❝ 𝙉𝙤 𝙇𝙤𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙃𝙪𝙢𝙖𝙣 ❞ LONG HIATUS

: ̗̀➛ALL MEN ARE EQUAL

"It is said that heaven does not create one man above or below another man."
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Hidden behind a mountain, following a river that ran down into a beautiful spring meadow and weaving between the trees that protected his destination from the eyes of those who had doomed them. A boy, dressed in a black jacket, followed a worn down path as he had done every week for nearly two years at this point, his red hair bristling around in the cool wind as he did so.

When he finally entered the clearing, he was awestruck by the vibrant panorama that suddenly appeared before him; he had completely forgotten how stunning it could get during this time of year. Bees buzzed in and out of each patch as they searched for pollen to take back to their hives, which were scattered along the edges of the clearing. The entire region was covered in flowers of varying hues, and the bees were busy collecting it for their colonies. The grassy expanse is adorned with clovers and blossom buds, making it the most beautiful of all green blankets. The dazzling rays
gently tickled the petals, the red rose stretched and slowly opened its eyes, and the calm sunshine simply passed a smile to that sleeping flower.

The warm gesture of the sun rays was widely welcomed and a field got filled with the fragrance of flowers shimmering in its light. Chuuya saw that the sky was red. He was able to see that the sun was setting, the colors were fading, and the wrinkled clouds were hastily moving out of the way to make room for the enormous bright disc. There was an orange burn where the sun had been, and the mutilated animal shapes of cloud lay scattered in the tear of dusk.

As he made his way towards the center of the clearing, he frowned as he watched the multicolored flowers progressively bleed away until just three colors were left, forming what appeared to be virtually a circle around the tiny stone and an old wooden bench that had been put in the middle of the flower field. Chuuya ignores it as he passes it by but keeps his gaze fixed on the bench.

When the weather wind lifts to that warmer note, the flowers come. In all that expanse of green they have the courage to be anything else, to stand out with a beauty that draws him close. And if that sensation is a confinement, then Chuuya should make his home within it since it has the same sensation as the wind and the open sky; it is a sense of belonging that reaches inside to cradle his heart. He watches as they blossom into white bells that are pristine in any night and shine brightly as the sun rises for as long as the light is available. They are a work of art that cannot be compared to any other created by man; they are the epitome of perfection because they are borne not of the complexities of subjective intellect but of pure feeling.

When Chuuya lays in the soft grass, so far away from the city, and stares up at the sky, he imagines himself as a bird. He imagines himself soaring
through the air and traveling all over the world with his enormous wings spread out in front of him. There is no mafia, there are no ghosts that wander his apartment everynight. He isn't haunted by the look of terror in some strangers eyes.