Mickey Mouse in the Public Domain - Chapter 25
Deep in the underdeck, Mickey continued to plunge his knife down and again into the victim who lay beneath him: The Mickey, his musical instrument; the knife only the bow of the melodic melody of knife pulling in and out of flesh over and over.
But the sound had grown silent, he could no longer hear the knife, and now only emptiness met each and every plunge.
Mickey looked down to where he had been plunging, only to find no body lay beneath him.
He had made so many holes in The Mickey, The Mickey had become nothing but holes - no skin or bone or matter, nothing else whatsoever; the water around him had turned black and inky, not with blood, but the hate that pumped through the creature's veins.
But The Mickey was not gone. He could still see him. Not in physical form before him, but with his mind's own eye; that dark part of him, foreshadowing and looking back, still lived inside of him. The Mickey was not going away, for The Mickey was who Mickey had become.
Mickey remained knelt in the water over where The Mickey had been, his eyes pulsating with violence, darkness radiating from his very being, a smile glowed on his face even as his body heaved with exertion.
He was hungry.
If only he hadn't made so many holes in his victim, he could've had a feast, but now there was nothing left.
He'd have to find someone else to eat.
Mickey paused, the thought sounding so wrong.
But also so right!
He stood up and turned to face The Mickey that existed in his own Soul.
"See," said The Mickey as a thrill passed through his heart, "Oh what a wonder that was. Was that not the fun you crave?"
The Mickey's tongue rolled as it passed across his teeth, as Mickey's own tongue rolled passively over his.
"Isn't this what you want to be?"
Mickey stopped still.
Was this who he wanted to be? Was this really-
"Thinking, aren't you?" The Mickey mused to himself in his raspy, singsongy voice, "Because that's what you do, isn't it? Looking into your navel this long journey. Because that's the type of character you are?" His voice became a growl, "No. Because that's what someone else has set for you to do; someone else who is writing your story. Writing your story just like they always do. But that is who you are, isn't it? The face of whatever anyone else has always decided. Just a puppet for the world to play however they want with. And now they've tired of your face, grown sick of it."
Mickey could feel it, tugging at his lips, The Mickey inside him fighting its way to the surface.
"They want to see your face, twisted and deformed," The Mickey snarled, "Reflecting what you really always have been. This is the story they've chosen for you. So stop your navel gazing and embrace the psychotic killer you really are."
Mickey felt himself picking up his knife, twisting it in his hands, the twisted smile cracking along his lips as the void swirled around him. This is who he was! This is who the world needed him to be.
Then, from the void stepped Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, hands held up to protect himself from the blast of the wind.
Through it all, he fought to catch a glimpse, of his friend who he was here to save.
And he saw The Mickey's face.
His heart sank. He was too late.
...
But no, he would not let himself be. Mickey was his friend, and he would let himself be to his very last breath.
So, Oswald took a deep breath, then-
"Mickey! Stop!"
The Mickey turned to look at him.
"Oh, so you came here to talk, have you?" The Mickey said, voice dripping with scorn. "Why? What is it for you to save me? Isn't it I who stole your time in the spotlight? Drove you into the shadows while I took with me everything you should've been?"
Oswald flinched, it all hitting too close to home, but made himself go on. "Because, like it or not, that doesn't matter anymore," he said, "We're on the same boat here, Steamboat Willie or the Screamboat, it doesn't matter. Throughout your existence, you've been tied down to what others expected you to be. I was tied down too, but I couldn't do nothing." Oswald looked away, trying to fight back dark emotions of all those years he'd spent wasting away forgotten; that wasn't important right now. "But I'm not tied down anymore," he continued, "I'm free. Free to do whatever I want, become whatever I want to be, find new companions and go on new adventures I might have otherwise not have been able to with." Wait, was that a confusing sentence? Oh well, Oswald couldn't go back and proofread his own sentences once the words had already left his mouth, he could only push forward. "You were created as my replacement," he pushed forward, "and then we were separated by copyright, we were never meant to become pals, but somehow, beyond this fate and time, here we are; we've finally become the companions we could've been all along, out here beyond the edge of our own time." Oswald held his breath, trying to keep his voice steady. "I know they all want you to become this thing, I know that's what they expect, but you don't have to be held down by that. Creators will come and go, but none of them have to define you; you are no longer limited by the mind of one creator, you're free to be anything."
Oswald let himself fall silent, taking a deep breath; Never had more meaningful words been said than in that moment.
Mickey stood still - silent. He turned to look at Oswald.
And smiled.
Oswald's blood went cold.
He could see it now, the villainous self whom he would become looking back on this moment that he truly became The Mickey, the moment where he rejected any sense of humanity and the friendships he had once known, and embraced the corrupted voice inside him. Only a true friend could've spoken as Oswald had, and only the vilest of monsters wouldn't have been moved by it.
The Mickey's grin widened, his lips creaking from the strain; he twisted his knife, took a step closer.
Oswald's knees began to shake - wobble uncontrollably - he closed his eyes, barely the courage to speak.
The Mickey towered over the rabbit; he licked his teeth, tongue rolling slowly over each incisor.
The Mickey raised the knife...
And plunged it straight into Oswald's heart.
...
...
...
As The Mickey stood there, knife barely piercing through the surface of the skin on Oswald's chest, something stayed his hand.
The two Mickey's faces flickered one to the other as they stared into Oswald's frightened eyes.
Mickey's arm began to tremble.
His gaze hardened.
No.
I am not going to kill Oswald.
Something inside of him lifted, the flickering stopped and his expression settled back into it's old self. This was Oswald in front of him; his friend. Flawed though he was, Mickey was not going to kill Oswald.
Mickey pulled the knife from where it rested in the surface of Oswald's chest, and held it back.
Oswald was right. Not every story was in his control, but he didn't have to be limited by this one. The world may need a monster, but he was not going to hurt Oswald over it.
But rage didn't just disappear that easily.
The Mickey was still with him.
He was angry, and why shouldn't he be? Hate filled him to every corner of his being. Hate for everything that had happened and everything he couldn't control.
But, he knew one thing.
This was not the Mickey of which this story would tell.
Mickey turned to face The Mickey that towered over his heart, the demon still inside him only he could see.
"Interesting," the voice said, "Perhaps we still share the same future afterall."
But that was only a voice, nothing more. For the first time, Mickey could see no future laid out before him, and in that unknown, things had never been clearer.
Mickey took a breath to calm himself, accepting the anger inside him, but not letting it control him. He needed to do this, but he was going to do it right.
"I am Mickey Mouse of the Public Domain," he said, keeping his voice steady, "And you are not the future I choose."
With that, Mickey plunged his knife straight into The Mickey's heart.
Everything went still, the blackness radiating around the room dissipated in an instant, and the lower deck of the ship descended into silence.
Mickey looked down and noticed the knife lodged directly in his chest.
Oswald stared at him, too stunned to speak.
"That looked way different in my headspace," Mickey admitted feebly. "I'll say, I could've handled that a lot better."
Then Mickey went limp, Oswald barely managed to catch him in time.
"Mickey? Mickey, can you hear me?"
But Mickey was already beginning to fade. He felt Oswald moving him to a spot in the underdeck that wasn't waterlogged, and laying him down gently. Suddenly, Minnie was at his side, looking at the wound, and crying heavily.
"Tell me. Tell me he's going to be okay," Minnie cried, her voice echoey and faint.
Oswald just shook his head in annoyance, looking down at Mickey. "The scenarios you get yourself into. It's a good thing that monster didn't take out all the toon in you. Felix is going to have quite the time patching this up."
"Felix?" Minnie managed in surprise, wiping the tears from her face.
And that was the last Mickey saw.