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As a central theme of Consistency is the existence of time — ensuring that you are writing on a timely and daily basis — the theme of this month’s prompts will also be about time.
Today's prompt: [Twilight]
Definition: the time of day immediately following sunset; the soft glowing light from the sky when the sun is below the horizon, caused by the refraction and scattering of the sun's rays from the atmosphere.
╰┈➤ Write a piece set at twilight or inspired by this time of day.
Word Count: Minimum 50 words, no maximum.
I knew the Sphinx of the East, or any of the Sphinxes, hated electronics. They hate all the technological advancements humanity has made. In the old times, we were dependent on their race and their brethren, from sprites to witches, but now technology is its own god. Regardless, I hid a phone in my left sock, which was cloaked by my sari. Praying to all the gods who heed, I stepped into the grove.
One moment it was empty with a few night-blooming flowers but now, it looked like I was in a cave, lit by crystals and candles. It smelled of incense, candle wax and wet earth. In the center of the cave, was who I came for — The Sphinx of the East, Yalini.
“My favorite human descendant! I knew you would come in search of me. We have a lot to catch up on! Oh, and leave your phone on the pedestal with the red crystal. It matters not if you refuse my request, this grove is warded from that pest called technology. Take a seat here. By the way, I love your sari’s shade.” She had her eyes closed but seemed to know everything. Typical. She was in her human form, which was rare but I didn’t think too much of it.
“Grandmother… I am not here for useless chatter. I need to know something. Will you Read for me? Your answer will help save millions.” Buttering up to Sphinxes never worked. They would only Read if they wanted.
“You know, when the first king, your very great grandfather, came, he did exactly what you’re doing. But he was braver, when I refused, he threatened me. He attacked, I defended, he lost. But he was humble. I Read to him and he stayed the night. You know what happens after that. Also, I heard your daughter married a commoner clockmaker’s granddaughter. Give her my congratulations.” My very great grandmother was born and then the royal line went down, carrying a trickle of the Sphinx’s power. Glowing eyes, ethereal grace, Reading. “Anyway, tell me, Empress Bavani, what must I Read for you?”
“I’m sure you know about the Trade Road, from the southern beach to the northern ice mountains and all that. The Republic of Eelam has disrupted the trade flow, and now the taxes and export/imports are going through as they were. The royal treasury is being milked, and within a few years, it will be empty. Please Read and give me a solution. I am willing to pay the price.” Each of the four Sphinxes has a unique price. An emotion, gold, blood and Yalini works through memories.
“Very well. Give me your hand.” I place my palm on the table and she clasps it. I feel a surge of power rushing through my veins. “Lovely nail polish shade. The underground market still thrives. Use it for profit. After you think it’s enough, put that new idea from your accountant into mass production. It’s going to be flood season in Haagaram. The Emperor will depend on you to help him. People are going to rush into your country for refuge, don’t close the border. The Emperor is going to pay you handsomely. Within a few months, you'll be ruling the Trade Road.” The coolness of magic is suddenly expelled from my body. “Now, for the price.” She doesn’t let go of my hand.
Memories flash before my eyes. My daughter taking her first steps, the peace summit, my daughter’s wedding, my wedding, my coronation. Yalini lets go of my hand and gives me her feline smile. “Thank you. You should go now, you don’t want to be in a Sphinx’s cave at twilight. You’ll also not want to miss what’s happening at the royal palace now.”
A wave of unease rushes through me. I ran out of the cave’s mouth, grabbing my phone. What was she talking about?
Twilight. The time when monsters come out to play. Or, more specifically, vampires. Their reason for this? Because they don't want to sparkle. Or something. They don't actually know what the sun does to them but they don't intend to find out. They hunt for their prey in the dark, enamoring them and erasing their memory after nomming on their neck arteries. Well, not really. Arteries have always been troublesome, and the characteristic teeth marks would give away their presence quickly. And they can't enamore nor erase the memories of their prey, so they usually just use chloroform to kidnap them and perform a very safe blood transfusion (into a blood bag of course), then depositing the human to where they took it from. Really, viewing humans as objects is so old school too. The youngest generation isn't even separated from them. Pure blood is becoming just a myth, and the newly born great-grandchildren of one of the oldest vampires is only an 8th vampire, the rest is human. Probably. Oh, haven't I mentioned? Of course, vampires are not alone in their supernatural existence, they never were. And I'm not talking about werewolves. Any number and manner of things exist, more than you could ever think of. Have I managed to scare you yet? No? Okay… Well, I guess a literal monster that can eat the Earth in one gulp won't scare you either, so no point talking any longer.
"Escape Room" 765 words warning: graphic death The walls painted brown glow an orange color under the sunlight that peaks through the small gaps of the gray curtains. It’s silent save for the constant tick of the wall clock and the clicking of heels echoing throughout the room. The long arrow points at a woman at the corner rummaging through the wooden bookshelves one by one, throwing away the books to the couch and ground as she searches one shelf to another, emptying the shelves with every minute that passes until there’s nothing left to search for.
Panicked breath and shaking hands move across the room as the room begins to dim. The sun begins to sink into the horizon and the woman walks towards the coffee table across the fireplace to rummages through the books on the floor once more.
One more clue, she needs one more clue and she can escape.
At the sound of clicking, she jumps in shock, and from one of the cabinets on the wall across her she spots a typewriter type on its own. Her eyes widened in disbelief. At the fresh ink written on paper, she feels the hairs on her neck stand up in fear.
‘Time’s up.’
The once golden sky outside the window fades into blue and another click resounds from outside the room. Suddenly, the wall on her right begins to move slowly towards her. Blood rushes to her head. In panic, she reaches for the door and frantically turns the knobs with every ounce of strength in her body. She tries - no budge - and tries again for another hundred times until she's crying and screaming and banging the doors with her fists.
“Let me out!” She screams with a strained voice into the door. “Let me fucking out, goddamnit!”
The furniture on the moving wall falls to the ground and the sound of wood breaking causes her to scream and run away. It begins to cover the door - the air in her lungs and all of her hope for escape vanishes into the night.
‘There’s no way out.’
She turns back to the window catching her breath and tries to break it with her hands but it leaves not even a scratch from her worn-out gloves. She tries the broken leg of the chair, hitting the glass with its foot but it bounces and hits the moving wall and nearly hits her head.
“God fucking damnit!” She shouts in between ragged breaths as her body gives in to the stress, her knees falling into the cushions. “Let me out, goddamnit!” She screams, tears running down her face, and hits the windows with all her might one more time before letting her arms drop in defeat. She lets her body fall against the pane.
One last time, she looks around the room for the hundredth time and it is only under the moonlight that a flash of gold blinks at her from the firewood across her. Her breath hitches. The key!
She hurriedly runs to the fireplace but she trips and falls from the books and ornaments on the floor. A large object falls loudly against her leg, making her scream louder from the pain. She watches helplessly as the heavy weight of the sofa chair digs into her shins, the pain sending a wave of shock throughout her limbs. Another wave of tears fall from her eyes as she repeatedly kicks the broken chair away from her foot, screaming from shock of pain in her legs. The pain causes her to limp and fall as she tries to stand up again and another scream escapes her mouth as the coffee table’s legs hit her arms. The wall shows no signs of stopping as it pushes her to the other side, suffocating her between the broken furniture and books.
The sudden stab on her lungs causes her to gasp and cough out blood. She’s barely able to look down to see the wall lamps fallen and stuck against her torso, the sight of blood making her dizzy and slowly losing consciousness. She doesn't have time to scream before the broken glass of the coffee table pierces her head and cheeks, causing her sight to blur and face to go numb.
On her last breath, she takes one last glance at the dark sky outside the windows. The scene is artificial - she wishes she had known sooner - but the sight reminds her of the hope of escape. As the sun sets, her life bleeds into twilight. The agonizing pain of broken furniture stabbing onto her body is the last thing she feels before she finally stops thinking.
The haze of the golden-purple twilight gave the fields and trees a dusting of glowing color, the rest masked in shadow. He sat on the porch, sipping from a tall glass of iced tea after a long day’s work, watching the sky gradually darken into shadow.
He could still hear the war going on. The sirens in the distance, the explosions, and he knew if he was just a few meters closer to town he should be finding shelter from the bombs. But he was right outside of the zone, and no one cared if he died anyways, so he would much rather sit there and watch the explosions rattle the windows of the house, and pretend that they were fireworks on a day of celebration.
Man, if he died now, he wouldn’t have to work tomorrow…
Uhhhh- bad poetry cuz i can ☺️
The sun sets behind the giants that surround me
scattering its dimming remnants across the forest below;
a moment so enthralling yet so short-lived
it’s gone before I can cherish it so.
Much like my time with you, little flower,
beautiful while you last, like that after sunset twilight glow.
But you too part from me so unexpectedly
leaving behind only darkness when you’re gone.
WC: 65
(( ALMOST MISSED THIS actual fear))
It's a beautiful night, isn't it? The night sky is truly nothing short of awe inspiring, especially at the hours of dawn and dusk, when the sky walks a thin line between the light and the darkness. There's definitely a scientific explanation somewhere out there for why the light scatters as it does after the sun has already set in one's view, but Bee isn't here for science. They're here for a good picture. They hold the camera up with the steady hands of a professional, focusing in on the way the clouds are spread above with this beautiful hue. They're at a lack for any more impressive words to describe it. Bee takes the picture, waits a moment, and breaks out into a grin. The perfect shot is hard to attain, but patience -- or, as some would argue, luck -- is well rewarded.
Word count: 151 🌠
rough day + pretty sky = this
“Where are you going?!”
“Meteor shower!”
Ildor ran out the back door of their shop and turned west towards one of the city’s exit gates. There shouldn’t have been any need to rush for him of all people, but excitement pounded in his veins. He wouldn’t be alone tonight.
Off the pavement and into the grass. Across the grass and over the river. From the river and to the cliffside. The route came as naturally as breathing.
His friend sat at the cliff’s edge, their silhouette picked out by the twilight.
Ildor stopped to admire for a moment. The way the colours of the sun clung to the horizon, the way they faded up to the half-darkness of the rest of the sky, the way the light cast itself across the sea. It was nothing short of stunning.
“Wiz, you coming?”
He smiled. The meteors were on their way.
“Of course.”
Sun neither rose nor fell
Day and Night in the same shell
Curious the people walked out of the trenches
Staring at the sky locked in red
Then the order a week later
Fight, make red spill in the shelter
Twilight was only for celestials to behold
Peace was only a paradise foretold
WC: 137
This is the story of three,
then two, then free.
Off expectations,
on with the impression
it was too late to say goodbye,
to mend the bond and wait
another night,
after the twilight.
Thinking about the time
we spent together
Fantasizing a future
we don’t have.
I watched your eyes go dim
With every call that couldn’t reach
And my heart was tired of the pain
Time and time again.
Time and time again.
The last flower in the pond
with another friend, another soul
a love she couldn’t correspond
so old and alone.
The last flower in the pond
eyes shut, heart down
Can’t you see I’m not around?
Please, flower of my love
scream for me
cry for me
Tell me I’m not the only one
watching on the pond
with a broken heart.
The sun retires,
A new world emerges.
The sky lights up in hues of fire,
Right before in darkness it submerges.
Meet me at this time of twilight,
When waning moon and infant stars await,
Love, take my hand,
Let me lead you to the sunset’s land.
Let us stay up till midnight,
Watching the stars, with you beside.
Telling stories yet to be told,
Forgetting our scars of old. [WC: 70]
Word Count: 1,857 words (I don't know what came over me lol I'm not even gonna proofread this)
Deinna watches by the windows of her room, hiding by her silver drapes as if it were still possible to hide. The kingdom is surrounded. Her people hide in the darkness of their homes for a last, desperate rest. From here, she can see the armies of Alsokrato beyond the gates. Light from torch flames and energy lamps blend into the sky as it bleeds gold into night. The fading crown of the sun glimmers, as if taking its last breath, before it sinks into the horizon.
She waits. When the sky is purple darkness and coated in golden blood is when he usually slips into her room, if his schedule permits. And since the armies have fallen…
Her door opens. Deinna would not have known if she wasn’t listening. Andorias slips into her room like a shadow in the night; if this day were any other day, she would’ve been delighted.
She speaks before he can. "The world ends tomorrow."
With graceful haste, he takes her hand. "It doesn't have to."
"Commander, the kingdom is doomed," Deinna asserts, though as her voice almost breaks, she curses herself for losing her composure early, too early. She shakes her head and turns away, but he holds her hand firmly. Reaching for her arm, he brings her to face him again.
His eyes flash with resolve. "The kingdom is, but our world doesn't have to."
Frowning, Deinna decides not to reply and studies his face. "You have a plan, then, if I understand your words correctly."
"Yes."
"And what is it?"
"We run away."
Deinna looks away. "I cannot leave my people, Andorias."
"They will kill you."
"I am prepared to die for my people."
"And what if the kingdom falls before then? What did you die for?” Deinna bites her lips, but she knows he noticed her pause. Gently, his fingers touch her chin and she finds herself leaning, as always, to his touch. “Which people did you die for?"
No one, there would be no one to die for, not anymore, she thinks. She doesn’t trust her eyes to not betray her thoughts, so she turns to the skies. "You're not making sense. This is my duty. I cannot run away."
His tone softens. "It wasn't your duty. Rubella was—"
Her composure wilts further at the mention of her sister. "Yes, but my sister is dead! Both of them are—" she stops herself, images of death and insanity flashing across her mind.
Andorias cradles her cheek and instantly her eyes find solace in his and her thoughts quiet down. With his other hand, he wipes the tears she didn’t even notice. "If the coronation doesn't happen tomorrow, there is no crown or duty you have to uphold."
Deinna wants to believe him, but she cannot. "I am still a princess," she says with as much will as she can muster, daring herself to stare into his eyes.
His resolve does not seem to waver. Frowning, his fingers dance along her cheeks as he continues in a solemn tone. "Deinna, I am the First Commander of the Knight Order. I, too, have a duty to protect the kingdom and the royal family.”
Deinna can sense the regret and silent anger stewing in his words, but stays silent in awe as he collects himself.
“But our kingdom has fallen, betrayed by the dregs, the nobles.” His eyes flash with a fierceness she both feared and loved. “My men have almost all been killed. There are barely enough left to form a squadron.”
This she knows. And her heart longs to comfort him, but her arms hang frozen. Andorias pauses, as if gathering more courage to speak. Deinna knows, though, that he is only giving her time to think.
His next words spear through her heart. “A commander without anyone to command is nothing but a soldier. And as a soldier, if I am unable to protect the kingdom, the city, or the royal family anymore, I at least want to protect you."
This time, she can’t stop her voice from breaking. "But Andorias, I…" She doesn’t know what to say, but she tries. “I can’t make you—”
"Deinna, if you survive, our kingdom can still live. You will be the kingdom's legacy and,” he pauses and Deinna watches a dream form in the flicker of his eyes, “we will build our own Agarbreille."
Deinna doesn’t doubt he can, and a mix of relief, wonder, and pride surges up within her at the thought of him including her. Andorias, though at times arrogant, has always been powerful enough to rule his own country. A powerful Ability and armed with connections, charm, wit, and wealth—he has them in the palm of one hand yet spares his other always to reach out to her. Deinna sometimes fears what happens if he weren’t so loyal in serving the crown.
He is quiet, and she realizes he’s waiting for her. Glancing away, she thinks of something, anything, an excuse— “And what of Regus?"
He scoffs. Deinna swears he almost rolls his eyes. "Leave him be. He never deserved you."
"But we are bound legally in marriage."
"You won't have to be anymore. Come with me."
"If I don't, what would you do?"
She prides herself in the ability to make him pause. Andorias runs his fingers across her cheeks once more as he thinks. Yet this doesn’t last very long; he reaches for both of her hands, bringing them up to the small space between them. "I envision a city that would rule for longer than this city we stand on. It would be more powerful than this, for I have friends that can help make it happen.” His eyes soften and Deinna braces herself for his next words. “But all of that is nothing if I don't have you."
Her vision blurs and her throat clams up. "At least save yourself, Andorias."
"No."
"Leave me."
"Deinna—"
"I'm sure you can build a city that would shine bright like the sun.” This time, she speaks with clarity, knowing fully in her heart she means what she says— knows in her heart the words she always wanted to say. “I know you, and you can. You would build a city that would never set, unlike our city. But I cannot be with you there."
She thinks of clearer skies and tinkling laughter, of childhoods spent under azure skies. She thinks of summers with her sisters as they snuck off from parties to hide by the oldest willow tree. She thinks of meeting a young, tall boy who wandered into her mother’s garden.
And as her chest swells with resolve and grief, she thinks of winters spent in secret with him, as she curled up beside him in the small snow cave they built. She thinks, she yearns, for innocent jokes, childish hopes, and stolen kisses.
She longs for the better days—her best days—and mourns for the loss of everything she lived for.
"...you're really staying." His voice, at last, seems to break.
"Yes." Her voice, this time, doesn’t waver.
"You have a death wish."
"It is my duty."
His eyes search hers, as if not believing everything he can see from them. "But you clearly don't want to die."
"Who does?"
He holds her cheeks like a lifeline. His eyes glisten and Deinna realizes, for the first time, how desperation looks heartbreaking on him. “I don't want you to die."
"I don't want you to die either,” she says, truth and conviction all in her words. She feels as if she’s glass treading on melting stones, yet she presses on. “But you can still go, while I cannot. Go and live, Andorias."
"...what can I do to change your mind?"
"You cannot." And if her words seem cold, so be it.
"Princess."
Deinna closes her eyes and pushes him away. She is surprised that he let her, but decides not to ponder. She might waver then. "Go." She turns away.
"Deinna, please—"
Clenching her fists, she slowly, painfully, turns her head to meet his gaze. "This is an order, Andorias." And if her words slightly tremble even as she wants it to be firm, she surges on.
"Listen, you can't do this."
"I can and I'm doing it."
Andorias steps back, yet holds his gaze. Pleading. If her heart can still break any further, it would be crushed thoroughly now; to think this might be the last image of him burned into her mind shackles her in terrible, terrible regret.
So she turns away.
Outside, the city gates seem to burn in the light of the armies beyond; the people lie in silence as they await what may be their final day.
"Farewell, Andorias."
Silence blankets her room and blends into the night. Deinna watches her city, her people, trying to imprint every inch into her memory. Among her people, she searches for a reason to fight tomorrow, a reason to face the generals that would command her death. If she is to face tomorrow alone, she’ll need a hundred reasons to feed her remaining strength.
"This is not the end, my princess." Deinna almost flinches at his voice. The silence in her room makes her think he had once again slipped away, as noiseless as he slithered in.
She tilts her head slightly to glimpse him by the door. His hand grips the door tightly. For a moment he does not turn around and neither says another word. Yet before the clock chimes to the eighteenth hour, he speaks again. "Mark my words. I'm taking you with me."
The princess laughs, hollowly, and leans unto her window. Letting the evening breeze in through the silver drapes, she mutters, "I look forward to your valiant attempts then, my favorite knight." Yet she knows in her heart not to hope.
Andorias opens the door. He turns back, his eyes steel with a resolute gaze. Deinna gazes back, firm, but as his features soften in a somber, longing smile, her heart clenches and she looks away.
"See you tomorrow," he says.
She doesn't say anything in return, too much of a coward to. Still, as the seconds tick past, Deinna wills the last of her dwindling strength to turn back to him, readying her lips for what would have been her last words to him.
But he closes the door without a sound, as he always does, slipping away without anyone's notice.
And all her glass courage and resolve shatters into forgotten dust. Sinking to the floor, Deinna's heart breaks and all her dread and love and fear pours out in her cries and tears.
Goodbye, Andorias, my love, my sun.
Behind the door, Andorias listens to the broken cries of his princess. He doesn't know how long he stayed there, but as he hears the light footsteps of the princess's handmaidens about to turn at the end of the corridor, he steps away, making sure to keep his steps light.
Princess, I promise you, he thinks, resolutely, as he holds his eyes level, towards the horizon and the multitude of armies. Tomorrow will not be the end.
She loved this time of day. The sky was tinged in purples, reds and oranges as twilight descended upon the little town. As the sun had just dipped past the horizon, the streetlights began to flicker to life and headlights turned on to ward off the encroaching darkness. There were strange benefits to towns like these. She supposed this was one of them; the sky was clear of the unruly smog that dominated most cityscapes. It never seemed to last long, and she wanted to savor the view while she could, so she sat carefully in the grass around her. Leaning back until she was laying down in it instead, she let her eyes focus on the sky again and watch as the colors faded to nothingness.
Twilight has always been the great equaliser. The time when the ones who are powerful when the sun is up become powerless for the night, and the time when the ones who are powerful when it’s dark are still powerless. The time when both Sun-Powered and Dark-Powered individuals are vulnerably defenceless.
Once upon a time, there were Twilight-Powered people. But they had been wiped out twenty years ago, by an army, before they grew too much in number.
I had been in that army.
When I killed that woman, I never should’ve let her child escape. I could’ve caught up to the little boy and taken his life, easily. That’s what the army wanted, extinction. But who could kill a child?
And since, I haven’t ever regretted letting him live. I know that no other soldier took him out; the child had run out the back door of a cottage hidden in the trees, and I was the only soldier to have entered it. Me and my small grouping only discovered it because we were searching for a stream, and they trusted I could handle it.
It’s been a long time since then, and now I’m living on my own on the outskirts of town. I’m sitting on a wicker chair on the front porch, drinking a beer and thinking of all the things I regret doing—which is a lot. I regret ever fighting in that army and killing all those innocent people. But what can you do when you’ve been drafted, right?
The least I could’ve done, I think as I often do, was spare that family in the cottage. No one would’ve known if I hadn’t slaughtered the family. I could’ve said nobody was inside.
A young man walks the road in front of my house. He smiles as he spots me and starts to come toward me.
“Hello,” I greet him. I offer him a beer as he sits next to me on an identical wicker chair.
“No, thanks. I better get this over with quickly.”
I take a deep breath. Somehow, I know who he is and what he’s here to do. And I’m glad; it’s time to be punished for my actions.
“While it’s still twilight, right?” He nods. “...I’ll stand up, it’ll be better that way.”
I do, and he follows suit.
“Keith Abernathy, you killed my mother, and now I, Mateo Santiago, am going to kill you.”
Dark-Powered people can have the dark consume you, and Sun-Powered people can have the light consume you. The interesting thing about the Twilight-Powered is that they do both: I become my shadow…
…and then I disappear as the light washes over me.
The first time I really understood the meaning of the word twilight was when I look at my mother's eyes.
I was seven, and my eighth year was only days beyond me. She sat on the couch and took my hand, "What do you want to do on Saturday?"
Soon a rollercoaster sped through the chains of my thoughts, leaving no time to be caught or remembered.
"Carnival," I remembered the word much after I forgot it, "I wanna go to the carnival."
She smiled at me, but then the ground began to shake, and her joy became a look of horror as she carried me in her arms. We made for the kitchen just behind us, and she tucked me underneath the table before letting herself sit down beside me.
I don't think I was terrified of the earthquake, only for how scared Mom was. Just a minute ago, things were completely different. Still, she held me in her arms, holding back choking sobs as she smiled at me, again. An act of bravery to unfrighten me, or herself.
She moved a little farther away from me, looking for something on my face, her own shining in the light of the newly set sun, and newly risen moon. Her eyes twinkled brighter than any of the constellations my teacher had taught me about, a realm of stars in the deep set eyes that now crinkled as she pulled me into a hug.
After the last second of our embrace, her twilight eyes had become shining galaxies.
[WC: 257]
Trusting You
Word Count: 1k
Summary:
Zenkichi wondered if Akira trusted him.
Akira was uncertain if he could do so.
The sun was setting beyond Okinawa’s shores.
The laughter of the teens echoed below Zenkichi, as they gathered and prepared what they needed for a barbecue dinner. As well as curry, he couldn’t imagine what half of the group would think if their staple food from home wasn’t included.
Many of the locals had long left the seashore, and took refuge in the surrounding homes for their own dinners. It left the beach to themselves. Frankly, Zenkichi couldn’t find anything wrong with it. They were only going to be there until the following day, he couldn't trouble the locals any more than they did throughout the afternoon.
Zenkichi leaned against the railing, and watched the sun lower into the waters. The van the teens used was behind him, securely locked and the keys lightly rattling in his pocket.
He had a lot on his mind, many things he preferred not to think about. When he had traveled to Shibuya to initially talk to his case’s person of interest, his intentions were simple. He was by the book; locating the teen, being discreet to not let his plans reveal themselves, gaining the teen’s trust, and gathering information from him. And for the most part, he had been easy to dismiss the teen’s visible distrust, and the nonsense he shared with him.
However, a lot had changed since the few hours in Shibuya.
He was shown worlds and concepts beyond his comprehension. He got roped up in aiding the teen and his friends with minor crimes; breaking and entering, mostly. He managed to see how naive the teens truly were, how almost innocent they seem compared to the world around them. And after the teens had a glimpse into his personal life in Kyoto, they all ended up in Okinawa on the next stage of their shared investigation.
And in their journey throughout Japan, Zenkichi found himself attached to the teens. They all had lots to experience, and they never hesitated to insist he join in on their fun. He almost forgot how old he was whenever he was with them.
Although it was still hard to believe the second lives all of them have, he couldn’t fault any of them for it. He began to understand them, and they did the same with him. Maybe if fate allowed them to, they would all have gotten a proper vacation together.
Zenkichi glanced at the teens on the sand, who playfully did their best to set a table. One of them turned towards him, the teen that gained the interest of the police force once more. But before their gazes met, the Inspection looked up towards the sky, the orange and yellows blending over the blue waters.
He stared into the distance as the light beyond the horizon bit by bit disappeared.
“Hey,” a voice called for Zenkichi’s attention.
The Inspector turned, and met obsidian eyes. He sighed, pulling himself away from the railing to face the teen.
“Akira,” he greeted with a small smile, “shouldn’t you be with your friends? They look like they’re about to start without you.”
“I insisted they start without me,” the teen shrugged. “How about you? Aren’t you hungry?”
“Not really, kid. Being a cop meant meals are luxuries.”
Akira took a step closer, despite his body tensing at the reminder of Zenkichi’s occupation. He couldn’t ease the tension in his body whenever they were alone. He was always prepared to run, or put his hands in front of him, even when he wished he didn't do it out of reflex.
He watched as Zenkichi turned his gaze back to the sunset.
It's pretty, was the thought that he left unspoken.
Akira wanted to ask Zenkichi one of his dreaded questions, to see if he was unlike the other people of the police force. But his chest tightened. It was a strange sadness to know he may not get his answer because his body wanted to wait it out.
“Do you trust me, Akira?”
Zenkichi’s gentle voice interrupted his thoughts. It caught him off guard a little, snapping his head from the horizon to cast the older man a wary gaze.
Zenkichi’s words were spoken softly, and he almost would have missed it if it wasn't for the silence between them. Almost.
Akira studied the Inspector’s face as he still stared at the horizon. Zenkichi’s eyes took on a summer twilight gray, tranquil as the sleeping sea. He then noticed the dark circles under Zenkichi’s eyes, and the solemn look on his face as he took a deep breath.
Zenkichi continued, “I don’t know what happened to you those months ago. None of my superiors, or old files, mentioned anything. But every time I look at you, I can tell something did happen.” He glanced at the teen, only to see confusion and nervousness on his features.
It looked as if he was wincing from the long lingering effects of his past.
Akira crossed his arms over his chest. He took a step back, and the distance between him and Zenkichi grew. He didn’t know if he could trust Zenkichi. He couldn’t risk being vulnerable enough for his soul to be torn down again, torn and smothered.
Yet, there was another part of him that wanted to fall apart, and show the Inspector all the broken pieces of his heart. He still craved that comfort, of someone other than himself knowing and understanding what he went through in that damn interrogation room.
Despite his doubts, he parted his lips to answer.
“I do trust you, Zenkichi.”
Zenkichi smiled at him, “Then I’ll continue to trust you, kid.” He glanced down at the other teens, and nodded his head towards them. “Looks like they got the barbecue done. Come on, kid, let’s go eat before they get everything.”
Akira watched Zenkichi walk a few steps ahead, surprised by his response. Even though he knew words could only prove so much, he smiled. He took a moment to capture the moment to remember, to feed his hope that he can finally confide in someone what still made him damaged. He then went to join Zenkichi and his friends with dinner.
A light summer breeze tickled his feet. The air was faint with roses, and the sea lay like a mist.
Akira wished moments like that were longer, but he was content with the joy in the twilight.
WC: probably more than 50
As the last few rays of the day's dying sun cowered behind the shadow of a large office building, the deep blue sky plunged the city around me into darkness. As if conforming with the cold colors of the twilight firmament, a chilly breeze danced down the busy city streets, only to be choked out by the exhaust fumes of a nearby taxi cab. The intense growls of varying car engines drowned out the cooing of the busy pigeons pecking at the remains of a leftover moldy sandwich on the side of the pavement.
A stoplight at the corner began to beam a bright red, and every vehicle stopped in its tracks to allow a young pedestrian to cross the street. The young man stuffed his hands into his olive-green coat jacket, dropping a Polaroid photo in the process. The young man's breath condensed in a small cloud of steam as soon as the frustrated sigh left his lips. He bent down to pick it up, but the stoplight behind him changed colors to a blinding green, and the drivers, hurried and frustrated, wasted no time recriminating him for his clumsiness in the only manner they knew how.
The young man huffed and gave the driver in front of him a dirty look. Nevertheless, he stepped out of the way without making any more of a fuss. “Asshole,” he muttered under his breath. He spat out a wad of chewed-up spearmint gum against the drain on the edge of the sidewalk before fishing out the photo he had dropped from his coat pocket. The amber light of the old streetlight above him dulled out the colors of the old Polaroid even further, but his memories did a good enough job filling in the blanks.
"I really should have framed this," he told himself. "Maybe then it wouldn't have gotten so dirty." He brushed off a few specks of dirt that had gotten onto the picture earlier and took one last good look at the girl in the picture before stuffing it back into his coat and continuing his aimless wanders around the streetlit city.
Twilight
I tread softly over the shadowy grass, soft but already dewy beneath my feet, the dark and the cold fast approaching. I walked through middle ground; the world smothered in gray whilst the sky was ablaze with streaks of orange and red, the last act of the day before the curtains drawn. The immeasurable peace was all I could fathom as I continued trailing across the dewy field; I felt at peace even though I was so lonely. I’m sure only hours ago, when the day ruled, people were everywhere in the woods, the fields and in the streets. Personally, though, I enjoy this time when the last dregs of sun are washed over the horizon.
Sighing, I slackened my pace; the world growing darker and ever still, the last of the birds finishing their songs before flying off to roost for the night. I reached the edge of the woods and my eyes met a familiar stone that stuck out from the earth and I sighed, tracing my finger over the smooth surface. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and lay down nestling into the long grass, resting my bones in the shadows. The last thought before I slept being how lonely it was to be a ghost that wandered all alone in the twilight.
Word Count: 224
She knew it was twilight even though she couldn't see it. And she knew it was as beautiful as ever, the waves glittering with the warm colours and the sun dropping in the horizon. Everything like a watercolor painting.
The sand stuck to her face and body, grounding her. The woman remembered how it all used to be, how when she was young she would run and jump the waves with her friends.
A seagull cried in the distance, fitting perfectly with the image conjured in her mind.
A young child sat beside the elderly woman. Both of them looked at the waters, but while the woman reminisced, the child thought of breakfast.
"Grandma, are we going back home soon? I'm hungry!" The child exclaimed and gripped her own stomach, making growling noises and acting out a turmoil on her belly. Grandma chuckled.
"Alright. Let's go."
The child helped her up ang guided her through the sand until they hit the pavement and the woman could use her cane. Soon, they got home and were greeted by the child's mother. They all sat around the table and ate. Three generations together, talking and laughing.
And this is how I’ll leave this story. With what the Grandmother thought as she looked on at her daughter and granddaughter. This is all I could ever ask for.
(SO I totally posted this on the wrong day because I was looking at today's date and not yesterday's BUT this was entered on time if you include that post.) Wolves howled a mournful song as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the forest in a blanket of soft blues and purples. I could hear them fan out beneath me, paws padding on the leaf-littered ground, snarling and yipping in excitement. They’d caught the scent of blood, and I was glad it was not mine.
One by one, stars appeared in the canvas, beginning drops painting the mural that I would get to admire all evening. I looked up, feathers ruffling as the chill of twilight settled over my high pine branch, whistling through the needles.
I did not miss the sun. The sun hurt my eyes, revealed me to my prey, and overall was better to skip entirely. After all, I was a creature of the night. Rolling my shoulders and flapping my wings, I took out in the opposite way of the wolves, not willing to cross paths with them tonight. Even though I could escape them in any high branch, it would not do well for them to have my scent. The moon, which had been shyly hanging in the sky since before the sun went down was gaining her strength as the light on the horizon faded, the last vestiges of the day maiden before she lay down for sleep.
This was my favorite time, just after waking, when most of the forest was settling into nestle and burrow and den, I had the wind on my back, the thrill of the hunt in my bones, and the sparkling tapestry above me to light my way to breakfast.