So I've been a member of this website for quite a while now, but I haven't really posted anything before. And recently I was going through my documents and found this, and I realized this is the kind of story that you can put on this website.

Screw it, I said to myself.

And I uploaded it. After hours of screwing around with the doc manager and all that, I think I finally figured this fanfiction publishing out.

So here is my contribution to the world of fanfiction. Feedback is welcome but not required. I remember that it turned out a little darker than I expected it to when writing, but I was still just as happy with it. Well, as happy as one can be with a story labeled under Angst/Tragedy.

Erasure (noun): the removal of all traces of something; complete and utter obliteration.

They've always been together, from the beginning of their known life; from the genesis of the world as they knew it. They've appeared together, spawned together, always been there for each other; inseparable and practically conjoined.

Steve figures that by now, they've seen about everything there is to see in the strange universe he and Alex call home. There has been rain and thunder, breezes and waves; strange plants and creatures of all shapes and sizes. But he and his best friend have always gone through it together, no matter what the issue is. They solve the problems together, face the danger together, and suffer the consequences together.

But this is something Steve has never before seen, or felt, for that matter. The world he lives in is a strange one indeed, never failing to surprise him, but even this is so foreign to him that he is just a tiny bit frightened (though Steve would rather die than admit it to Alex).

Early that fateful morning, Steve gets out of his bed. Alex, in her separate bed across the room, is still fast asleep, and as it is fairly early, Steve leaves her to her slumber and descends down the ladder.

Steve and Alex's house is a highly functioning and cosmetically appealing place, due to their combined effort and mutual determination. They'd built it together in the early days, back when the world was new, so very long ago… but it has been added onto and improved so many times that it scarcely resembled the wooden shack that had been its founding father.

Pulling some food out of the numerous chests that lined the walls, Steve hefts his worn iron axe and exits the cottage. He needs more wood in order to complete his most recent construction project– a stable for the horses– and as it is still fairly early in the morning, he makes sure he's carrying his trusty diamond sword with which to dispel any unwanted hostiles.

The cool morning breeze is brisk and chill, though not unpleasantly so. As Steve exits the gate, he unties his dog from the gate so as to have company as he performs the drudgerous task of wood-chopping.

It isn't that he is lonely; indeed, it is nothing of the sort. No, Steve takes his dog with him because there is a peculiar feeling in the air, queer and ambiguous enough to make Steve very nervous indeed. He has never felt such a sensation before, yet he is sure that it is something quite ominous.

Perhaps he is going to meet some sort of monster in the woods? In that case, he has his faithful dog by his side as he walks farther and farther from the place he knows best.

He hasn't bothered to leave a note for Alex; surely she will know where he's gone. They have discussed the matter of stable blueprints quite thoroughly the previous night, and Steve had pointedly stated that in the morning he would collect wood. She needn't worry about him– after all, they'd defeated the Ender-dragon together. What more security could he need?

Armor, for one thing, he thinks wryly. Steve has never been one to think ahead very clearly; in fact, it is a wonder he's remembered to bring his sword. Had Alex not been with him, Steve would probably have starved soon after entering the End portal, for he had come without food or tools of any kind– all he had brought with him was a sword, bow, and armor. Fortunately, Alex had been there alongside him like she was every other time, both bearing edibles and ammunition for his long-range weapon.

Steve arrives at the forest and began to chop down some of the leafy plants. He wishes the trees weren't so far away– he always keeps forgetting to replant trees closer to home. That would be ever so convenient, given the fundamental need for wood that constantly exists.

The sound of wood breaking is a nostalgic one for Steve. He remembers his first day as clearly as if it had been yesterday– how he had appeared in midmorning in a grassy field, his memory devoid of anything save his name, how he'd stumbled aimlessly until the sun set and the monsters came for him, how he'd cowered in terror behind a small cove of dirt, praying that nothing would find him.

Something had. But it wasn't a bad something. In fact, Steve considers it the best thing that has ever happened to him.

A strange girl– another human– most importantly, something that wasn't out to kill him– had pulled him to his feet, her red hair unkempt and glowing in the soft moonlight, thrusting a wooden sword into his hand and dragging him behind her as she ran.

"It's almost morning," she'd said, the first words Steve had ever heard her speak. "Let's find a place to stay."

Steve only discovered later on that Alex had appeared at the same time he had. However, being the rational thinker she was– still is– she had collected wood with her bare hands and used it to create crude weapons rather than aimlessly stumbling around the countryside and sightseeing. When the sun had sunk below the horizon for the first time, Alex had been prepared for the night (at least compared to Steve, who'd had nothing to show for his work of the day except a few seeds and a daisy).

Steve thinks that even now, Alex is like that, assertive and dominant. She knows what needs to happen and how to make it that way. Despite never having seen him before, she'd known he needed help, and perhaps because she craved the company of someone that wasn't fixed on her demise, Alex had helped him to land on his feet– and that, Steve thinks, is what he likes most about Alex.

The axe swings, over and over. Thud. Thud. Thud. Wood shavings fly through the air, and Steve cuts down tree after tree, finding and consuming the occasional apple. Saplings drop from the quickly disintegrating leaves as well, and Steve keeps these, intent on planting them closer to home in order to avoid such a long journey to find wood.

Satisfied with the amount of wood he's gathered, Steve whistles for his dog and idly twirls the axe in his hands. It appears to be on the verge of breaking, and he makes a mental note to repair it when he returns home.

Then something in the air changes, and all thoughts of saplings and axes are driven out of Steve's mind.

There's something very strange– very wrong– about the day now. Steve has felt it all along, yet until now, not paid much heed to it. But now he knows he has to return to his home as soon as possible.

Dropping his nearly broken axe, Steve takes off towards home as fast as he can. The dog follows him, directly behind his heels.

Steve checks his inventory and thanks Notch he remembered to bring something to eat. Cramming hunks of bread and steak into his mouth, he temporarily pauses his homeward endeavors in order to refill his hunger and strength. Then he resumes his homeward sprint, breathing fast and hard and oh, Notch, it hadn't seemed this far away when he came–

As Steve frantically runs, the earth shifts and groans beneath his feet. Something deadly is going to happen to the world, and Steve is not partial to being out all by himself when it hits.

The wind picks up, blowing leaves and sticks and flower petals through the stirring air. Treetops whip back and forth in the newly cacophonous gale. All around, animals are frantically burrowing closer to trees or solid structures and acting far stranger than animals should–

Then the light changes. Steve glances up, noting with horror how the usually blue sky, typically dotted with placid white clouds, is now overcast with sheets of grayish-green storm clouds. The eerie haziness that results is not at all reassuring to Steve.

Oh, Notch. The forest really hadn't seemed that far away when he'd come.

Then he sees the river, the river that he always passes on the way to the forest. Steve knows he's getting closer, closer–

Dodging an uprooted tree flying in the wind, Steve painstakingly takes step after step northwards, closer and closer to his home. His dog is right behind him, each one of its hairs standing upright, teeth bared in a futile effort to ward off the incoming storm.

It can't be that much farther now; surely can't be, thinks Steve, each step a burden against the bitter chill of the whistling wind. Only a little farther, and then he'll be safe in the house with Alex.

Then he sees it. A warm yellow glow, buttery and welcoming. The outline of the cozy wooden cabin against the darkening horizon, his cabin, his home, the one he built together with his best friend. And the figure at the doorway, red braid whipping in the wind, her slender arm outstretched in a futile effort to pull him to her before the storm overtakes him—

Steve doesn't take his eyes off of his best friend as he struggles forwards through the torrent of uprooted plants, panicked animals, churning air. The darkening sky provides a mottled green light, and forcing thoughts of all besides Alex out of his mind, he concentrates on one foot at a time, one foot at a time, one foot at a time. Slow and steady wins the race– however, although Steve is definitely slow, the steady part is slightly more debatable.

Then he's almost there, pushing himself past the uprooted gate entrance, focusing on Alex's stricken wind-whipped face as she clings to the edge of the doorway, desperately holding out her hand as if her life itself depends upon it. And then he puts out his hand and takes her slender warm one in his, feeling his tether, his lifeline finally connect.

Steve turns around and extends his other arm to his faithful dog, which whimpers as its paws beat at the ground in a desperate effort to stay with its master. And then the wind blows, bringing with it a large chunk of debris, which sweeps into the distance alongside Steve's faithful pet.

Closing his ears to the scream of the wind, Steve steps closer to the door, Alex's hand still in his. Had she not been there, he feels quite certain that he would have been taken by the wind alongside the dog. And then two blessed, struggling steps later, he's inside the door, which Alex slams shut behind them.

"Where were you?" she gasps, embracing him with such fervor as Steve had never known her to disclose before. "Something's wrong. Everything's wrong. Something's wrong with the world."

As if to prove her point, the earth beneath them groans and shifts. The walls of the wooden cabin creak, competing with the force of the raging storm outside. Something slips out of place, and the walls shift ominously, knocking over several chests. Valuables, once treasured and now forgotten, spill onto the floor unnoticed.

"Basement," chokes Steve, eyes watering with the dust that has arisen. "Now."

Together, they descend the ladder and huddle in the dimly lit stone basement. Above them, Steve can hear the wind whistle and shriek as the wooden walls collapse in on themselves. The walls around them shift, despite the fact that they are underground. Wind howls through the open trapdoor above, and strange ashy light emanates from the aboveground.

The stone beneath them rumbles and groans. The world seems to tilt. The wind rips the meager wooden ceiling away from them, exposing the sky.

It's not the sky anymore.

Steve and Alex cling to each other as the world they once knew and loved crumbles around them, spinning and tilting in an avalanche of vanishing hopes and dreams. There's nothing left but a tumult of whirling debris, a cyclone formed of the building blocks of the world, a vortex swiftly spiraling as all its contents are deposited into the churning, endlessly bright Void below.

Steve and Alex never once relinquish their hold on each other, not even when the blocks on which they stand are whisked into the vortex. They've spawned together and lived their lives together, and if this is death, then Steve thinks it isn't so bad– as long as his best friend is by his side.

Alex grips his hand even tighter as the remains of their once-loved shelter are swept away. Steve catches a glimpse of the heavens above, no longer sky but pure Void, and thinks that the dots of glowing white above are beautiful as the stars of his vanquished world once were.

As the wind overtakes the two of them and they join the vortex of the ruined world's debris, Steve realizes that be doesn't mind so much that neither of them have any last words– after all, he knows he'll see his best friend again on the other side.

FIN

Thanks for reading. Be warned: you probably will never delete a Minecraft world again without a sense of guilt and/or shame.

I known I never will.