The Songwriter’s Funeral Song
Shedding KinWe're smoothly paving the road, filtered by the after lunch shade. Riri was beside me, staring outside the van’s window and was busy being silent. Panda's hands were on the wheel this time. He missed a lot of events inside the auditorium, and his face when he saw us last time was priceless. Question marks seemed floating above his head. He even squished the hot buns he bought. Now, Mugi, who’s sitting in front, was consuming them. Kumo was at my right, still being a cloud himself.
I put my headphones on and helped myself with a nap. I rest my head on Riri’s shoulder, and I didn’t feel her move. Being still and letting me lend her shoulder might be a sign of respect, and I guess, she’s not mad at me anymore.
Still
The nostalgic sound of clasping leaves
Crunches to the drums of my throbbing ears,
Sweeping them lost to another place,
And soon can be found when summer plays.Oh, how good are the things we haven’t found
In this breeze with lifting sound?
Bringing things in the time we had
When we’re just imprudent lads.The scenery of everything was not that bad.
The water drums to the sink from the loosen tap.
The room is in boredom, lighted by dark.
I’m sitting on the couch and couldn’t get up.If I move my head, I’ll break my still state.
I guess, being last is not being late.
I can still catch up at the present time,
Because it’s always now and never been ahead or behind.Past is done and future is a guess.
Let the present be our guest.
Let’s do all things at our best,
Leaving yesterday and bringing tomorrow a pack of zest.“Hey, we’re here.” I heard the tender voice of Riri. With a pat so light, I am inert to be up. But a pressure I sensed on both of my cheeks, annoyed me awfully. It felt like they are a flattened dough.
“Look, I’m Donald Duck. Fuhehehe.” Someone was making fun of me.
I opened my eyes and saw Mugi clamping my cheeks. She amusedly toyed them, still not letting go.
“Hey, that’s enough Mugi! Fix yourself now, Yuru.” Riri hopped off, carrying the loosen tote bags. Mugi didn’t listen, so I pulled myself off. She’s like a bully, and I hate it. But Mugi is being Mugi herself, and I guess, a little tease is just a friendly remark.
“Take care.” We wished them before going, and they wished us the same. Riri and I walked back to our apartment, which was located on the fifth floor, so it won’t be that easy going up and down. When we have arrived, Riri put the things aside and took a seat.
“Are you feeling well now?” she asked. It’s funny that I’m older than her, but she’s the one who's taking care of me. I should give a return. She’s more than an aide for me… a younger sister.
I nodded as a response. “Yeah, don’t worry. Thank you for asking by the way. You should take a rest too. You’ve been assisting me for the whole time.”
“It’s my job to assist you. They were paying me fair, and I’m lucky that I’m working with Cloudee. It’s a win-win, so don’t mind me. I’m being satisfied in my work when I see you okay.”
I smiled at her, and she did the same. I guess, we’re okay again.
“The scenario last time might have brought a great impact to you. Would you like me to call your psychiatrist?”
YOU ARE READING
The Songwriter's Funeral Song
Misteri / ThrillerLife, Music Death, Music ○●○● Yuru, the street performer who made it to the top, made a dramatic fall. Something was embedded in her song... the lyrics, the melodies... they were beautiful thunders banging the drums of your ears... Something that'll...