The waterfall was roaring — a steady hum. The wind was dancing with leaves and flowers around. Water was clear and so was the eir. A few small monkeys looked curiously at the newcomer they never saw and didn’t know. It was weird seeing such a big monkey around here and they chirped cautiously between each other. 

Before the waterfall stood this big monkey with rusty fur and shining gold armor. A wide smile was plaster on his face as he held his hand up and the curtains of water moved aside letting him in. It seemed as if this newcomer knew the place very well, so little monkeys went after him, gathering more and more monkeys on the way. 

From the eldest ones they learned then, that this was none other than Monkey King himself. Their King finally came back home! So they all chirped, running around happily, but not daring to come too close. Younger ones were halted by those who still remembered this forgotten ruler, and asked to give him space. Even though there was a smile plastered to his lips, his golden eyes lacked his old warmth and happiness. 

It all was left before the waterfall curtain. When he looked and saw that he was indeed back on the Flower Fruit Mountain, finally, after so many years he was here again. But he wasn’t home. 

Eventually he stood where he was aiming first. 

Sun Wukong stayed still for a while, taking in the sight before him. The old, wooden table and eight chairs were left empty. His breath hitched slightly as he took a few steps towards the antics. He ran his fingers on the wooden surface, sliding it as he walked by to his old spot. 

He looked up again from his old place at the whole table. Old memories running before his eyes making him tightly grab on the chair backrest. Old laughter and chatters nipping at his ears, and the taste of fresh fruits rotten on his tongue. His fists heavy on the wood, leaving the marks, but his plastered smile was still firm. 

He closes his eyes, and steadies his breath. He counts to ten. He has learned to calm himself, it’s fine. 

It’s all gonna be fine. 

He opens his eyes. Gold all around him.

He looks to his right, seeing Peng — the bird is laughing, well, more like sneering, but still. He chatters with others, looking from time to time to Azure Lion and Yellow Tusk, even when they’re not talking about anything. He makes a jab or a harsher comment occasionally, well more than occasionally actually. He plays with one of those golden feathers of his, in one hand, the other placed on the cup, from which he sips from time to time, trying to hide how he spills half of it because it’s hard to drink with beak out of such a vessel.

Then a little further sits Demon Bull King — the bull is actually taking two chairs there. He drinks a lot and starts even more fights, and his tongue is usually sharp towards Wukong. But Wukong knows, a few more cups of peachy wine and they both will start singing together and tell each other how much they value their friendship and love each other, and gonna fight all gods, side by side. Ah, drunk rumbles and friendly wrestles always ended when one of them finally had fallen asleep.

Then, on the chair on the opposite side to Wukong sits Azure Lion — lion always had fed him prizes and honeyed words. He had all the best speeches, and he always looked up to Wukong, speaking just all the right words to feed his ego. He was actually the one most of the group looked up to and followed. Wukong could have gathered them all, but Azure was the one to make Peng and Yellow Tusk stay, maybe even DBK.

Next chair was empty, and then there was sitting; Yellowtusk the Wise  - the elephant was usually silent, but when he spoke he was sure of his words and spoke them loudly. He was strong and his name told the truth about him being wise. It was hard making him drink at first, but when he started his stomach seemed to become an endless pit. 

Corners of his lips trembled in a threat of his smile falling down, as he looked to the last chair. The chair to his left, where now was falling his shadow. Not the right one. The one he was casting in the dying light of the setting Sun.

Six Eared Macaque — black furred monkey even if wasn’t the most silent in the group, seemed to only talk to Wukong. His amber eyes set on noone but him, yet it never felt uncomfortable. He was getting bullied by Peng at least once a meeting, and even if he tried to not show that it gets to him, Wukong would comfort him after the rest of the group was gone. Even if each time Macaque was saying it’s fine and that he doesn’t care what that chicken wing says, Wukong saw in a way Six Eared leaned into his touch that there was always something more to it. They teased and played with each other long after the rest of the brotherhood was gone, yet black furred monkey always seemed to be worried or concerned about something.

Sun Wukong felt a painful sting deep inside, as if it was his soul that was bleeding. Before his eyes he could see two… no, one, purple spark in his shadow. He clenched his fists harder, the backrest braking under its heaviest. He knows it’s not real. He knows he’s not here; he can’t be. But his mind and golden vision are playing tricks on him and so he growls.

Oh, how he wishes his Shadow really could see him right now. See how he’s in pain, how he’s suffering. How pathetic he is; mourning the friends he killed with his own hands. 

He could still see the blood staining his fur even though it was already so long ago.

Wukong wishes to hear his Shadow saying “I told you so.” Because he did. He did on many

occasions. He warned his King, but the King did not listen to his Warrior. Not when he spoke words of concern, about his obsession with power and constant running away from death. Not when he wanted to warn him about the consequences of attacking the Jade Emperor. Not when he scolded him under the Five Element Mountain, back then still carrying for him enough to show up or at least to check on him from within the shadows. 

Wukong did not listen to him until it was too late; and until he could only hear silence from Macaque.

No amount of begging and cries and curses and threats were able to withdraw from the cold Moon any words.

Wukong growled, looking down, anger rising inside him. This time he doesn’t count to ten. He grabs his chair by the sides and throws it to the ground, smashing it hard. It falls apart, just like the next one, so the shadow can’t sit on it anymore, and is made to be cast on the floor insead. Repeating the dance of rage and pain step after step after the Sun. And then comes the next chair, and another one. Wukong throws the chairs, breaking them and smashing everything within his reach. 

It hurts. 

It hurts so much.

Because it wasn’t supposed to end like this. Why did it have to end like this?

This was not what he wanted.

This was not the end he started any of this for.

He was supposed to get stronger to protect his friends. To make sure they’re safe for the rest of, well forever.

He was supposed to lead them to victory. They were all supposed to be here and laugh. 

Why was he here alone now? So angry and sad. 

Why wasn’t his Shadow with him? The two of them were supposed to bask in the sun and get fat on fruits. 

How did it end like this? Why did his brotherhood hat to turn against him, forcing his hand to destroy the last hope for them ever reconciling?

He was panting heavily, his body was tense from all those raw emotions and when he looked around it was a mess, and he just couldn’t stay there anymore. So he moved further. And he got to his hut. 

His smile dropped a while ago, and there were tears in his eyes, that he couldn’t hold back anymore when he saw the drawing on the rock before his home.

It was an old drawing of him and Macaque that they drew together. He again clenched his fists, his heart hurted so much and he wanted it to stop. He needed it to stop, to forget and move on, because there was nothing he could do now. He falled to his knees before the rock, and put his hand firmly on the drawing of his former friend. He pushed his palm into it, hard, and he slowly started to drag it down. He wishes to destroy, to get rid of all reminders of his past; his mistakes. 

But when he sees smudges on the drawing, that it is really wiping off — his hand trembles, and his body jerks back, as if the rock had burned him. And maybe it did. It burned his soul and he clenched his teeth, baring his fangs and bowing before the stone, hugging himself in search of just any comfort. He growled, and his growl soon turned into a scream. Painful wail, full of rage, sorrow and grief. All mixed together. He hopes, and at the same fears, that it will reach the Dyiu.

————————

He’s not sure when his screams turned into a pathetic, silent sob. He doesn’t know for how long he was screaming and for how long he stayed there before the sone. He doesn’t try to wipe the painting a second time. He slowly stands up and walks to the hut. He laid down on the couch, looking to the ceiling, feeling so empty.

He was supposed to be here with his friends. With his Moon. They are all supposed to laugh and cheer and…

And it doesn’t matter anymore what they are supposed to do or be, because they’re all dead, and they’re not coming back.

When was the last time he felt just so… powerless. All this chase after strength and invisibility was for nothing. The Great Sage Equal to Heaven my ass.

Wukogn doesn’t even have the strength to cry anymore.

He closes his eyes, wishing at least his dreams let him stop feeling this pain for a moment. And so he falls asleep, and little monkeys come to him, to sleep and cuddle too, comforting their returned King. Pitying his loss along his side and wishing better times for him.

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FH:

Leave a comment, I really appreciate constructive criticism, since it's not my first language and I wish to get better!

I can't believe I wrote it over night instead of sleeping-
I regret nothing  =)

See ya!

=)