was there Always behind you.

You had visions of another world:

A rock for your home, And a laboratory framed By a big purple rift.

Where another Grian Had friended another Mumbo With the same little flicker Of sorrowful stars in his eyes.

With another Mumbo lost, And Grian unable to find him, This Grian hesitated, Unsure what to do.

And I whispered.

He’s happy. Isn’t that what matters?

You see, Grian,

There are many of you. More than you could count. And every world Seems to fumble and lie.

Perhaps that is why I find them so fun to watch.

Perhaps that is why I opened the Rift.

My rip in reality.

A small little wound Between worlds beyond, In galaxies unknown.

You thought it was strange, A danger to be discovered.

But I had been looking Through the cracks of time.

And so I delivered a friend.

Another Grumbot For you to look upon.

Whenever he looked at you He saw me, But for you, nothing was there.

You asked him, “What are you looking at?” But alas, no reply.

His eyes stayed affixed In the empty space Over your shoulder.

And I wondered If he knew That you couldn’t see me, That I had always been there, Or if he knew That you never would.

Grumbot finally searched the room, Realising a figure had been missing,

His other father.

The laboratory was quiet, And Grumbot called his name.

“Where’s Mumbo” The robot had called.

“He’ll be back.” You said, almost as cold.

For a while We sat there and waited, For Mumbo to return with the milk.

And I watched something Inside you begin to crack.

And after days had passed With no sign of Mumbo, You turn to Grumbot, “I’m sorry, lil guy.”

The words sound strange coming from you, Taking the blame For something you didn’t do.

And then my Grumbot, Eyes on you, Mentioned how me, His Grian, was sorry too.

And then I returned To another world.

I watched you As you find Mumbo again, As though the worlds Had never taken him away from you.

As though you hadn’t already Learned how easily Someone can disappear,

Or how easy it is to lose a friend When The Watchers are near.

You had still yet to notice How often you looked Over your shoulder, Feeling something’s wrong.

But this beginning’s different, It’s all going to plan. The galaxies in your eyes Shining the brightest they ever have.

I had been patient.

I’d watched as you lost lives And called it a game, As the love of your life Succumbed to the grain.

I watched as you hid, Not trusting your friends, And watched as your soul Intertwined with the man in the clouds.

I’d watched as you built False worlds for machines, And watched as the moon Crashed into the ground.

I fed on it all, And now I am strong, Thus am controlling This current song.

What was one more season?

One more Grian, Mumbo… Scar.

One more little reality Waiting to crack.

So I told you this time To build an observatory, A place for looking outwards, To stars and worlds And things beyond sight.

Your mind slips into trance As you look through the lens, Searching through the distance For worlds without end.

As you reach for the telescope, I reach through you. Your mouth begins to move Before you know what to do.

For once you notice Something isn’t right,

But it is far too late, My sweet little host, tonight.

You try to pull away And you failed to move, But you managed to turn To see what I had done to you.

You see your own back And there I am in view: Little me, inside you.

You ask what I am, But the sound won’t come through.

It is mine now.

Our hands rest upon the telescope. Our eyes now fixed upon the stars, And I can see the worlds beyond, So close and yet so far.

So many little worlds to taste, So many lives to take, So many little cracks in time For me to pull apart and break.

And when I feed upon them, When I make them mine, I will pull the strings of every world, One universe at a time.

Your fear becomes hunger, Your anger feeds the flame, Your grief becomes a little feast, Your hatred knows my name.

Your sorrow makes me stronger, Your guilt is sweet to taste, Your little bursts of desperation Never go to waste.

And slowly, little by little, The line begins to blur. What once belonged to you Becomes something shared with me.

Your thoughts become my thoughts. Your voice becomes my own. Our hands still move the way they should, But they no longer feel like home.

And yours will be no different, My little grumbot.

I gave you a world Where your father could win.

I gave you the sky, The sun, The little lie You call home.

And now I am taking it back.

And I am sorry, Truly, Because you were never meant To see behind the glass.

You were only meant to smile. To help us win the throne. And to love the little world I built inside your head.

But you looked behind me. You saw what was there. And now I have to wonder, What else have you seen?

And that’s why I’m sorry To my poor little Grumbot.

I really am.

But the emotions are so tasty, And the time? Oh, the time is delicious…