Daylight's Silent Echo

Prologue : Back To The Old House

   The train was half empty, and silence permeated the passenger car. As he made his way down the hallway, oblivious to his untied shoelace, his troubled thoughts caused him to unexpectedly meet the embrace of the cold, hardwood floor, sending luggage flying. Embarrassment rushed over him as onlookers glanced his way. A trickle of blood dripped from his nose. Hastily securing his laces and grabbing his luggage, he wiped the blood from his nose with fingers tangled in his sweater, questioning why he couldn't be more careful.

Swiftly looking for his cabin, he entered to find a boy of his age with blonde hair and grey eyes – undeniably attractive. Sat by the window engrossed in a book. A mystery novel that August also had. Their eyes met briefly, the boy acknowledging him with a nod. Then August continued on arranging his bag and suitcase. Seated with a sigh, August's gaze fixed on the rolling hills and the cold, damp earth beyond the window. The air seemed charged with an awkward kind of stillness he felt. Until, August turned to face it, locking eyes with the boy who had been quietly watching. Scanning his every feature. The boy quickly looked down, continuing his book. Throughout half of the train ride, that was the most that happened that afternoon.

Evening shadows deepened into blue and purple as the wind ruffled the leaves. Cold rain beating down against the train window. He could barely hear the soft squeal of the machinery propelling him across the wet earth. Letting out a weary sigh whilst watching the horizon drain of color. His trousers caught his eye as he spotted a piece of lint on his mid-thigh. With a swift flick of his finger he did away with it. The boy finally spoke, voice cutting through the quiet like a dagger. It made him jump. "So, what brings you on a train to Leinfell?" the boy asked.

August looked up, his gaze meeting the curious eyes of his train companion. There was a distinct accent in the boy's voice, prompting the subtle suspicion that he came from up North. New England perhaps? "Just making conversation," the boy replied, a warm smile gracing his features as he closed the book in his hands.

Bemused, August had not met such a person. Asking reasons just to make conversation? Quite the odd one, he thought so. Or maybe it was the fact he had kept to himself a lot. Having no interest in the whole "socializing-thing". Playing with his thumbs, he answered in hesitation, "Oh.. I'm moving with my father. You?"
The boy scanned him up and down before opening his mouth.
"I'm moving in to my aunt and uncle's for the summer," he said, his smile radiating warmth.
"Far from home?" August asked, pinpointing the source of the distinctive accent.
"Yeah... It's the accent, isn't it?" the boy laughed.
"Yeah," August chuckled awkwardly.
"I'm William. William Chilton," the boy introduced himself, extending a hand.
"August. August Syvan." They shook hands, their eyes locked, conveying a silent understanding that surpassed the brevity of their encounter.
The firm grip of William's hand lingered until the train's whistle startled them both, prompting a simultaneous embarrassed glance away.
"Well, it is quite the pleasure to meet you, August Syvan," William chuckled,
A conversation that would shape the course of their journey.
August coughed, "I see you're into classical literature," gesturing towards the book beside William.
"Oh," William chuckled, "Yeah, my father's a history professor back in Europe. I took after his love for literature."
"I have 'Mississippi' too," August revealed, adding, "by William Faulkner?"
"Yeah," William smiled.
"You don't love because, you love despite; not for the virtues, but despite the faults," they recited in unison, their warm expressions mirroring the shared sentiment.

"That's so cheesy," August teased, breaking into laughter.
"It teaches you what loving someone actually is!" William defended with a grin.

And so, their laughter echoed through the compartment as the train rattled softly through the cold night, the two boys delving into discussions about books, music, and the intricacies of their own lives.