table of contents
a christmas legend (based on a christmas carol by charles dickens)
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the commander (based on "the sniper" by liam o'flaherty)
the nameless prince of a nameless land (original, japanese influences) to paint a key (original, queer/depression themes) untitled (original, prompt s1) prompts |
a christmas legend
many years had passed - long, joyous, amazing, fun, incredible – even crazy, years. by then, scrooge had become a legend – the christmas legend. everywhere you went, if you asked any one person where they would like to spend their christmas day, the energetic enthusiastic reply was always "at scrooge's". those lucky enough would be bragging left and right, anyone who would listen would know of it.
once upon a time, on the tenth christmas from that fateful day, there was a party – large, entertaining, boisterous, jam-packed, gleeful, majestic – yes, but still a party nonetheless. it was the 10th anniversary of the christmas party of scrooge and this year's theme was a blast to the past. the much anticipated time rolled by and the invited gathered around scrooge's estate, while the others gathered there without any misgivings, knowing that scrooge wouldn't ruin a merry christmas to kick them out – even the brigands came, temporarily ignoring their profession for the sake of christmas spirit. there it was the annual sigh, and then the speech "i thought i only sent out 100 invitations! maybe with my old age, i am forgetting things…" everybody laughed, the parties always started with these same words. "or do you god blessed youngsters know more than i do?" scrooge bellowed out with a wink and a chuckle and continued, "let the party begin!" with that, scrooge jumped off the stage with more force than an old man was expected to have, and everyone scrambled to catch him.
"i got you uncle scrooge!" shouted the one and the only tiny tim, and he did catch him. tiny tim was no longer a cripple and had a completely healthy body with no injuries and was apprenticed to his venerated uncle scrooge. as soon as that outburst was contained, everyone dispersed to have a piece of the snack, which included – as usual – the large prize turkey, creamy mashed potatoes topped by 'grave gravy', mixed seasonal vegetables, all sorts of soups, fred's wife's special assortments of bread, fruits freshly picked by peter and jolly ciders. of course, the children headed straight for the desserts section, which, was the wide array of pies, mrs. cratchit's famous rock hard pudding, eggnog – made fresh by martha, hot chocolate – made from real melted chocolate with gigantic marshmallows, and the colossal gingerbread house put together by scrooge, with every single type of candy you can name hidden on top or within the mansion. the children ate the desserts so fast, a second hadn't even gone by until there was only one solitary pie left, and when the moment was just right, scrooge swooped by and ate the last pie with a chuckle at the children's disappointment.
"a-a-a-a-and, now for the moment we've all been waiting for!" announced scrooge in the loud, caring voice that everyone had grown to love. everyone instantly became silent and looked up to scrooge like school children would to a respected teacher, which made scrooge chuckle his signature chuckle. "it's time for the blast to the past! now, everyone's going to share something about their past that no one ever knew before!" hmm, scrooge was considering who to start when his face lit up, an idea struck him square in the face, and a devious smirk began to spread through his face, threatening to crack it in half. "tiny tim, step up and share your secret with us, your secret from about a week ago." scrooge bellowed out with a chuckle. tiny tim, red in the face, walked up the stairs to the podium slowly, tarrying here and there, while stalling for as much time as possible, but still somehow, against all odds look as graceful as the ballet dancers from the nutcracker.
"hey, uncle scrooge, how is this fair, you're the host, you should have to go first. please?" tiny tim implored indignantly.
"that's because i'm teaching the younger generations to take the lead and i chose to teach you first." no one ever rejected an invitation to learn from the wise scrooge.
"that's not fair, uncle scrooge, pulling the 'teaching' card" tiny tim complained loudly.
"who said i was fair, now tell us your secret!" scrooge replied relentlessly while gesturing for tiny tim to share his secret.
"well, um, i – i proposed to my now fiancé!" tiny tim stuttered with a cute pink blush on his face, while his fiancé had a matching blush that made the lovebirds look so adorable and scrooge chuckled like there was no tomorrow.
"scrooge, have you ever fallen victim to love?" a random person called out from their position in the crowd; this person wasn't afraid of being found out, he was in the middle of the crowd, the best position to stay anonymous. "what happened in your past? what happened 10 years ago?" the voice was probing, but still gentle as if not to hurt scrooge. scrooge's face fell at the comment, but soon the good-naturedness and bliss giving smile was replenished as scrooge thought of the fateful day. the story that ensued was thoughtful and presented in an all-knowing manner.
"once upon a time, there was an ignorant, misanthropic, miserly, unloving, cold-hearted, covetous, sinning, greedy, old fool. on christmas eve, he saw his old partner, who was just the same as he, but had been dead for 7 years' face on his knocker as he entered his house. he tried to convince himself that there was no phantom, that it was not so, but the spectral thing really did visit him. the ghost was there to warn this old fool, to tell him of all the wrongs of their ancient, old ways. after this, three spirits haunted the old man: the ghosts of christmas past, present, and future. they showed him the past, present, and future, unaltered by any actions he may have done, if he didn't change, we wouldn't be here right now, there wouldn't be this annual jocund christmas party. the ghosts showed the man the error in his ways, and he woke up the next day a different man. the man's name was ebenezer scrooge." at the end of the long attention-grabbing story, the entire audience cheered in the loudest, most heart-warming sound ever, and with a tear, scrooge gave a little modest bow feeling a laugh bubbling up in him.
"i knew you had it in you, uncle!" fred's voice rose above the rest, though, he didn't know how much that meant to scrooge that fan's legacy acknowledged him. "and that's why i asked in the first place!" continued fred. everyone waited to see scrooge's reaction to fred's bold statement, but scrooge just burst out laughing like a lunatic. everyone was puzzled.
"you thought that you surprised me – the scrooge? i knew it was you who asked in the first place." with that, everybody started laughing and the entire party was plagued with tumult. as the laughter died down, scrooge announced with a glass of cider in hand, "it would be rude to not toast the one who gave us so much entertainment! to fred!" and gave fred a thumbs up so jolly, it seemed like the thumbs were winking at fred.
"to fred!" everyone cheered.
"and… to uncle scrooge, the… christmas legend!" fred cried out.
"to scrooge, the christmas legend!" everyone echoed with glee, happiness, and all those emotions you feel in christmas time.
"and to everyone here, i hope you have a gleeful, morose free, healthy future and…" here, scrooge pointed at tiny tim with that jolly wink of his.
tiny tim took the hint and bellowed his famous quotes "god bless us every one!"
once upon a time, on the tenth christmas from that fateful day, there was a party – large, entertaining, boisterous, jam-packed, gleeful, majestic – yes, but still a party nonetheless. it was the 10th anniversary of the christmas party of scrooge and this year's theme was a blast to the past. the much anticipated time rolled by and the invited gathered around scrooge's estate, while the others gathered there without any misgivings, knowing that scrooge wouldn't ruin a merry christmas to kick them out – even the brigands came, temporarily ignoring their profession for the sake of christmas spirit. there it was the annual sigh, and then the speech "i thought i only sent out 100 invitations! maybe with my old age, i am forgetting things…" everybody laughed, the parties always started with these same words. "or do you god blessed youngsters know more than i do?" scrooge bellowed out with a wink and a chuckle and continued, "let the party begin!" with that, scrooge jumped off the stage with more force than an old man was expected to have, and everyone scrambled to catch him.
"i got you uncle scrooge!" shouted the one and the only tiny tim, and he did catch him. tiny tim was no longer a cripple and had a completely healthy body with no injuries and was apprenticed to his venerated uncle scrooge. as soon as that outburst was contained, everyone dispersed to have a piece of the snack, which included – as usual – the large prize turkey, creamy mashed potatoes topped by 'grave gravy', mixed seasonal vegetables, all sorts of soups, fred's wife's special assortments of bread, fruits freshly picked by peter and jolly ciders. of course, the children headed straight for the desserts section, which, was the wide array of pies, mrs. cratchit's famous rock hard pudding, eggnog – made fresh by martha, hot chocolate – made from real melted chocolate with gigantic marshmallows, and the colossal gingerbread house put together by scrooge, with every single type of candy you can name hidden on top or within the mansion. the children ate the desserts so fast, a second hadn't even gone by until there was only one solitary pie left, and when the moment was just right, scrooge swooped by and ate the last pie with a chuckle at the children's disappointment.
"a-a-a-a-and, now for the moment we've all been waiting for!" announced scrooge in the loud, caring voice that everyone had grown to love. everyone instantly became silent and looked up to scrooge like school children would to a respected teacher, which made scrooge chuckle his signature chuckle. "it's time for the blast to the past! now, everyone's going to share something about their past that no one ever knew before!" hmm, scrooge was considering who to start when his face lit up, an idea struck him square in the face, and a devious smirk began to spread through his face, threatening to crack it in half. "tiny tim, step up and share your secret with us, your secret from about a week ago." scrooge bellowed out with a chuckle. tiny tim, red in the face, walked up the stairs to the podium slowly, tarrying here and there, while stalling for as much time as possible, but still somehow, against all odds look as graceful as the ballet dancers from the nutcracker.
"hey, uncle scrooge, how is this fair, you're the host, you should have to go first. please?" tiny tim implored indignantly.
"that's because i'm teaching the younger generations to take the lead and i chose to teach you first." no one ever rejected an invitation to learn from the wise scrooge.
"that's not fair, uncle scrooge, pulling the 'teaching' card" tiny tim complained loudly.
"who said i was fair, now tell us your secret!" scrooge replied relentlessly while gesturing for tiny tim to share his secret.
"well, um, i – i proposed to my now fiancé!" tiny tim stuttered with a cute pink blush on his face, while his fiancé had a matching blush that made the lovebirds look so adorable and scrooge chuckled like there was no tomorrow.
"scrooge, have you ever fallen victim to love?" a random person called out from their position in the crowd; this person wasn't afraid of being found out, he was in the middle of the crowd, the best position to stay anonymous. "what happened in your past? what happened 10 years ago?" the voice was probing, but still gentle as if not to hurt scrooge. scrooge's face fell at the comment, but soon the good-naturedness and bliss giving smile was replenished as scrooge thought of the fateful day. the story that ensued was thoughtful and presented in an all-knowing manner.
"once upon a time, there was an ignorant, misanthropic, miserly, unloving, cold-hearted, covetous, sinning, greedy, old fool. on christmas eve, he saw his old partner, who was just the same as he, but had been dead for 7 years' face on his knocker as he entered his house. he tried to convince himself that there was no phantom, that it was not so, but the spectral thing really did visit him. the ghost was there to warn this old fool, to tell him of all the wrongs of their ancient, old ways. after this, three spirits haunted the old man: the ghosts of christmas past, present, and future. they showed him the past, present, and future, unaltered by any actions he may have done, if he didn't change, we wouldn't be here right now, there wouldn't be this annual jocund christmas party. the ghosts showed the man the error in his ways, and he woke up the next day a different man. the man's name was ebenezer scrooge." at the end of the long attention-grabbing story, the entire audience cheered in the loudest, most heart-warming sound ever, and with a tear, scrooge gave a little modest bow feeling a laugh bubbling up in him.
"i knew you had it in you, uncle!" fred's voice rose above the rest, though, he didn't know how much that meant to scrooge that fan's legacy acknowledged him. "and that's why i asked in the first place!" continued fred. everyone waited to see scrooge's reaction to fred's bold statement, but scrooge just burst out laughing like a lunatic. everyone was puzzled.
"you thought that you surprised me – the scrooge? i knew it was you who asked in the first place." with that, everybody started laughing and the entire party was plagued with tumult. as the laughter died down, scrooge announced with a glass of cider in hand, "it would be rude to not toast the one who gave us so much entertainment! to fred!" and gave fred a thumbs up so jolly, it seemed like the thumbs were winking at fred.
"to fred!" everyone cheered.
"and… to uncle scrooge, the… christmas legend!" fred cried out.
"to scrooge, the christmas legend!" everyone echoed with glee, happiness, and all those emotions you feel in christmas time.
"and to everyone here, i hope you have a gleeful, morose free, healthy future and…" here, scrooge pointed at tiny tim with that jolly wink of his.
tiny tim took the hint and bellowed his famous quotes "god bless us every one!"
my room 101
you are to be brought to room 101. i am so sorry i cannot give you better news, my dear,” you hear o’brien inform you. there is something wrong about that room, but you cannot remember. you embrace the darkness known as unconsciousness as o’brien whispers, “sleep well, my dear.”
you wake up from a drug-induced slumber with a sleep leaden feel when you initially realize there is no color. in fact, there is no shape or even light; everything is perfectly black without a spot of grey. at first, you believe that the lights are just off and decided to wait for them to be turned on. you then think of blindfolds, feel around for cloth around your eyes, and find out there is none. deciding that your slight fear of the dark was being preyed on, you decided to call o’brien’s bluff. “i know you are there,” you shout, “i am no longer afraid of the dark. that was only a child’s fear. looks like your precious room 101 failed you.”
as you enunciate the word ‘failed’, you hear a voice permeate through the unknown darkness. it is telling you of your faults; this mysterious voice lists everything from a broken promise to do the dishes to a rejection from your family. with each transgression announced, a feeling of worthlessness, condemnation, and hysteria rises up in your chest. “stop,” you weakly command, “stop this madness; there is no point to this futile sound effect,” you spat out the last two words with as much contempt as you can muster, displaying exactly what you think of the spectacle.
“we will stop,” o’brien informs you gently, “when you cure your own insanity.” the brief flicker of hope that had started to bloom within you died a spontaneous death.
“never,” you respond.
“i guess we will just have to do this the hard way,” o’brien seemed to shrug his statement out, “you think that we turned out the lights, correct?” he does not wait for any confirmation before moving on. “it is not the lights that are out. i can see perfectly fine from where i am, standing right in front of you. it is you who cannot see anything; you are blind, not only to your faults, but physically speaking too.” you can just hear the enormous smirk he is sporting through the tone of his voice. “imagine that; the bookworm can no longer read.” you feel your blood boil at his taunt before finally comprehending what he said. you are blind; you can no longer curl up on a couch, reading a wonderful, suspenseful story. a feeling of profound sadness rises up in you as you mentally whisper your goodbyes to your books.
then you have a thought; something that scares but comforts you at the same time. you know that the room preys on your worst fears. you know that you are afraid of dying, specifically dying by your own hand for no reason, only to be forgotten, never being given the chance to leave your mark on the world. therefore, you concentrate on the image; a sharp, medium sized knife gleaming from the bright light that o’brien described is sitting on a plain wooden table in front of you. is this really what you want? do you want to escape from o’brien, the thought police, and the ministry? yes, you decide. you pick up the knife. you are no more.
you wake up from a drug-induced slumber with a sleep leaden feel when you initially realize there is no color. in fact, there is no shape or even light; everything is perfectly black without a spot of grey. at first, you believe that the lights are just off and decided to wait for them to be turned on. you then think of blindfolds, feel around for cloth around your eyes, and find out there is none. deciding that your slight fear of the dark was being preyed on, you decided to call o’brien’s bluff. “i know you are there,” you shout, “i am no longer afraid of the dark. that was only a child’s fear. looks like your precious room 101 failed you.”
as you enunciate the word ‘failed’, you hear a voice permeate through the unknown darkness. it is telling you of your faults; this mysterious voice lists everything from a broken promise to do the dishes to a rejection from your family. with each transgression announced, a feeling of worthlessness, condemnation, and hysteria rises up in your chest. “stop,” you weakly command, “stop this madness; there is no point to this futile sound effect,” you spat out the last two words with as much contempt as you can muster, displaying exactly what you think of the spectacle.
“we will stop,” o’brien informs you gently, “when you cure your own insanity.” the brief flicker of hope that had started to bloom within you died a spontaneous death.
“never,” you respond.
“i guess we will just have to do this the hard way,” o’brien seemed to shrug his statement out, “you think that we turned out the lights, correct?” he does not wait for any confirmation before moving on. “it is not the lights that are out. i can see perfectly fine from where i am, standing right in front of you. it is you who cannot see anything; you are blind, not only to your faults, but physically speaking too.” you can just hear the enormous smirk he is sporting through the tone of his voice. “imagine that; the bookworm can no longer read.” you feel your blood boil at his taunt before finally comprehending what he said. you are blind; you can no longer curl up on a couch, reading a wonderful, suspenseful story. a feeling of profound sadness rises up in you as you mentally whisper your goodbyes to your books.
then you have a thought; something that scares but comforts you at the same time. you know that the room preys on your worst fears. you know that you are afraid of dying, specifically dying by your own hand for no reason, only to be forgotten, never being given the chance to leave your mark on the world. therefore, you concentrate on the image; a sharp, medium sized knife gleaming from the bright light that o’brien described is sitting on a plain wooden table in front of you. is this really what you want? do you want to escape from o’brien, the thought police, and the ministry? yes, you decide. you pick up the knife. you are no more.
remembering
there’s something heartbreaking about the way she says thank you. she’s a regular at the coffee shop, and she gets the same order every morning, not always at the same time. sometimes it’s 5 am with a sleepy wave. or 10:30 with frazzled, hastily applied make up. 8:45 with determined, pursed lips. 7 o’clock with a sad, blank expression. no matter the time though, she always orders a medium black coffee, no cream. she always adds just one packet of sweet n’ low sugar and stirs exactly five times.
without fail, she tips for a $2.38 cup of coffee: a five-dollar bill in the tip jar, a strained smile for the barista, and an extra $2.38 along with instructions for it to go towards the next person’s coffee. the first time it happened, the young barista asked her if she was sure, if she wanted to spend money on someone she didn’t even (unsaid was the question of why she would tip over twice the price of her morning coffee). tucking an errant strand of dull blond hair behind her right ear, her gaze turns downwards and she quirks her lips as she flashes the teen a faint smile and a small nod. he thanks her, smiles, and announces “coffee for cory.” she whispers a quick thank you before leaving.
the next time it’s coffee for brenda. coffee for jean. coffee for tevin. coffee for jonathan. and on the forty-ninth day, her voice cracks as she thanks the barista. he responds with the then normal no problem, ma’am. when his shift is over and he’s walking the short 15 minute route home – his parents won’t get him a car until he’s older – the young barista notices a row of empty coffee cups sitting outside an apartment building. coffee cups labelled alejandro. and jason. shane. edward. jean. brenda. cory. in each coffee cup is a small, candle and a mini rainbow flag with pulse carefully written on it in neat, capital letters.
the next day, when the woman shuffles into the small coffee shop with red rimmed eyes, asking for a medium black coffee for noah, the barista doesn’t give her a strange look or harass her like the neighborhood kids like to do on account of her using a different name each day. he simply asks who she was remembering this time, and she gives a gentle smile, whispers sandy hook and breaks his heart as she thanks him once again. no, thank you for remembering.
without fail, she tips for a $2.38 cup of coffee: a five-dollar bill in the tip jar, a strained smile for the barista, and an extra $2.38 along with instructions for it to go towards the next person’s coffee. the first time it happened, the young barista asked her if she was sure, if she wanted to spend money on someone she didn’t even (unsaid was the question of why she would tip over twice the price of her morning coffee). tucking an errant strand of dull blond hair behind her right ear, her gaze turns downwards and she quirks her lips as she flashes the teen a faint smile and a small nod. he thanks her, smiles, and announces “coffee for cory.” she whispers a quick thank you before leaving.
the next time it’s coffee for brenda. coffee for jean. coffee for tevin. coffee for jonathan. and on the forty-ninth day, her voice cracks as she thanks the barista. he responds with the then normal no problem, ma’am. when his shift is over and he’s walking the short 15 minute route home – his parents won’t get him a car until he’s older – the young barista notices a row of empty coffee cups sitting outside an apartment building. coffee cups labelled alejandro. and jason. shane. edward. jean. brenda. cory. in each coffee cup is a small, candle and a mini rainbow flag with pulse carefully written on it in neat, capital letters.
the next day, when the woman shuffles into the small coffee shop with red rimmed eyes, asking for a medium black coffee for noah, the barista doesn’t give her a strange look or harass her like the neighborhood kids like to do on account of her using a different name each day. he simply asks who she was remembering this time, and she gives a gentle smile, whispers sandy hook and breaks his heart as she thanks him once again. no, thank you for remembering.
the commander
the sniper screamed. i could hear it from the helicopter i was in. “turn back,” i commanded the pilot.
“but, we have orders to-” he starts to argue.
“turn back,” i growl, repeating myself, and this time it was said with a cold voice that makes most people’s skin crawl. the kind commander who always bantered with you was gone, and in her place, a cold, war-hardened strategist emerged. the pilot turned around immediately and started a course to the sniper. i snatched the microphone from the pilot’s belt roughly and spoke into the intercom with clipped tones, “soldier 193, get a ladder ready for my descent. soldier 147, inform general marcus of my departure for sniper 63.”
“we have arrived, my lady,” announces the pilot after a few minutes.
“good, i will see you later. bring the plane back to hq. send out a flier. good luck soldier,” and with that, i was gone. i marched out the cockpit and into the departure port. “good job, soldier 193. good luck with your missions.”
“thank you, ma’m,” and after a brief hesitation, he added, “come back safely,” for he had noticed i had taken my bandanna with me, the one given to me by my brother. i never bring it on missions for fear of losing it.
“thank you,” i respond, voice raw, and with that, i was gone. i climbed down the ladder into the clearing. i will be gone by the end of this mission, this self-assigned mission. gone, with my defection, gone with my brothers.
“but, we have orders to-” he starts to argue.
“turn back,” i growl, repeating myself, and this time it was said with a cold voice that makes most people’s skin crawl. the kind commander who always bantered with you was gone, and in her place, a cold, war-hardened strategist emerged. the pilot turned around immediately and started a course to the sniper. i snatched the microphone from the pilot’s belt roughly and spoke into the intercom with clipped tones, “soldier 193, get a ladder ready for my descent. soldier 147, inform general marcus of my departure for sniper 63.”
“we have arrived, my lady,” announces the pilot after a few minutes.
“good, i will see you later. bring the plane back to hq. send out a flier. good luck soldier,” and with that, i was gone. i marched out the cockpit and into the departure port. “good job, soldier 193. good luck with your missions.”
“thank you, ma’m,” and after a brief hesitation, he added, “come back safely,” for he had noticed i had taken my bandanna with me, the one given to me by my brother. i never bring it on missions for fear of losing it.
“thank you,” i respond, voice raw, and with that, i was gone. i climbed down the ladder into the clearing. i will be gone by the end of this mission, this self-assigned mission. gone, with my defection, gone with my brothers.
the nameless prince of a nameless land
once upon a time, there lived a majestic, caring king and a beautiful, kind-hearted queen in a rich, magical kingdom. they were well liked, and the best king and queen a town could ask for. it was tragic indeed when it was found that the queen had an illness that only allowed her to have one child, and even then, there was a large chance of her life being endangered. regardless of the doctor’s warning, the king and queen had a child: a sickly son addressed to as ‘young master’ or ‘the prince.’ he had a name so ordinary and unused that no one in the kingdom actually knew it. one could say that even his friends didn’t know his name, but he had none. he refused to meet with anyone except for his servant and maid, whom he considered his brother and mother. the queen, amethyst, was broken hearted when she heard of this, but accepted it nonetheless for the sake of her son’s happiness. this is where we will begin our story: the story of a sickly anti-social prince who believed that his nature was the only way he could live.
“i don’t want to.” it was the first time i heard him complain about anything, speak about anything that didn’t absolutely need a response. as i gaze over his flawless, pallid appearance, only highlighted by his messy, wavy jet-black hair, which, upon closer inspection, was actually a dark brown, i couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him, and a little jealous. he was born into one of the most famous families: the royal family; he was the sole heir to all the riches of the land and all of his parent’s considerable assets. yet, he, the prince, didn’t enjoy it; he didn’t enjoy anything. to be told of and thrust upon such a responsibility at such a young age was nothing but tragic. so, i attempted to be at least a bit sympathetic.
“why not? it would be fun; you could try a bunch of new foods and play lots of games,” i croon in a gentle tone, which i hoped would appease him. i was wrong.
“no. nii-chan [1] is out of town right now. i’ve never gone to a festival without him, and i never will. i refuse.” the prince pouted petulantly, but stated the last part quietly as well as forcefully. my patience snapped with an enormous backlash; he had only been in my care for three days, each of which he had constantly refused and refuted my attempts to get him outside as well as orders; i was only doing this as a favor for kain, for pete’s sake.
“that’s it, you little spoiled brat; you are going no matter what you want to do. your precious little elder brother might have put up with your temper tantrums and childish fits, but i’m not going to do that anymore,” i exploded in anger, not really meaning half of what i said, “you have to learn to be independent and do things by yourself; your nii-chan won’t always be there to explain everything for you. how are you to become a person he could be proud of if you don’t even learn what most human beings learn to be by the time they’re an adult?” i added the last part gently, endeavoring to teach him to stand up for himself, something so basic even the youngest schoolchildren know.
he starts to sulk a little, but a scowl replaces that soon as his eyes become watery, “ nii-chan always-”
“forget what kain told you. i won’t put up with your attitude and neither will anyone else. think, kain would want what is best for you, but he would never intentionally hurt your feelings. he would never tell you that what you do is not normal because in his mind, it’s normal for you. kain would never tell you to buck up and put some effort into your life; he thinks it’s too harsh and that it would accomplish nothing but hurting your feelings. but, i think differently; i think that you need to be told this so that you can get your act together and stop moping around. life sucks; i get it, i really do. but you have got to move on. i realize that no one understands you, but you never even gave them a chance to comprehend what you’re going through. i guess what i’m saying is that you should just give us all a chance, at least until i leave. when that happens, you’re no longer my problem, but until then, chop chop!” i end my uncharacteristically serious speech with a wide, lopsided grin that splits my face in half.
at first, he doesn’t respond, acting as if he was going to continue brooding and frowning, but soon gives me a small, shy smile. “fine. but i’m only doing this for nii-chan; i hope you know that.” he adds the last part with a mock scowl, which lets me know that i have just been inducted as an honorary member of his family, at least until i leave, but i have a feeling that it is going to last longer than that. “so, what do people normally do at the summer festival?”
ambush. meet me at the left side of the serpent rock. hurry, we must warn the prince. how many times had i told ricky what his name was? it is not the prince. if this kingdom can’t even get their ‘beloved’ prince’s name correct, then there is no hope for anyone here. i should have left on my journey long ago, but i couldn’t. i couldn’t leave my poor, little honorary brother by himself with no one to talk with.
bring supplies for plan m-13; it’s going to be a rough one. that was not good. if ricky was resorting to our contingency plans, then chances of this being an easy mission were close to zero, so i gather the supplies and head off towards the agreed spot, dropping the note. don’t, under any circumstances, bring anything irreplaceable. there is a big chance of it being ruined or stolen, most likely both. that means, do not bring your precious sword.
“can i call you brother?” the prince uncertainly asks of me out of the blue, his rusty, unused voice cutting through the silence like a sharp knife through butter. i can feel him staring at me with that intense, inquiring gaze, blue eyes sparkling with an unusual vulnerability that i had gotten to know these past few days. the silence has thickened to an unbearable level, making me feel as if there were no sounds at all, even though i can hear the crickets chirping, night wind howl, and soft pitter-patter of rain. then, i make the most natural yet difficult decision i have ever made, knowing that i will never regret it.
“yes. you can call me brother if it makes you happy, but only if you will let me call you my little prince, my little outoto-chan [2].” i ruffle his hair, and he gives me the largest grin i’ve ever seen.
“did you read the whole note?” ricky bossily demands upon my arrival.
“yeah, i think i did.” i respond, a frowning as i think back to what the note entailed, picturing the small, scratchy scrap of blotted out paper in my mind.
“what was the last thing i told you?”
“uh, prepare for plan m-13.”
“incorrect,” his tone is clipped and cut off short, and i know that he is stressing over something, “the last thing i told you was to not bring anything, and i mean anything, precious, especially your dang katana [3] from your father. nothing special was supposed to be on this trip.” as i comprehend the information i had overlooked in my haste, an expression of horror slowly creeps across my face, and i feel my cheeks burn up at such a rookie mistake.
“sorry.” i mumble, cheeks pink, my whole body is vibrating with tension as i attempt to tell myself that it was only a small error, not important to the overall mission.
“well, you should be, kain,” ricky grins in a joking manner, stressing my name in a playful manner before continuing with a more serious, grave expression, “we will be meeting my associate, lee at serpent pass.” serpent pass is the code name for the lion bridge, which is about half-way between our current location and my little prince brother’s castle.
“we better get going then.” ricky just nods in agreement, and wordlessly, we head out into the smell of the misty north wind and the taste of musky autumn leaves.
“you are needed in your father’s meeting, young master.” yoki [4], a nasally sounding servant with a stuck up attitude announces, breaking both our concentrations. without even looking up, my outoto responds, seeming totally disinterested.
“tell my father, the honorable king, that i am in the middle of meditating with my aid. it is an important part of my daily routine that mustn’t be interrupted. he will reschedule this meeting.” his smooth, authoritative voice washes over yoki, putting him in a trance, which is broken by his directive of, “well, what are you waiting for? go. shoo. you’re just the messenger. leave my presence now.” all of this was stated in a detached, calm voice, which may have fooled others into believing him patient; in reality, his eyebrow was twitching slightly, eyes focused in a glare at the dark, cherry wood flooring. i could tell that most of his irritation was caused by the servant’s refusal to leave and our lost time spent in each other’s company. after all, as soon as kain returns from his rendezvous, i will have to be leaving.
unexpectedly, the reserved prince swings his dark, azure blue eyes around to gaze into my own light, nordic blue eyes, asking, “when you were lecturing me, you shouted ‘life sucks; i get it, i really do,’ what did you mean? what were you talking about?” he tries out each question on his tongue, as if each question meant more than they did on the surface; as if each question were his first question ever.
i sigh as i tense automatically and respond tersely, “why do you want to know? what’s it to you? what if it was just something spat out in anger?” i can see that i really hurt him in his expressive eyes; the slight glistening of tears magnifying his pupils, making them darker than they were originally. he pauses slightly, as a heavy tension falls across the room, making me hyper aware of the smell of pine from the recent fire we had going, the feel of the slight, gentle breeze caressing my skin, ruffling my hair, and the sound of the old, antique grandfather clock ticking away. then, almost hesitantly, he replies, blunt and honest.
“i just realized that i knew next to nothing about you, and there must have been something that caused you to be the way you are. i can tell that the sunny, joking mannerisms you project is just an intricately carved mask formed from years of hiding the truth. how about this: i’ll tell you my story, then you can tell me yours. deal?” i didn’t know how i could possibly respond, so i reacted, as i find myself doing more often nowadays, with my instincts.
“deal.”
“lee couldn’t make it; he has gone to the city of earthen warriors for his final exam.” a small, willowy boy who could be no more than a teenager was the one to greet us at the serpent pass. “i, however, will be taking his place. my name is john ‘shortstack’ lee, but you can just call me shor.” the newly minted shor exuberantly reports in one breath, seeming to all the world around like an excited little boy, but to experienced spies such as ourselves, there was a cold, calculating quality to his deceptively ordinary coffee brown eyes.
“alright, let’s go.” ricky responds without flinching or blinking, eyes trained warily on the replacement who somehow knew our codes.
“wait, hold up. how do we know that he’s who he introduced himself as? besides, how does he know our codes? how can we even trust him?” i protest as they both turn to leave.
“we can trust him, kain, because lee was a personal friend of mine, and i happen to know that he had a little brother by that exact name. everyone in their family always gets a tattoo above the eyebrow of their dominant arm, a tattoo, which has never been and never will be successfully replicated,” ricky explains matter-of-factly, “so, let’s move out. oh, and if you still don’t believe me, he’s my cousin; the tattoos are only visible to a member of our clan.”
“when i was younger and more reckless, i used to have siblings: an older sister, two younger brothers, and a younger sister. back then, i was just like you, only talking to kain or tutors when forced to, brooding every day. one day, kain told me how ridiculous i always seemed, sulking around moaning about my lot in life when some didn’t even get a chance. i realized the error in my ways, and everything was going great,” a single tear slips down my face as my voice cracks, “we grew up together, kain and i, kain becoming more quiet, more shy, while i became bolder and braver. one time, i decided that i was strong enough to face up to the school bully, who always picked on me in particular for ‘monopolizing kain’s time with a loser like me.’ so, i challenged him to a fight and lost badly. i should have learned then, but i didn’t. i kept going back for more, getting into bigger fights, until one day, it no longer mattered.”
“don’t worry, i’m fine.” i manage to choke out, blood dripping down my face as i dropped down onto the ground, sticky with a dark red substance, which i only now realized was my own blood. “i’ll be fine.” i whisper again as i feel all the energy sap out of my limbs, starting with my arms, then legs, moving towards the center of my body. i attempt to reassure ricky and shor one more time, but the only sound i make is a body-racking cough, which could make even an experienced field medic wince. as the sharp tang of blood disappears from my mouth, and the smell of sweat autumn leaves, carried by a soft, icy breeze start to leave me, i know that i am not fine.
“dude, you’re hacking up buckets of blood, and you have an enormous hole in your chest. you’re not fine.” ricky’s voice sounds hysterical as he pronounces each word with the careful precision foreigners tend to employ. as he takes in a deep breath, closes his eyes, and reopens them to the world around him, markedly more calmly states in a monotone, “just lie down, and we’ll see if we can fix you up.”
“no, i knew the risks, and i know that i will most likely be joining lee. so, i’m just going to ask of you one thing,” i rasp out, gasping like a fish out of water. the eerie sound of birds chirping in the trees and water rushing in a river are starting to fade, but i know i must get a final message out, “please, please, give this to my little prince, and tell him; tell him i’m sorry that we couldn’t spend eternity together like i promised.” the world starts to spin, everything blurring together as sounds become silence and silence becomes sound, and somehow i know that i’m crying along with ricky, even as my consciousness deserts me in favor of a cold, unrelenting final goodbye.
“no. this can’t be. okay, i’ll be there,” i hear my new brother respond to a message that came through from kain-nii-chan. i know that nothing’s really happened and it can’t be all that bad because kain-nii-chan promised to spend eternity with me and brother sammy never has a bright outlook on life. “i have to be going, i’ll be back as soon as i can.” sam gives me a farewell hug, ruffling my hair. “i’ll miss you ‘lil prince.” as i open my mouth to respond, he gives me a look, a look of desperation and desolation which tells me that this is no ordinary errand. “bye.” i whisper, and maybe i just imagined it, but i think that sam, who doesn’t believe in goodbyes, whispered it too.
i rush through the forest path, racing past trees, leaves crunching under my feet, the wind whistling near my ears. i had to get to kain. i won’t believe anything until i see him for myself.
“where are you going at that pace?” i hear ricky’s voice call out, his usual joking, sparkling eyes lackluster with grief, and i know that it had actually happened. the forest becomes a little duskier and blurry.
“so it’s true. he really is…” i trail off because the word ‘dead’ on my chapped lips feels too real, too cruel; i wasn’t ready to think of what to tell our little prince brother.
“yeah,” ricky responds lamely, before straightening his entire posture, back rigid, forest green eyes hardening with determination, and i know that he is ready to finish the mission that was so important that kain had come out into the field, “you have to save the prince. there is a first class killing organization out to get him.” with those chilling words, i turn around on spot and race off, intent on saving at least part of my new family.
“let’s go; let’s go. you’re in danger,” i shout as soon as i burst into the prince’s room.
“what? this isn’t the time for jokes, brother.” he responds groggily, rubbing his eyes.
“i’m dead serious; i have to get you to the bunker. i promised kain.” at the mention of my best friend, the prince brightens up, and i give him a strained smile, realizing the irony as i continue softly, “come on, let’s go.”
“i never got to tell my story,” the prince complains, cueing me to give him permission, but i couldn’t muster up enough will to do so, instead, nodding for him to go on. the prince, who had just been bouncing around earlier, stops abruptly and starts in a serious, carelessly honest tone.
“well, ever since i was little, there have always been assassins sent after me. i’ve had at least four every year. kain told me to never tell anyone, but i think you don’t count as anyone. the first time i witnessed death was when i was three years old. i was just turning around the corner of the granite hallway, on my way back from a tutor session with kain-nii-chan, when a black cloaked figure came rushing at me, missing his serrated knife blade only because my first aid jumped in the path before the assailant or nii-chan had a chance to do anything. and well, that’s all there is to it. i didn’t want to endanger anyone by getting close to them, but nii-chan was strong and the maid refused to leave me alone. at first, i didn’t want to understand you either, but i know that you can take care of yourself now. i know that you will always be here with me for eternity, just like nii-chan.” my breath catches in my throat at the last sentence, mentioned so off-handedly by my little brother, and my sense overload, giving me the smell of the musty ground, the taste of my dry mouth, and the feel of the bumpy ground.
“kain’s dead.” i somehow get out. “he left this,” i gesture towards the handkerchief covered hilt of my best friend’s prized katana; the small, broken off piece was the only piece we could recover. it’s smooth wrappings had come off, showing only the rough, bumpy exterior which gave into the translucent, obsidian gem on the butt of the hilt, the only smooth part.
“that’s okay,” the prince calmly responds, “i figured something like that from your reaction. but since nii-chan always refers to me by my name, can you do that for him? can you let me do this for your siblings? can you call me alex?”
[1] nii-chan is an affectionate japanese suffix/phrase meaning older brother.
[2] outoto-chan is an affectionate japanese suffix/phrase meaning younger brother.
[3] a katana is a japanese long sword, typically used by samurai warriors in a set along with a shorter sword, a wakizashi.
[4] yoki is a japanese word meaning demon.
“i don’t want to.” it was the first time i heard him complain about anything, speak about anything that didn’t absolutely need a response. as i gaze over his flawless, pallid appearance, only highlighted by his messy, wavy jet-black hair, which, upon closer inspection, was actually a dark brown, i couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him, and a little jealous. he was born into one of the most famous families: the royal family; he was the sole heir to all the riches of the land and all of his parent’s considerable assets. yet, he, the prince, didn’t enjoy it; he didn’t enjoy anything. to be told of and thrust upon such a responsibility at such a young age was nothing but tragic. so, i attempted to be at least a bit sympathetic.
“why not? it would be fun; you could try a bunch of new foods and play lots of games,” i croon in a gentle tone, which i hoped would appease him. i was wrong.
“no. nii-chan [1] is out of town right now. i’ve never gone to a festival without him, and i never will. i refuse.” the prince pouted petulantly, but stated the last part quietly as well as forcefully. my patience snapped with an enormous backlash; he had only been in my care for three days, each of which he had constantly refused and refuted my attempts to get him outside as well as orders; i was only doing this as a favor for kain, for pete’s sake.
“that’s it, you little spoiled brat; you are going no matter what you want to do. your precious little elder brother might have put up with your temper tantrums and childish fits, but i’m not going to do that anymore,” i exploded in anger, not really meaning half of what i said, “you have to learn to be independent and do things by yourself; your nii-chan won’t always be there to explain everything for you. how are you to become a person he could be proud of if you don’t even learn what most human beings learn to be by the time they’re an adult?” i added the last part gently, endeavoring to teach him to stand up for himself, something so basic even the youngest schoolchildren know.
he starts to sulk a little, but a scowl replaces that soon as his eyes become watery, “ nii-chan always-”
“forget what kain told you. i won’t put up with your attitude and neither will anyone else. think, kain would want what is best for you, but he would never intentionally hurt your feelings. he would never tell you that what you do is not normal because in his mind, it’s normal for you. kain would never tell you to buck up and put some effort into your life; he thinks it’s too harsh and that it would accomplish nothing but hurting your feelings. but, i think differently; i think that you need to be told this so that you can get your act together and stop moping around. life sucks; i get it, i really do. but you have got to move on. i realize that no one understands you, but you never even gave them a chance to comprehend what you’re going through. i guess what i’m saying is that you should just give us all a chance, at least until i leave. when that happens, you’re no longer my problem, but until then, chop chop!” i end my uncharacteristically serious speech with a wide, lopsided grin that splits my face in half.
at first, he doesn’t respond, acting as if he was going to continue brooding and frowning, but soon gives me a small, shy smile. “fine. but i’m only doing this for nii-chan; i hope you know that.” he adds the last part with a mock scowl, which lets me know that i have just been inducted as an honorary member of his family, at least until i leave, but i have a feeling that it is going to last longer than that. “so, what do people normally do at the summer festival?”
ambush. meet me at the left side of the serpent rock. hurry, we must warn the prince. how many times had i told ricky what his name was? it is not the prince. if this kingdom can’t even get their ‘beloved’ prince’s name correct, then there is no hope for anyone here. i should have left on my journey long ago, but i couldn’t. i couldn’t leave my poor, little honorary brother by himself with no one to talk with.
bring supplies for plan m-13; it’s going to be a rough one. that was not good. if ricky was resorting to our contingency plans, then chances of this being an easy mission were close to zero, so i gather the supplies and head off towards the agreed spot, dropping the note. don’t, under any circumstances, bring anything irreplaceable. there is a big chance of it being ruined or stolen, most likely both. that means, do not bring your precious sword.
“can i call you brother?” the prince uncertainly asks of me out of the blue, his rusty, unused voice cutting through the silence like a sharp knife through butter. i can feel him staring at me with that intense, inquiring gaze, blue eyes sparkling with an unusual vulnerability that i had gotten to know these past few days. the silence has thickened to an unbearable level, making me feel as if there were no sounds at all, even though i can hear the crickets chirping, night wind howl, and soft pitter-patter of rain. then, i make the most natural yet difficult decision i have ever made, knowing that i will never regret it.
“yes. you can call me brother if it makes you happy, but only if you will let me call you my little prince, my little outoto-chan [2].” i ruffle his hair, and he gives me the largest grin i’ve ever seen.
“did you read the whole note?” ricky bossily demands upon my arrival.
“yeah, i think i did.” i respond, a frowning as i think back to what the note entailed, picturing the small, scratchy scrap of blotted out paper in my mind.
“what was the last thing i told you?”
“uh, prepare for plan m-13.”
“incorrect,” his tone is clipped and cut off short, and i know that he is stressing over something, “the last thing i told you was to not bring anything, and i mean anything, precious, especially your dang katana [3] from your father. nothing special was supposed to be on this trip.” as i comprehend the information i had overlooked in my haste, an expression of horror slowly creeps across my face, and i feel my cheeks burn up at such a rookie mistake.
“sorry.” i mumble, cheeks pink, my whole body is vibrating with tension as i attempt to tell myself that it was only a small error, not important to the overall mission.
“well, you should be, kain,” ricky grins in a joking manner, stressing my name in a playful manner before continuing with a more serious, grave expression, “we will be meeting my associate, lee at serpent pass.” serpent pass is the code name for the lion bridge, which is about half-way between our current location and my little prince brother’s castle.
“we better get going then.” ricky just nods in agreement, and wordlessly, we head out into the smell of the misty north wind and the taste of musky autumn leaves.
“you are needed in your father’s meeting, young master.” yoki [4], a nasally sounding servant with a stuck up attitude announces, breaking both our concentrations. without even looking up, my outoto responds, seeming totally disinterested.
“tell my father, the honorable king, that i am in the middle of meditating with my aid. it is an important part of my daily routine that mustn’t be interrupted. he will reschedule this meeting.” his smooth, authoritative voice washes over yoki, putting him in a trance, which is broken by his directive of, “well, what are you waiting for? go. shoo. you’re just the messenger. leave my presence now.” all of this was stated in a detached, calm voice, which may have fooled others into believing him patient; in reality, his eyebrow was twitching slightly, eyes focused in a glare at the dark, cherry wood flooring. i could tell that most of his irritation was caused by the servant’s refusal to leave and our lost time spent in each other’s company. after all, as soon as kain returns from his rendezvous, i will have to be leaving.
unexpectedly, the reserved prince swings his dark, azure blue eyes around to gaze into my own light, nordic blue eyes, asking, “when you were lecturing me, you shouted ‘life sucks; i get it, i really do,’ what did you mean? what were you talking about?” he tries out each question on his tongue, as if each question meant more than they did on the surface; as if each question were his first question ever.
i sigh as i tense automatically and respond tersely, “why do you want to know? what’s it to you? what if it was just something spat out in anger?” i can see that i really hurt him in his expressive eyes; the slight glistening of tears magnifying his pupils, making them darker than they were originally. he pauses slightly, as a heavy tension falls across the room, making me hyper aware of the smell of pine from the recent fire we had going, the feel of the slight, gentle breeze caressing my skin, ruffling my hair, and the sound of the old, antique grandfather clock ticking away. then, almost hesitantly, he replies, blunt and honest.
“i just realized that i knew next to nothing about you, and there must have been something that caused you to be the way you are. i can tell that the sunny, joking mannerisms you project is just an intricately carved mask formed from years of hiding the truth. how about this: i’ll tell you my story, then you can tell me yours. deal?” i didn’t know how i could possibly respond, so i reacted, as i find myself doing more often nowadays, with my instincts.
“deal.”
“lee couldn’t make it; he has gone to the city of earthen warriors for his final exam.” a small, willowy boy who could be no more than a teenager was the one to greet us at the serpent pass. “i, however, will be taking his place. my name is john ‘shortstack’ lee, but you can just call me shor.” the newly minted shor exuberantly reports in one breath, seeming to all the world around like an excited little boy, but to experienced spies such as ourselves, there was a cold, calculating quality to his deceptively ordinary coffee brown eyes.
“alright, let’s go.” ricky responds without flinching or blinking, eyes trained warily on the replacement who somehow knew our codes.
“wait, hold up. how do we know that he’s who he introduced himself as? besides, how does he know our codes? how can we even trust him?” i protest as they both turn to leave.
“we can trust him, kain, because lee was a personal friend of mine, and i happen to know that he had a little brother by that exact name. everyone in their family always gets a tattoo above the eyebrow of their dominant arm, a tattoo, which has never been and never will be successfully replicated,” ricky explains matter-of-factly, “so, let’s move out. oh, and if you still don’t believe me, he’s my cousin; the tattoos are only visible to a member of our clan.”
“when i was younger and more reckless, i used to have siblings: an older sister, two younger brothers, and a younger sister. back then, i was just like you, only talking to kain or tutors when forced to, brooding every day. one day, kain told me how ridiculous i always seemed, sulking around moaning about my lot in life when some didn’t even get a chance. i realized the error in my ways, and everything was going great,” a single tear slips down my face as my voice cracks, “we grew up together, kain and i, kain becoming more quiet, more shy, while i became bolder and braver. one time, i decided that i was strong enough to face up to the school bully, who always picked on me in particular for ‘monopolizing kain’s time with a loser like me.’ so, i challenged him to a fight and lost badly. i should have learned then, but i didn’t. i kept going back for more, getting into bigger fights, until one day, it no longer mattered.”
“don’t worry, i’m fine.” i manage to choke out, blood dripping down my face as i dropped down onto the ground, sticky with a dark red substance, which i only now realized was my own blood. “i’ll be fine.” i whisper again as i feel all the energy sap out of my limbs, starting with my arms, then legs, moving towards the center of my body. i attempt to reassure ricky and shor one more time, but the only sound i make is a body-racking cough, which could make even an experienced field medic wince. as the sharp tang of blood disappears from my mouth, and the smell of sweat autumn leaves, carried by a soft, icy breeze start to leave me, i know that i am not fine.
“dude, you’re hacking up buckets of blood, and you have an enormous hole in your chest. you’re not fine.” ricky’s voice sounds hysterical as he pronounces each word with the careful precision foreigners tend to employ. as he takes in a deep breath, closes his eyes, and reopens them to the world around him, markedly more calmly states in a monotone, “just lie down, and we’ll see if we can fix you up.”
“no, i knew the risks, and i know that i will most likely be joining lee. so, i’m just going to ask of you one thing,” i rasp out, gasping like a fish out of water. the eerie sound of birds chirping in the trees and water rushing in a river are starting to fade, but i know i must get a final message out, “please, please, give this to my little prince, and tell him; tell him i’m sorry that we couldn’t spend eternity together like i promised.” the world starts to spin, everything blurring together as sounds become silence and silence becomes sound, and somehow i know that i’m crying along with ricky, even as my consciousness deserts me in favor of a cold, unrelenting final goodbye.
“no. this can’t be. okay, i’ll be there,” i hear my new brother respond to a message that came through from kain-nii-chan. i know that nothing’s really happened and it can’t be all that bad because kain-nii-chan promised to spend eternity with me and brother sammy never has a bright outlook on life. “i have to be going, i’ll be back as soon as i can.” sam gives me a farewell hug, ruffling my hair. “i’ll miss you ‘lil prince.” as i open my mouth to respond, he gives me a look, a look of desperation and desolation which tells me that this is no ordinary errand. “bye.” i whisper, and maybe i just imagined it, but i think that sam, who doesn’t believe in goodbyes, whispered it too.
i rush through the forest path, racing past trees, leaves crunching under my feet, the wind whistling near my ears. i had to get to kain. i won’t believe anything until i see him for myself.
“where are you going at that pace?” i hear ricky’s voice call out, his usual joking, sparkling eyes lackluster with grief, and i know that it had actually happened. the forest becomes a little duskier and blurry.
“so it’s true. he really is…” i trail off because the word ‘dead’ on my chapped lips feels too real, too cruel; i wasn’t ready to think of what to tell our little prince brother.
“yeah,” ricky responds lamely, before straightening his entire posture, back rigid, forest green eyes hardening with determination, and i know that he is ready to finish the mission that was so important that kain had come out into the field, “you have to save the prince. there is a first class killing organization out to get him.” with those chilling words, i turn around on spot and race off, intent on saving at least part of my new family.
“let’s go; let’s go. you’re in danger,” i shout as soon as i burst into the prince’s room.
“what? this isn’t the time for jokes, brother.” he responds groggily, rubbing his eyes.
“i’m dead serious; i have to get you to the bunker. i promised kain.” at the mention of my best friend, the prince brightens up, and i give him a strained smile, realizing the irony as i continue softly, “come on, let’s go.”
“i never got to tell my story,” the prince complains, cueing me to give him permission, but i couldn’t muster up enough will to do so, instead, nodding for him to go on. the prince, who had just been bouncing around earlier, stops abruptly and starts in a serious, carelessly honest tone.
“well, ever since i was little, there have always been assassins sent after me. i’ve had at least four every year. kain told me to never tell anyone, but i think you don’t count as anyone. the first time i witnessed death was when i was three years old. i was just turning around the corner of the granite hallway, on my way back from a tutor session with kain-nii-chan, when a black cloaked figure came rushing at me, missing his serrated knife blade only because my first aid jumped in the path before the assailant or nii-chan had a chance to do anything. and well, that’s all there is to it. i didn’t want to endanger anyone by getting close to them, but nii-chan was strong and the maid refused to leave me alone. at first, i didn’t want to understand you either, but i know that you can take care of yourself now. i know that you will always be here with me for eternity, just like nii-chan.” my breath catches in my throat at the last sentence, mentioned so off-handedly by my little brother, and my sense overload, giving me the smell of the musty ground, the taste of my dry mouth, and the feel of the bumpy ground.
“kain’s dead.” i somehow get out. “he left this,” i gesture towards the handkerchief covered hilt of my best friend’s prized katana; the small, broken off piece was the only piece we could recover. it’s smooth wrappings had come off, showing only the rough, bumpy exterior which gave into the translucent, obsidian gem on the butt of the hilt, the only smooth part.
“that’s okay,” the prince calmly responds, “i figured something like that from your reaction. but since nii-chan always refers to me by my name, can you do that for him? can you let me do this for your siblings? can you call me alex?”
[1] nii-chan is an affectionate japanese suffix/phrase meaning older brother.
[2] outoto-chan is an affectionate japanese suffix/phrase meaning younger brother.
[3] a katana is a japanese long sword, typically used by samurai warriors in a set along with a shorter sword, a wakizashi.
[4] yoki is a japanese word meaning demon.
to paint a key
as i make my way through the sinister, unkempt graveyard, i feel nothing. there is no cool breeze of the night, cutting like the edges of a knife, nor is there a damp chill from the misty fog of the early morning. i slowly walk through the aisles and rows, making silent, uniform steps as if this was all a marching exercise. as my eyes dart across each smooth granite stone, i cannot help but think that if i had not taken my vacation when i did, nothing would be the same. everyone would be alive, and there might have been a small, but satisfied smile on my face, that indicated how fond i really am, or was, of my people, despite my rudeness and aloofness. instead, my expression is frozen in a spectacular scowl of disapproval and apathy, maybe for myself, maybe someone else; i’m not really sure.
“key swamore,” i read aloud from the clumsily carved engraving aloud, trying, attempting to feel something, anything. and i do; i uncharacteristically find myself wishing that i could go back and change everything to what they once were. the sun’s unique brand of paint is smeared across the sky in an explosion of colors. morning dew starts dripping and drooping without a care in the world, and i look up, startled, as a drop from the branch of the worn, nearby tree falls on my hair. i stand up before my thoughts travel down the well-known road known to others as grief; to me, it is only a small prickling of my heart’s emotions, a feeling whose existence is amplified by my inability to feel anything besides apathy. while i walk towards the entrance of the compound, my eyes are scanning the sky above me for anything unique or odd. then, i pick up my simple supplies and walk back to grave titled “mrs. monica smith,” who had always insisted that i call her mom. i dip my paintbrush into the set of simple, basic colors, and start to paint, allowing my mind to wander to the recent events that sapped all emotions i ever possessed from my control.
“you? you’re taking a vacation? what happened? is the world ending? wait, no, don’t answer that i know, someone died,” frank, my co-worker jokes. my mouth unwillingly twitches upwards as i respond.
“you can help me hide the body. i know of a few places where you can buy body bags for me. because, you know-” i break off, this time a grin spreading across my face, forming into what others may describe as devilishly handsome, “actually, i’m dead serious; i am going to be visiting my cousin, who lives in florida. plus, i was thinking about taking a few days off to just…relax.” i try out the new word hesitantly, for i am not sure if that is how normal people would use it. i’ve never stopped working, took a vacation, or anything to that extent; this was all new to me.
“you have got to be kidding… no, you’re really taking a break, huh? well, good for you, man. that was long overdue; i’ve never seen a guy work so hard in my life.” to my surprise, he seems to genuinely care, something i’ve never seen, or bothered to see, from my interactions with other people, and i surprise myself by giving frank a half-hearted, miniscule smile. “hey, by any chance is this about key?” frank whispers, sky blue eyes, hazy with concern, darting around making sure no one is listening in on our conversation. lately, to our colleagues at least, it has seemed like key and i were arguing, but really, the only thing that happened was a midnight realization that key had become my best friend, possibly my only friend, in the world. i was understandably puzzled by that realization, and somehow key understood, allowing us to become closer than we both had ever been with anyone else in the entire world.
the so-called ‘arguments’ were just a mad mix of banter and inside jokes no one else would get, and so to frank’s question i just respond with a simple, “partly. we aren’t arguing or anything, but if you must know,” there’s an intense look on my face that tells him that none of this is to get out or there will be consequences, “we have simply become best friends. i believe nowadays they are called b-f-f’s.” i can imagine frank’s jaw dropping to floor like they do in those anime cartoons that key is so fond of, and just seemingly judgmentally shake my head with a small, but satisfied smile on my face. i have made a new friend.
“key? you there? well, i just wanted to let you know that i am taking your advice and going on vacation. i should be back in a week, and i, well, i have something to tell you.” an uncharacteristic stutter slips into my rehearsed speech as i think of the magnitude my revelation would have on our relationship. however, before i can start to fret, i gently placed the phone back into its designated spot and started towards my car. i figured that there will always be time for that later, something that key would think, something that i didn’t mind sharing with key.
“hey, cousin! long time no see, what happened? why did you suddenly stop talking to us some fifteen years ago? seriously, little sister here was really sad,” my cousin, seyer, demands of me.
“something came up,” i respond slowly, opening up myself to them in a way key would have been proud of me. it was understood that the ‘something’ was my parents’ deaths; the culprit was never found, leaving only one item behind in my parents dark, dank, and rotting bedroom: a black mask. ever since that experience, i hadn’t been able to sleep in a room with a window in it or without at least two lock, making sure a self-defense weapon of some sort is always available at hand. in fact, i haven’t been to a single festival since that event for fear of accidentally walking into a mask theme. “and that caused me to be unsure of if you would be receptive of having me, but what’s done is done, where is that special view you were rambling about to me?” i continue, trailing off in a sheepish manner. we’re both grinning now, and somehow, through instinct, i know that everything would be fine. our relationship was mending.
“hey, i brought you some lunch; mom made japanese bentos, you know the ones you loved so much as a child,” sara, my younger cousin announces softly, while setting down a tray with steaming green tea, a bento, chopsticks, and napkins.
“oh, thanks, but i don’t eat lunch,” i reply, just as softly, before turning back to my easel to continue the painting of the field; it really was a beautiful scene. the coarse, weedy wild grass, fragrant, soft flowers, and tall, golden wheat were all mixed together, swaying ever so slightly in the wind, while the nearby lake’s crystal blue surface rippled as a particularly strong gust of wind descended. the woods were behind the left corner of the field, just poking through with its vibrant shades of green, invading the fluffy, slightly pink tinged clouds and warming sky, which had streaks of red, orange, and purple in it.
“oh, well, it’s really late; i couldn’t really find you. so, why don’t you just eat an early dinner?” sara sighs happily before sitting down next to me. i just give a noncommittal grunt as i focused the brush on mixing the perfect shade for the sky.
“i’ll eat when i finish.”
“and when will that be? what are you painting anyways? who is it for and why over here, why not closer to the lake or by the woods or something?” sara sounded so genuinely interested, so i carefully put my brush in its cup and take my eyes off the canvas.
“i don't really know; i finish when i finish, which is when the image looks complete. i am painting everything, and, well, i guess i’m trying to figure something out.”
“figure what out? is it a logic puzzle big brother gave you? i’m really good at those and i can help you?” sara starts to bounce excitedly, while i just sigh and lay down, giving in to my unwilling break, all while staring up at the sky.
“no, it’s my own problem. well, there was someone i…met recently, and i don’t really know how i felt about him,” i start hesitantly, confusion evident in my voice.
“well, what is it? do you hate him? or do you think he could be your best friend?” sara questions simply.
“i think i might love him,” i blurt out, a faint blush dusts my cheeks as i clap my paint stained hands over my mouth, eyes widening as a startled expression settles on my face. that is, well, before i realized that i just slapped paint on my mouth, and i rolled over trying to spit it out while wiping my hands on a towel. sara just laughs at me before helping to wipe my face off, something that in my panic, i did not have the coordination to do.
“just go with whatever you feel is right. i mean you never know, he might like you back. besides, life’s too short to be wasting time on contemplation like you always do.” sara her ‘dramatic’ speech by sticking her tongue out at me and telling me to finish up soon, for it is getting dark; then, she leave me alone, with my thoughts. as i finish the painting, that i was going to dedicate to key, i softly muttered titles that could be used for such a complex, yet simple painting; it was painted for such a simple, yet complex person.
“yes, i am really sure that i have to be leaving. no, really, i, well i have to go and tell someone…something before it’s too late,” i respond to my aunt’s fussing, while giving a meaningful glance to sara, who just smiles approvingly. “thank you for having me, really, i, well i painted something for you guys too, here, i called it a riddle to remember.” i pass the picture to sara, staring intently at her face for a reaction; i had said that it was for her family, but really it was only painted with her in mind. the painting was a wildfire spreading through a field of wildflower, grass, and wheat even as the pouring rain from dark storm clouds put the fire out, only leaving behind the seeds, which can be used to grow another field.
“it’s perfect,” she whispers, and i know that she got the meaning, “say hi to this key person for me, okay?”
“of course,” i respond, smiling, knowing that i will actually do so.
as my car pulls up to my simple house, i idly make a note to turn my house’s walls into a mural of everlasting sunsets. i set my stuff down, thinking about how eerily quiet everything was, and that was when i realized that no one was in the neighborhood, not the children, not business men, no one. i peer around for any notice that it was a town meeting to no avail. spooked, i got back in my car, driving to the closest city to buy a newspaper, and that was when the desolation hit me. i could not believe that when i had finally found something in my life worth putting effort into, everything was going to vanish again. as i closed my eyes, pinched myself, which was a decidedly frank-esque move, and opened my eyes again, a single tear slowly and unhurriedly dripping down my face, i attempted to believe that it was all just a dream. it was just one of those weird dreams that everyone gets occasionally. staring at the newspaper, i suddenly noticed the name of the killer was identified. it was the black mask, the same person, who, when i was eight, murdered my parents.
i walked aimlessly around the town, trying to find out what to do, for i have felt nothing since the moment my tears had dried off. it only took two days to find the plot of land dedicated to the graves of the people of my town; no one seemed to realize that i was not one of the dead, myself included. i couldn’t wrap my head around that fact, so i painted. i painted so many pictures of the sunset, sunrise, night sky, noon clouds, dusk, twilight, and dawn; anytime of the day you could think of, i have painted it. then, once each week i set a picture by a grave, one that fit what i had observed of every one of the townspeople. i painted bubbling clouds for mr. chung, who always had a laugh for everyone, letting anyone in on inside jokes, a majestic twilight for ms. jane, who loved to sing softly at night to herself, and the sunrise for frank, who despite my curtness with everyone, made an effort twice a week to watch the sunrise with me. i had always skipped key’s painting, knowing there was only one that fitted. and once i got done with the 362 graves, i sent a letter for my cousin sara, telling her how sorry i was and that if she could please bring the painting i had given her to my address. “meet me by the graveyard; you’ll know which stone to approach. thank you so much,” i wrote, feeling no sadness, but only a wash of content satisfaction.
then i set out that day, key’s birthday, while the sun was burning up the sky with flames of patterns, and set key’s picture down by his grave. i wrote a letter to him and burned it up, for i had heard from my foreign friend, moon, that those letters will always reach the dead. as i sat there contemplating all that had happened, i closed my eyes, knowing sara would bring the picture, my second best painting, and put it by my no longer fake grave, and i know that she will be able to take care of my other painting, which is far more important, to paint a key.
“key swamore,” i read aloud from the clumsily carved engraving aloud, trying, attempting to feel something, anything. and i do; i uncharacteristically find myself wishing that i could go back and change everything to what they once were. the sun’s unique brand of paint is smeared across the sky in an explosion of colors. morning dew starts dripping and drooping without a care in the world, and i look up, startled, as a drop from the branch of the worn, nearby tree falls on my hair. i stand up before my thoughts travel down the well-known road known to others as grief; to me, it is only a small prickling of my heart’s emotions, a feeling whose existence is amplified by my inability to feel anything besides apathy. while i walk towards the entrance of the compound, my eyes are scanning the sky above me for anything unique or odd. then, i pick up my simple supplies and walk back to grave titled “mrs. monica smith,” who had always insisted that i call her mom. i dip my paintbrush into the set of simple, basic colors, and start to paint, allowing my mind to wander to the recent events that sapped all emotions i ever possessed from my control.
“you? you’re taking a vacation? what happened? is the world ending? wait, no, don’t answer that i know, someone died,” frank, my co-worker jokes. my mouth unwillingly twitches upwards as i respond.
“you can help me hide the body. i know of a few places where you can buy body bags for me. because, you know-” i break off, this time a grin spreading across my face, forming into what others may describe as devilishly handsome, “actually, i’m dead serious; i am going to be visiting my cousin, who lives in florida. plus, i was thinking about taking a few days off to just…relax.” i try out the new word hesitantly, for i am not sure if that is how normal people would use it. i’ve never stopped working, took a vacation, or anything to that extent; this was all new to me.
“you have got to be kidding… no, you’re really taking a break, huh? well, good for you, man. that was long overdue; i’ve never seen a guy work so hard in my life.” to my surprise, he seems to genuinely care, something i’ve never seen, or bothered to see, from my interactions with other people, and i surprise myself by giving frank a half-hearted, miniscule smile. “hey, by any chance is this about key?” frank whispers, sky blue eyes, hazy with concern, darting around making sure no one is listening in on our conversation. lately, to our colleagues at least, it has seemed like key and i were arguing, but really, the only thing that happened was a midnight realization that key had become my best friend, possibly my only friend, in the world. i was understandably puzzled by that realization, and somehow key understood, allowing us to become closer than we both had ever been with anyone else in the entire world.
the so-called ‘arguments’ were just a mad mix of banter and inside jokes no one else would get, and so to frank’s question i just respond with a simple, “partly. we aren’t arguing or anything, but if you must know,” there’s an intense look on my face that tells him that none of this is to get out or there will be consequences, “we have simply become best friends. i believe nowadays they are called b-f-f’s.” i can imagine frank’s jaw dropping to floor like they do in those anime cartoons that key is so fond of, and just seemingly judgmentally shake my head with a small, but satisfied smile on my face. i have made a new friend.
“key? you there? well, i just wanted to let you know that i am taking your advice and going on vacation. i should be back in a week, and i, well, i have something to tell you.” an uncharacteristic stutter slips into my rehearsed speech as i think of the magnitude my revelation would have on our relationship. however, before i can start to fret, i gently placed the phone back into its designated spot and started towards my car. i figured that there will always be time for that later, something that key would think, something that i didn’t mind sharing with key.
“hey, cousin! long time no see, what happened? why did you suddenly stop talking to us some fifteen years ago? seriously, little sister here was really sad,” my cousin, seyer, demands of me.
“something came up,” i respond slowly, opening up myself to them in a way key would have been proud of me. it was understood that the ‘something’ was my parents’ deaths; the culprit was never found, leaving only one item behind in my parents dark, dank, and rotting bedroom: a black mask. ever since that experience, i hadn’t been able to sleep in a room with a window in it or without at least two lock, making sure a self-defense weapon of some sort is always available at hand. in fact, i haven’t been to a single festival since that event for fear of accidentally walking into a mask theme. “and that caused me to be unsure of if you would be receptive of having me, but what’s done is done, where is that special view you were rambling about to me?” i continue, trailing off in a sheepish manner. we’re both grinning now, and somehow, through instinct, i know that everything would be fine. our relationship was mending.
“hey, i brought you some lunch; mom made japanese bentos, you know the ones you loved so much as a child,” sara, my younger cousin announces softly, while setting down a tray with steaming green tea, a bento, chopsticks, and napkins.
“oh, thanks, but i don’t eat lunch,” i reply, just as softly, before turning back to my easel to continue the painting of the field; it really was a beautiful scene. the coarse, weedy wild grass, fragrant, soft flowers, and tall, golden wheat were all mixed together, swaying ever so slightly in the wind, while the nearby lake’s crystal blue surface rippled as a particularly strong gust of wind descended. the woods were behind the left corner of the field, just poking through with its vibrant shades of green, invading the fluffy, slightly pink tinged clouds and warming sky, which had streaks of red, orange, and purple in it.
“oh, well, it’s really late; i couldn’t really find you. so, why don’t you just eat an early dinner?” sara sighs happily before sitting down next to me. i just give a noncommittal grunt as i focused the brush on mixing the perfect shade for the sky.
“i’ll eat when i finish.”
“and when will that be? what are you painting anyways? who is it for and why over here, why not closer to the lake or by the woods or something?” sara sounded so genuinely interested, so i carefully put my brush in its cup and take my eyes off the canvas.
“i don't really know; i finish when i finish, which is when the image looks complete. i am painting everything, and, well, i guess i’m trying to figure something out.”
“figure what out? is it a logic puzzle big brother gave you? i’m really good at those and i can help you?” sara starts to bounce excitedly, while i just sigh and lay down, giving in to my unwilling break, all while staring up at the sky.
“no, it’s my own problem. well, there was someone i…met recently, and i don’t really know how i felt about him,” i start hesitantly, confusion evident in my voice.
“well, what is it? do you hate him? or do you think he could be your best friend?” sara questions simply.
“i think i might love him,” i blurt out, a faint blush dusts my cheeks as i clap my paint stained hands over my mouth, eyes widening as a startled expression settles on my face. that is, well, before i realized that i just slapped paint on my mouth, and i rolled over trying to spit it out while wiping my hands on a towel. sara just laughs at me before helping to wipe my face off, something that in my panic, i did not have the coordination to do.
“just go with whatever you feel is right. i mean you never know, he might like you back. besides, life’s too short to be wasting time on contemplation like you always do.” sara her ‘dramatic’ speech by sticking her tongue out at me and telling me to finish up soon, for it is getting dark; then, she leave me alone, with my thoughts. as i finish the painting, that i was going to dedicate to key, i softly muttered titles that could be used for such a complex, yet simple painting; it was painted for such a simple, yet complex person.
“yes, i am really sure that i have to be leaving. no, really, i, well i have to go and tell someone…something before it’s too late,” i respond to my aunt’s fussing, while giving a meaningful glance to sara, who just smiles approvingly. “thank you for having me, really, i, well i painted something for you guys too, here, i called it a riddle to remember.” i pass the picture to sara, staring intently at her face for a reaction; i had said that it was for her family, but really it was only painted with her in mind. the painting was a wildfire spreading through a field of wildflower, grass, and wheat even as the pouring rain from dark storm clouds put the fire out, only leaving behind the seeds, which can be used to grow another field.
“it’s perfect,” she whispers, and i know that she got the meaning, “say hi to this key person for me, okay?”
“of course,” i respond, smiling, knowing that i will actually do so.
as my car pulls up to my simple house, i idly make a note to turn my house’s walls into a mural of everlasting sunsets. i set my stuff down, thinking about how eerily quiet everything was, and that was when i realized that no one was in the neighborhood, not the children, not business men, no one. i peer around for any notice that it was a town meeting to no avail. spooked, i got back in my car, driving to the closest city to buy a newspaper, and that was when the desolation hit me. i could not believe that when i had finally found something in my life worth putting effort into, everything was going to vanish again. as i closed my eyes, pinched myself, which was a decidedly frank-esque move, and opened my eyes again, a single tear slowly and unhurriedly dripping down my face, i attempted to believe that it was all just a dream. it was just one of those weird dreams that everyone gets occasionally. staring at the newspaper, i suddenly noticed the name of the killer was identified. it was the black mask, the same person, who, when i was eight, murdered my parents.
i walked aimlessly around the town, trying to find out what to do, for i have felt nothing since the moment my tears had dried off. it only took two days to find the plot of land dedicated to the graves of the people of my town; no one seemed to realize that i was not one of the dead, myself included. i couldn’t wrap my head around that fact, so i painted. i painted so many pictures of the sunset, sunrise, night sky, noon clouds, dusk, twilight, and dawn; anytime of the day you could think of, i have painted it. then, once each week i set a picture by a grave, one that fit what i had observed of every one of the townspeople. i painted bubbling clouds for mr. chung, who always had a laugh for everyone, letting anyone in on inside jokes, a majestic twilight for ms. jane, who loved to sing softly at night to herself, and the sunrise for frank, who despite my curtness with everyone, made an effort twice a week to watch the sunrise with me. i had always skipped key’s painting, knowing there was only one that fitted. and once i got done with the 362 graves, i sent a letter for my cousin sara, telling her how sorry i was and that if she could please bring the painting i had given her to my address. “meet me by the graveyard; you’ll know which stone to approach. thank you so much,” i wrote, feeling no sadness, but only a wash of content satisfaction.
then i set out that day, key’s birthday, while the sun was burning up the sky with flames of patterns, and set key’s picture down by his grave. i wrote a letter to him and burned it up, for i had heard from my foreign friend, moon, that those letters will always reach the dead. as i sat there contemplating all that had happened, i closed my eyes, knowing sara would bring the picture, my second best painting, and put it by my no longer fake grave, and i know that she will be able to take care of my other painting, which is far more important, to paint a key.
they took everything but the book. it was the root of so much grief, and yet every time i read it, i experience the ecstasy known only by scholars on the edge of a major, revolutionizing breakthrough. each time i pick up that novel, i lose all awareness of my surroundings; everything else fades into the background, losing a bit of its vividness, volume, sharpness, and even color. everything is lost in the pursuit of the answer. now, as i stare uncomprehendingly at the bare apartment that i had bought six months ago to get away “from it all,” i cannot help but reflect on all that the book has done for me and all it has not.
i could blame my brother; he showed me the allure of transcripts such as this. yet, i was the one to bring this obsession to an extreme, so i suppose that is not exactly truthful either. i could blame my father for his childhood exploration of drugs that set a precedent for my addiction, but in the end, i have no other culprit but myself. it all originated from the curiosity of an innocent elementary school student; i had no idea how quickly it would all accelerate out of control. we started reading in preschool, but it was not until elementary school that we started reading actual books. as always, my brother was the first to start a book; he was always the first to do anything. feeling pressured to match him event for event, i copied everything he did; i have always wanted to be the first for something – and finally, i was.
after a quick foray in picture books, it was not enough anymore. when i was six, i moved on to chapter books. sure, i read the usual chapter books given to younger people: junie b. jones, arthur, ready freddy, the magic tree house, and all of those books, but i always hungered for more. there was something about these books that was just unfulfilling; they were not long enough, intricate enough, or satisfying enough. yet, i withstood this limbo, for no one else had seemed to experience this problem; all i have ever wanted was to just be normal. as a result, when we were introduced to biographies in second grade, i glanced around, and upon noticing that everyone else chose picture books, i decided with a sigh that it was time to stop hiding from what i was and still am. i chose a chapter book, a 205 paged chapter book, which i finished within days.
staring at the manuscript that caused me to sever my familial bonds, i know that i have been foolish. in my pursuit to find the perfect novel that i could relate to, i lost my purpose for reading. for as long as i remember, i have been reading books to find out how the heroes and heroines have been able to be so successful, so loved. only now, as i stand in my empty living room, do i understand that it was all chance. that none of it could have happened in the fickle thing we call life, and as that nugget of information settles into my head, everything in the world shifts and clicks in place through one of those infamous eureka moments.
i knew then, during the picking of the biographies, that i was different from everyone else; no one else found solace in their books. no one else threw themselves upon book after book trying to find the reason for them existing; their reason for being was simply “i am unique” or “i am alive.” in fact, most of them probably have never questioned their existence before, but i digress. as a child, i was an angry one; i was the stereotypical jealous, prideful child that would make parents shout out loud and pull at their hair with frustration. i could not understand who i was, why i existed, or even that my parents loved me, and when frustrated, i began hitting myself as a release for my anger, pent up energy that would get me in trouble. at least this way, i always reasoned, the energy was spent quickly, and no one was harmed but me. throughout this entire escapade, i became distant to all that knew me; my twin, whom i used to know everything about, share everything with, and connect so well to, was now as much a stranger to me as a friend who knew nothing of my family life.
only now, do i realize how much i tried to estrange myself in order to drown in my own personal pity party. i wanted to be a tortured soul, tragically misunderstood, like many antagonists in books. i wanted to be an artistic, complex piece of writing, like the one i am turning and caressing. slowly, i gather myself and take one last longing look at the volume, memorizing its beautiful spine with gold lettering, smooth, unblemished black covering, and rigid, rough edges before gently putting the book down on the dark, walnut wood of the floor. then, as though i were shrugging off something undesirable, i walk out of the room without a second glance back.
i could blame my brother; he showed me the allure of transcripts such as this. yet, i was the one to bring this obsession to an extreme, so i suppose that is not exactly truthful either. i could blame my father for his childhood exploration of drugs that set a precedent for my addiction, but in the end, i have no other culprit but myself. it all originated from the curiosity of an innocent elementary school student; i had no idea how quickly it would all accelerate out of control. we started reading in preschool, but it was not until elementary school that we started reading actual books. as always, my brother was the first to start a book; he was always the first to do anything. feeling pressured to match him event for event, i copied everything he did; i have always wanted to be the first for something – and finally, i was.
after a quick foray in picture books, it was not enough anymore. when i was six, i moved on to chapter books. sure, i read the usual chapter books given to younger people: junie b. jones, arthur, ready freddy, the magic tree house, and all of those books, but i always hungered for more. there was something about these books that was just unfulfilling; they were not long enough, intricate enough, or satisfying enough. yet, i withstood this limbo, for no one else had seemed to experience this problem; all i have ever wanted was to just be normal. as a result, when we were introduced to biographies in second grade, i glanced around, and upon noticing that everyone else chose picture books, i decided with a sigh that it was time to stop hiding from what i was and still am. i chose a chapter book, a 205 paged chapter book, which i finished within days.
staring at the manuscript that caused me to sever my familial bonds, i know that i have been foolish. in my pursuit to find the perfect novel that i could relate to, i lost my purpose for reading. for as long as i remember, i have been reading books to find out how the heroes and heroines have been able to be so successful, so loved. only now, as i stand in my empty living room, do i understand that it was all chance. that none of it could have happened in the fickle thing we call life, and as that nugget of information settles into my head, everything in the world shifts and clicks in place through one of those infamous eureka moments.
i knew then, during the picking of the biographies, that i was different from everyone else; no one else found solace in their books. no one else threw themselves upon book after book trying to find the reason for them existing; their reason for being was simply “i am unique” or “i am alive.” in fact, most of them probably have never questioned their existence before, but i digress. as a child, i was an angry one; i was the stereotypical jealous, prideful child that would make parents shout out loud and pull at their hair with frustration. i could not understand who i was, why i existed, or even that my parents loved me, and when frustrated, i began hitting myself as a release for my anger, pent up energy that would get me in trouble. at least this way, i always reasoned, the energy was spent quickly, and no one was harmed but me. throughout this entire escapade, i became distant to all that knew me; my twin, whom i used to know everything about, share everything with, and connect so well to, was now as much a stranger to me as a friend who knew nothing of my family life.
only now, do i realize how much i tried to estrange myself in order to drown in my own personal pity party. i wanted to be a tortured soul, tragically misunderstood, like many antagonists in books. i wanted to be an artistic, complex piece of writing, like the one i am turning and caressing. slowly, i gather myself and take one last longing look at the volume, memorizing its beautiful spine with gold lettering, smooth, unblemished black covering, and rigid, rough edges before gently putting the book down on the dark, walnut wood of the floor. then, as though i were shrugging off something undesirable, i walk out of the room without a second glance back.
prompts
[s1] "there’s been a break-in at your apartment. the robbers took everything—your couch, your clothes, your toilet paper—except for one odd item that they left right in the middle of your living room. this item, though meaningless to the police, is a clue that you recognize and it will lead you to the culprits. " (500 words or fewer) - writer's digest