To have your challenge entry recorded, please write your piece as a reply to this thread.
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: [Ancient]
Definition: belonging to a very distant past time and no longer in existence.
╰┈➤ Write a piece that explores this concept.
Word Count: Minimum 300 words, no maximum.
Kinda scary that I'm the first entry....
◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤
Remnants of a world long lost to time towered over the pair as they made their way across the ancient city spread across the gargantuan cave. Cracks lined the walls of the half broken buildings like lightning on a stormy sky, threatening to collapse at any moment, which likely occurred at least a couple of times judging by the debris that littered the ground where they walked, shifting under their feet with every step.
The structures seemed to be an amalgamation of various different architectural styles while not committing fully to any single one. Tall pillars held up fallen roofs, walls scaled up in a wide stair-like fashion, while intricate carvings of a lost dialect adorned the walls.
For the first time in their journey here, Tae put his book away, his attention focused solely on the ancient city his companion had led him into.
“What is this place…” he whispered quietly, mostly to himself. “Some, some sort of… Egyptian, no– Greek– no, not that either… Aztec, but we’re too far.” he brushed his fingers lightly over the wall’s surface, trying to identify the carvings, but they weren’t like anything he’d studied in his history books nor seen in any timeline he travelled to. “How do you know of this place…?” he asked.
Galena watched him carefully, inspecting his movements with an unchanging expression, giving no indication of anything at all as he turned to her with a look of surprise and intrigue, his eyes scanning through her features trying to find any reaction at all, but he got none. She simply continued down the abandoned street, walking in silence through the labyrinth of the ghost city until she came to a long and wide stone staircase, quietly making her way up with Tae lagging behind just long enough to take in his surroundings.
An echoing silence greeted them as they stepped into the temple at the top of the stairs which unlike all the other buildings was in a far worse state. The ceiling had mostly collapsed with a tall opening at the top giving way to the starry sky above them, allowing for the moonlight to illuminate the space just enough for the slightest bit of greenery to grow in the area.
The walls and floors were littered in cracks like a shattered plate pieced back together with tar rendering the carvings on the wall useless to decipher. But unlike anything they had found in their travels through the city, the temple held some strange looking machinery, similar to things Tae had grown up with only, ancient.
In the core middle of the room was a black mark on the floor, spreading its dark veins across the stone surface before coming to an abrupt halt. Galena stood beside the black space, staring down at it as if everything she lost was contained in that burnt piece of stone.
Hesitantly, Tae made his way over, clutching his backpack tight as he looked from his companion to the ground. “What is it?”
“My curse” she whispered quietly, her voice carrying across the vast room and returning right back to mock her. She crouched down, placing a hand gently on the burnt floor. “Don’t you remember…?” she asked.
“Remember?” Tae repeated, taking a look at his surroundings. “Remember what? This?”
Galena sighed heavily, standing upright once again. “I know. I’ve repressed the memory as well… It took a lot to come back here at first, but– It’s home.”
“Home?” Tae asked, brow furrowed. With every passing moment in this long lost city, the mystery of his companion grew. Instead of getting answers, he got more questions; things he never wondered about suddenly wouldn’t leave his mind. Who was Galena?
She scoffed. “Our home isn’t with them. No matter how much we might try to fit in with these humans… we’re not like them. We’ve seen things, done things, been things that they could never even imagine.” she gestured to the room but her arm quickly fell limp on her side, mimicking the defeat on her face. “I didn’t think anyone else survived… Until I met you” she turned to look at him and though she wore the same deadpan expression that she always did, a faint glimmer of hope resided in her eyes.
Tae stared at her, wide eyed and speechless. “Gal… I…”
“You don’t have to say anything” she shook her head, her voice softening. “I know how difficult it must be to come back here… after everything we lost” she took a step towards him, reaching for his hand only for him to step back.
“I don’t think I’m what you think I am” he quickly blurted out, holding his hands in front of himself to set some distance between them.
Gal frowned, her eyes narrowing into that cold glare as she looked him up and down once again. “But… you’re like me…?”
All Tae managed was a quiet awkward laugh as he took another step away from the woman in front of him. “Uhh… no? No, not really.”
“Then what are you?!” Galena snapped, teeth gritted in frustration, her hands balled into fists. The glint in her eye vanished, leaving only dim voids in its wake as she stared Tae down.
“I… I’m from the future!” and with that he ran off.
WC: 884
What is old is foisted around as ancient, what is ancient is buried or turned to dust. Too bad our modern magic relies on ancient materials.
Well, "turned to dust" wasn't accurate, just a generalization of the inherent destructive process. We excavators were drilling for ancient ice, buried under new ice that layered on top. This ice has not been exposed to the grinding of time, and probably will net quite a sum. To force our way downwards, we first heat a few hundred fireballs deep, then, if no accidents happened, we carefully excavate the rest with a pickaxe. At that point, the ice is perhaps 300 years old, and thus quite prone to disturbations from our mana. In case you ever wondered why you are not allowed to cast mana in the centre, this is one reason. The other reason, of course, was so the guards can identify attackers. But I digress.
Point is: The ice is ancient. And probably worth more than gold.
Beyond 500 fireballs there are too many problems to dig deeper. Even if the "only" hazard is ice, most intrinsic warming spells can't handle temperatures that cold, and any spells cast will result in a disruption, making this job rather unattractive to most people. Any that do have the ability to venture deeper make more money contracted to the state or the powers. I can handle 450 fireballs deep, and mostly pick out tier seven artifacts.
So, we have a somewhat steady supply of tier five to eight ancients. Tier eight of course is the most expensive. You can't judge the depth of an ice block just from the exposed surface, and eventually the hole is too large and taking more risks results in a cave-in. We seal up the hole with coloured water, and seal the surface. This is so that if we dig in the area again, we don't mistake it with fake ancient ice.
Typically, I will go deep into nirvana for three months, then take a three month vacation while my company looks for the next ice hole to burrow into.
The cold doesn't bother me, I have a dualcore fire ice, it's mostly the monotony that really eats away at me. No matter where you look, it's ice ice ice. At least the ice pays well.
And who is there to complain when I take some of the ice for my personal projects?
One of my projects was a fire golem. Cold fire. It's a surprising hit in Ashmael, turns out deserts are too hot even for fire dragons. I suppose some of them wanted friends over without them burning up. Can totally relate, and also makes for a cool look when they enter the place on fire.
Another is a convenience machine. I sent it to a friend I know, and he repurposed it a little. So, instead of just making coffee and cooling leftovers, he now has an ice golem.
Perhaps the golem could massage my shoulders? I should ask him to make one for me, I could use them down below. It sure would break up the monotony a bit, for the moments where I am too exhausted to safely move. And who is to say that I can't fiddle around with it myself? I don't know most golem stuff, but I can always make tools for it. Why don't more excavators—
Oh, I forgot.
It would interfere with the ancient ice. Drats.
Guess my personal golem is vacation purposes only.
The cliff-side was his favorite place to rest now.
There he sat, the cold breeze ruffling his dark hair and clothes. But he seemed comfortable to any passerby, like he was merely lounging on a park bench or the front step of a store, perhaps taking a break from work. There was peace in his eyes, contentment, that was it, that was what struck others so, it was the incredible peace and calm that surrounded him.
“Dear, don’t climb over the railing.” The child’s mother tried to warn him, so the boy merely leaned against the worn metal guardrails, watching the strange man on the edge of the canyon.
“What are you doing there, mister?”
“Watching the birds fly,” the man replied, the ravens swooping down amongst the red rocks. There was rustling in the dry bushes nearby, and a rabbit hopped out, and nibbled the man’s finger. “Are you here to sight-see?”
“Yeah.” The boy looked to see where his parents had gone, and they were still in view, taking pictures further down the road. “Aren’t you scared of falling?”
“Falling?” The man glanced down. “Well, I suppose it would be very scary.”
“Isn’t it dangerous? To be sitting there?”
“Well, I guess I simply won’t fall.”
“Are you here to sight-see as well?”
“To see the sights, yes. But mainly to be with my thoughts for a little bit. Or a long while.”
“Wow…” the boy breathed, eyes full of admiration. “I wonder what that’s like.”
“You’re free to join me anytime, if you wish.” The man patted the ground next to him. “I’ll catch you if you fall.”
The boy laughed, but knew his mother would never permit it. “I gotta go now. My parents are calling me.”
The man raised a hand, giving him a smile. “Well, I suppose you’ll have an interesting story to tell your grand-kids one day.”
“Tell them what?”
“That you met an Ancient One.” And there was a chuckle, and the man returned to his view from the ledge.
Merllivan opened up the box coated with sand after he set it down in the floor. "They found this in the latest expedition....huh." He found several scrolls, sealed tightly. "Oh? Interesting." He grabbed them and brought them all to his table, setting them down gently as he took away all the other items that were on it. "Finally, something!" He smiled in joy, placing the now empty and worn out box in a corner as he stood up to one of the shelves, finding space for the scrolls. "Considering how old it looks, it must've been hidden for several hundreds of years! Wood like that doesn't get worn out that fast."
He sat down and unsealed them, opening them gently as to not accidentally damage the paper. There were several letters, or characters that he couldn't understand. "Interesting. Could this be an alphabet of some sort? There's are letters that correspond with something..." He narrowed his eyes, grabbing his notebook and writing down the same symbols. "I will decipher this soon." He opened the next scroll, having an image of what appears to be red steel and a blue sun, with a skull in between and people looking up.
He rose a brow. "Blue sun?" Then remembering his encounter with Liam and Garrett in the desert, as well as his mention of the red steel. "What is the meaning of this..." He found himself confused, and shocked. Worry and anxiety added onto that as he began to think about all the other things that Liam may have hid from him.
He set it aside and opened all the other scrolls, one had an image of the blue sun, and several skulls below it, another where people were praising the blue sun. And another where the blue sun had a skull and the red steel under it. He immediately wrote them all down in his notebook. "Is this all about the blue sun-?" He spoke to himself, sealing them all back and hiding them behind the shelves.
Then he heard knocks from his door. "Heyyy, Mer? It's me, Liam! They said that the explorers found something from the expedition!"
This had to have been here for centuries, at least. Or at least *a* century. Whatever the specific age may have been, one look at the ruins told you all you needed to know about how *old* this place is. Scattered, crumbled brick is strewn about on the ground, and only the smallest structures remain. Pillars are toppled over halfway and knocked from their foundations entirely. The material itself is very worn as well, obviously old, but still sturdy. Somehow, after all these years, some remnants of life before the Calamity still remained. Still ... remained. There used to be so much more. You find yourself reeling at the fact that it wasn't always like this. This used to be a city. People *lived* here. And before they were forced into hiding for safety or wiped out altogether, surely, they were happy? At least some of them? Enough to make a difference? Enough to be worth mentioning? As you climb atop one of the old walls, you start to dwell on it. And against what your brain knows will only hold you back, your heartstrings are being pulled by this awareness. You can't imagine having to fight for that long, for all that consistent time, and to have to give it your all every second because of how much depended on it. Even worse, the idea of waiting for that long, trapped, unable to do anything at all. You lucked out. You were unconscious for that century. And yet, you're still so tired. The ledge seemed like a nice place to rest, at least for a second, which is why you got up here in the first place. You like climbing things. You don't ... entirely know why. It's as if the more you look on at your surroundings, the more you notice, and the less you wish you knew, but the less you can ever stop. The fate of everything, *everything,* lies on your shoulders. And it is more draining than you ever thought it'd be.
I sit on my desk chair, in the dark, staring at the only light source in the room: my clock. Mom and Dad should be asleep by now, though they are light sleepers. (And Mom has a habit of vacuuming in the middle of the night.) I’ll have to be really quiet, but I can turn on a light, so I do.
In my closet is a stunning, sparkly dress. It’s aqua and is covered in scales of some kind. Dad bought it for me for my last birthday and said the scales were ancient. They’re from some sort of extinct reptilian I think.
Anyway, the dress is perfect attire for clubbing, in my mind. My hair is already curled from when I did it this morning, but I should put on some eyeshadow. Peach-coloured eyeshadow. Natural looks best. Lipstick to match of course.
Open the door fast, not slow, so it doesn’t creak. Skip the third-to-last step. Sneaking out frequently has made me a pro at maintaining silence in the house. All that can be heard is the ticking clock. And now the AC coming on.
And a scream.
No TVs are on and both neighbours are single—well, that can change at any moment. But when I listen closely I find out it’s coming from inside the house.
The scream is quiet, and I’m sure if it wasn’t the middle of the night, I wouldn’t be able to hear it. But it’s there and it sounds like, “HELP ME!”
Where in the house? Is it Mom? It’s not Dad, it’s female. Coming from beneath me. Coming from next to the staircase.
Next to the staircase is the basement door.
I forget about clubbing and sneak over to the door. Did my parents kidnap someone? That would be ridiculous. I can’t think of another reason a woman would be in my basement screaming for someone to help her, but I’m sure there is.
I can ask the woman why she’s down there. Yes, I ease the door quietly open and descend.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve been down here. Must be years now. It’s not finished, so it’s not a place I go to hang out or whatever, and as minimalists, we don’t need it to be a storage room.
It’s cold. Dark. The woman yells again and it’s loud now, like she can’t be more than fifteen feet away. My hand fumbles for the light switch.
Oh my god.
She’s managed to get her gag to hang around her neck, but her hands are bound to the chain fence behind her (which I have no recollection of being installed). She wears a half-buttoned white shirt, one of my dad’s, and below…
Her bottom half is shaped like a tail, but instead of with scales, there’s just skin. Irritated and red skin.
Tears flow down the scaleless mermaid’s cheeks. “They’re so beautiful…I forgot what they looked like. Please,” she sobs. “Can I have them back?”
Have them back…?
Oh. Oh. My dress is made from her scales, isn’t it? I swallow some bile, giving me heartburn. I’m wearing her scales. I’m wearing the scales of a tied-up mermaid in my basement. Oh my goodness. Why did my dad gift me a dress made from…her? This is so sick.
“I can’t grow them back,” she tells me. “I need the ones I was born with, if you just touch them to me they’ll fit back on. Please. I don’t know where any other mermaids are hiding.”
I have to help this woman. I have to save her from my dad. Does Mom know about this? She vacuums all the time, maybe she’s covering it up. I need to talk to them about it, but first things first.
“Yes, okay. You’re going to be okay. I’m going to bring you home alright? The nearest ocean.”
“Thank you, so much.”
I take off her gag and rip the scales off my dress one by one. Hopefully all of her previous scales went to making this dress, because otherwise, she’ll be a bit bald….
All it takes for the scales to adhere to her is a tap. One touch and it’s back on; it doesn’t take me long till I’m done sticking them back on. Her tail is gorgeous. Shiny and vibrant and lively. The way she swishes it is graceful and mesmerising.
She smiles.
A key on the shelf behind me can unlock her wrists, so I take it and free her, wrapping an arm around her lower back to lift her up.
“My parents are sleeping upstairs, so you have to be quiet,” I warn her.
She nods, and I somehow get us both up the stairs and out of the basement. Her fin drags against the carpet and I take us to the front door, where I sit her on the hall tree bench, panting. Shoes. Keys. Door, careful to turn the lock silently.
Lift her up again, go out the door, enter the car. Everyone’s still sound asleep inside the house and no lights turn on. Program the GPS to go to the ocean.
And drive there to free a young mermaid who has been wronged by man who thinks her to be just another species to poach.
The mermaid smiles at me again, and she looks so human it’s hard to believe someone could not treat her as such. “You have done the kindest thing tonight. Thank you, so much.”
“Of course.” I couldn’t have left her there. “I’m sorry this happened to you. I didn’t know the dress was made of…”
“It’s okay. It did look really pretty on you.”
“Thanks. Ready to go back to the sea?”
“It’s where I’ve always belonged,” she says.
So I get her out of the car and drag her to the edge of the water. I don’t know what to say as a goodbye to this mermaid I just met.
But she knows how to say goodbye.
Just a simple, “Bye-bye.”
And then she smiles, but with teeth this time, menacing, menacing sharp teeth. And I know to be afraid.
I can’t do anything to stop her from dragging me this time, down and down and down, bubbles from my nose floating up. My arms try to claw up, to the surface, but I’m only going down, the mermaid’s grip on my ankle too tight.
My parents were completely justified, I think.
My ears feel like they’re going to explode. My lungs do, too. And before I hit the bottom, where she is sure to eat me, I pass out.
WC: 554 The night I left the hospital, Melody took me to go stargazing. "I know the best spot," she said. She ended up taking me to a secluded hill in the middle of the town's park. At the very top sat an empty wooden bench, as if it had been prepared in advance. Knowing Melody, I wouldn't have put it outside the realm of possibility. "Geez, Melody… you know I should be resting right now. What was the point of making me walk this much so late at night?" I asked her. "Quit whining. I know you're fine now," she said. "It'll only be a couple more minutes." "Fine…" I said. I wasn’t in the mood to hike another couple of minutes, but I hung in there. I owed Melody a big one, after all. She'd visit me every day as soon as she got off after school, and even though her rants about her friends I've never personally met got tiring and borderline annoying sometimes, I appreciated her company more than anyone else's. I could feel we had some chemistry bubbling up between us, and I wanted to make good use of the opportunity to formalize our relationship the way I wanted to since I first met her. "Do you remember what I told you about how the constellations got their names from?" she asked me. "Yeah," I said. "The very first astronomers in ancient times saw patterns in the sky and drew lines to connect the dots. They named the constellations after whatever the pattern resembled to them." "That's right!" exclaimed Melody. "All this talk about mythology and ancient times… don't you find that exciting?" "Not particularly. I was never a History buff," I answered. Melody placed a finger to her chin and lowered her head. "Hmm… I understand. I appreciate your honesty, though." The disappointment in her tone of voice was clear as day. "There is one thing I've always wondered about the people that lived back then," I said. "Oh? What would that be?" "I've always wondered how philosophers from back then went through their thought processes," I explained. "I know math and logic wasn't exactly the same as it was today, but I often thought of that when performing thought experiments back at the hospital." "The sky and the heavens were very common discussion back then. I suppose if humans couldn't explore it by flying around like birds, the least they could do is settle on studying it from the ground. At least, that's what I always thought their thought process was." "Have I ever told you how I think you're smarter than you give yourself credit for?" This comment elicited a giggle from Melody. "Yeah, I've heard that a lot," she said. She extended her finger towards the sky and excitedly called my name. "Ben, Ben! Look!" "What am I supposed to be looking at?" I asked Melody. "All I see is a bunch of stars." "You see those three stars that form a straight line like that?" she asked. I noticed her aquamarine eyes glimmer under the dim streetlight. "That's Orion's belt, she explained." The way her radiant smile lit up brighter than the entire night sky made it clear to me that this was the woman I wanted to keep in my life from here on out.
My hands found their way to the pendant I’d found not that long ago, amidst a pile of dusty books in the back of the library. Now, standing on the promontory it’d dumped me on, I wasn’t quite sure what to do. The waves beneath me crashed against the rocks. Water sprayed through the air with each wicked hit, and part of me wondered if this was some sort of sign. “I see you’ve finally found the pendant?” A disembodied voice echoed through the area around me. It sounded bored, maybe even tired of me, when I had yet to speak. “I suppose. Why did it bring me here?”
“You seem to have many questions other than that one; why not ask them all at once and perhaps receive all of your answers?”
“Why am I here? What is this for? Who are you? Why can I hear you but not see you?”
“You are, for lack of a better term, an Ancient Protector. That pendant was blessed so that when the last of the Ancient Protectors came about and found it, you would be brought here. It does not matter who I am, merely that I exist to guide you. You cannot see me, for I worry my true form would cause more harm than good currently.”
“An Ancient Protector? What in the fantasy book bullshit is this?”
“Yes, Ancient Protector. Dubbed as such for we believed there were no longer any of you left, but now you’ve come along. The pendant holds an unspoken power for you as well. Place it into your dominant hand and close your eyes.” The voice commanded, leaving no room for argument.
Sighing, I do as I am told and remove the pendant to place it in my hand. Flashes of random images rush through my head, each darker and more destructive than the last until it settles on one specific one. Centered on a ruined city, a little boy sits curled amidst the rubble in tattered clothes. The words “Help me,” float idly above his head in the image and grow larger until my eyes snap open.
“What the fuck was that?”
“Your first mission, Ancient Protector. Rescue that child. He is of the utmost importance. Go, and you shall return here when you are done.” Before I could protest, I was being shot into the image in my head and tumbling through into the wreckage of a once towering city. Ancient Protector? And, in a city that… seems as though it should not still exist. This should be interesting.
We each stood on a chunk of stone, the markings faded, but clear enough when you squint.
The engravings tell a story of a king, brash and reckless with his subjects, a partygoer who wasted the kingdom's gold on wine and other spectacularly expensive treats.
One day, he was challenged by the ruler a near kingdom, "You fool! I have created towers and gained respect of many powerful kings and queens. What have you done in your miserly state?"
And for the oncoming years, he had his advisor oversee the construction of an even taller tower, one that he believed would pass the heavens.
No one but the advisor actually held this notion as a truth. During the construction of the building, they had carved this story into its walls, again and again. So that the future would not forget the insanity of their king, and the helplessness of his people.
Once they had gotten to the twenty-fifth level, the ground began to rumble with the sound of imminent danger. The king rushed to the site, placing his hands on the crumbling stone and yelled for everyone to hold it together. Only his advisor came to help.
Together, they lost their lives underneath what made up the grounds we were at now.
"You think if we dig deep enough we'll find our bones?" I said.
Beside me, he took a swig of the beer, "Don't get too ahead of yourself, love."
[WC: 241]
reading on the train
Word Count: 874
Summary:
Being on the train alone allowed for many things. It was his bubble of solitude, where no human other than himself could pierce through.
Takuto long guessed that travels from his apartment to Shujin Academy would bring a bit of boredom sometimes.
He had expected once or twice for another person to be on the train with him. It brought silent company, knowing he wasn’t in another plane of existence at the early morning hours. The train during those hours wasn’t packed, not for a few more hours at least. At times, it was nice to soak in his own comfort. Others, it felt like a still battlefield against himself.
His body stood still against the train’s momentum. He was alone that morning. His gaze pierced against his reflections, as if searching for something to occupy his mind with.
He silently pressed the back of his head against the window behind him, feeling the cold glass. His dim eyes glazed over the distant, fading stars. It was almost as if they were taunting him by being too far out of reach. Almost ancient those little dots were, quietly passing as the ether became golden. He believed that they wouldn't return for the evening, and instead in their place, was another batch of stars.
He knew he had placed himself in that solitude. He chose to take the earliest train instead of the ones later in the morning. But, there was no regret in his decision. Takuto chose to be alone because he still wanted to be his own company for a few more hours.
Slowly, Takuto’s hands traced the zipper of his bag on his lap, and paused on the slider. He grasped it and slid it to the other side. His eyes were immediately enticed by a book cover.
It was a gift from Akira, one of the students he was counseling as of late. A frequent visitor of his office, as well as a mutual confidant he saw outside of school. Although they haven’t had too many interactions, somehow the teen knew what kind of genres piqued his interest. The book Takuto received was one of poetry, where all the poems were directed to a lost lover.
And Takuto found himself enamored by the book. Taking in each poem on the page, and appreciating their individual beauties before he turned to the next. He wouldn’t call himself a poet, but since receiving the book, he used any spare time he had on crafting some poems of his own.
However, he couldn’t understand why most of his poems revolved around melancholy.
Despite it though, poetry comforted him. It allowed him to think that he could put his feelings and emotions into words, then discern and understand himself a little more.
As Takuto pulled out the book from his bag, he saw the sun peeking up from the buildings of the city. It tugged a smile on his features. He liked how the sun weaving through the structures, and coated the train in a golden blanket.
Setting his back to the side, the cold air rushed over his body and caressed him in its embrace. He let out a sigh, and opened the book to where he left off.
His fingers danced for him, whilst they felt the ink of each word they passed. They meddled with his mind and tricked him into thinking what came next and what the poet thought of when they wrote each poem.
Takuto silently mouthed the words until his lungs burned with the need for air. A small regret was that he was unable to read the poem in one breath, but it was quick to be replaced with fascinated thoughts. All thinking of the meaning of the poem, what he liked, what he treasured from it.
He reflects, since it was better than staring daggers into his reflection across from him.
If he ever gave his reflection a second glance, he would find ineffable longing. It was a ghost that only knew half-forgotten memories, and only had thoughts within thoughts. It haunted Takuto in his lonely hours, when oblivion would prove to be so sweet, enticing.
Takuto paused before he turned the next page.
He shook off the stare his reflection gave, before continuing reading the book.
It turned into a long moment of the same routine; he would read a poem, reflect to himself about it, feel his reflection gaze at him, shake it off, and turn the page. And then repeat. Takuto could have sworn it went on for hours, he shared to himself something else, something deep only he could fathom.
He couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment when the thought came to him, but it grew and grew as he reached the approaching end of his book. Until it surfaced, when the train called for his stop.
‘I can achieve my happiness. I can be happy, I can get through it on my own.’
At first, there was a sick feeling in his stomach, that it was unhealthy of him to burden his hardships alone. But, he shook it off, and replaced it with hope.
Takuto closed the book and placed it in his bag again, zipping it shut. He stood up and walked off the train.
He believed in a little more that he could accomplish his research, and show that there was beauty in his happiness.
Word count: 327 🏺