𝑺𝑬𝑬𝑫 𝑶𝑭 𝑰𝑪𝑯𝑶𝑹 •𝒃𝒙𝒃•

5 ~ remembrance

There was an old man on his street called Reo and he gave all the kids candy that tasted of soap. He was nice, he taught him and the other kids various games, even going as far as to play with them until his back would give out and he'd be forced to sit it out. But he'd still stay there and watch them play with a crooked-teeth smile. He had a tame crow that would perch itself on his shoulders and squawk each time any of the children addressed it. Maybe it wasn't even a crow, none of them really knew anymore. They just stood there, mouths full of sweet lavender, admiring the inky feathers.

It was easier before his father made them move.

They moved and Guren lost his friends, lost the kind old man and his wonder of a bird. Those happy memories became painful one, for he knew he'd never be able to re-enact them again. No more would Reo bring them soapy candy, no more would the bird squawk, no more would he play games with other children.

_

"I know you don't want to leave because you've made a lot of friends, but new friends can be made, can't they?"

If only it were as easy as she had said.

Instead of their small, tight-fitted home, they moved into a big, richly decorated one. The ceilings were high, large pillars supporting the edges and middles of each and every room.

Everything was red and gold.

"Don't you like it? We can play even better hide-and-seek here, can't we?"

He didn't care about games anymore. He wanted his friends back. He wanted his home back. He wanted his room back, the small backyard they had and the even smaller garden where his mother kept her favourite flowers in.

Now everything was empty and lifeless.

"I understand why you don't want to move, I really do, but, Guren, sometimes we have no choice."

He still wasn't told the reason.
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As days passed by, he found less and less things to do. First, he had explored the new house, the new villa, better said, and viewed the giant portraits of various landscapes that marred the wide and tall walls. The pillars had gold inscriptions engraved all around them, from bottom to top, curling around and over one another, making something else entirely.

Was this how the rich ones lived?

It was unfair.

Old man Reo was a soldier in his prime. A soldier who retired once he became incapable of fighting any longer, and yet he ended up stuck in the poor district, with only a bird to keep him company in a rundown house.

It was unfair.

His friends, only children, were orphans, homeless, and their only source of amusement was kicking around rocks in their hole-filled shoes, or playing hide-and-seek and hiding behind old barrels and boxes that they slept in. Back then, his father would give them food, bring them clothes, but now that they were far away from them, now that his father was coming home less and less, who would bring them anything?

His father abandoned them, so Guren promised himself he'd never abandon anyone.
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One day, his father came home unusually early in the morning.

Guren didn't understand why he wore such an expression. Pure...unwillingness and grief and fear. All three, mixing together, making something much, much worse.

"Dad?" With blurry eyes, Guren stared at him. He stood there, on the doorway, with his pale hand holding the door open. His knuckles were so, so white, pressure building up, but there was no anger there.