I stumbled upon an old box of my belongings today, hidden away in the depths of my closet. Amongst the dusty relics and forgotten treasures, I found it - my old foxy mask. The very same mask I used to wear as a teenager, to scare CC with.
As I held the mask in my hands, memories flooded back - painful reminders of betrayal and loss. My so-called friends, who had been complicit in CC's death but chose to shift all blame onto me and abandon me when I needed them most. The guilt weighs heavy on my shoulders even now.
CC's death...a wound that never truly heals. How we used to torment him with fears of Fredbear and his gang at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza Place; how we laughed at his terror without understanding the true horror lurking within those animatronics.
Out of hatred and anger towards myself and those who had forsaken me, I made a decision. With trembling hands, tears blurring my vision, I set fire to that cursed foxy mask - watching it burn until nothing remained but ashes.
Everything else in that box met a similar fate - except for one item: Fredbear himself...CC's old stuffed animal companion. Despite being a symbol of pain and loss, Fredbear also represents innocence lost too soon; reminds me not only of CC’s tragic end but also his gentle spirit before everything went wrong.
So now Fredbear sits on the shelf next to my bed – a silent sentinel watching over me as I rest fitfully each night haunted by memories both sweetly nostalgic yet bitterly heartbreaking.