家族は必ずしも血によって築かれるわけではありません。
« Blossoms of Reminiscence. »
- ORIGINAL COVER ART BY: sshmily_y
Reminiscence - (memories.)
✒ "Reminiscence"
a memory, or an act of recalling it.
✒ 目を閉じた時にだけ
会えるなんて 信じない
あいたい
はなればなれの 君へ
________...
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An Inspired, Original Story by Hyaaungi
Date Written: 02 / 13 / 24
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CHAPTER I DARKNESS BEFORE THE LIGHT.
At a point in his lifetime, It felt as if this world was just a room. An empty yet suffocatingly crowded room he had sought asylum, unable to breathe. Unable to think. Darkness swallows the pit of lilacs in his eyes, his mind like a worthless mannequin. His heart coated in thick layers of stone. Sealed away from the cruelty of society. But.. in honesty, it felt better that way. It was better that way.
Kimaito was a popular city. Filled with thousands of tourists, leaving barley any more space for citizens to breathe and their eyes irritate from the constant flickering of cameras in their faces.
Masses of people cloud the vast, modernly built city, many mind their own as they cross the streets of the capital. Tending to their needs in their everyday lives. It was the usual when it came to such a infamous place, especially being one where people seem to enjoy living their daily lives within.
Yet beyond the multitude of citizens, a young boy. Particularly about the age of seven, treading his way along the crowded sidewalk. Bumping his small shoulders against the figures of people he manages to pass be without being trampled on.
His clothes were raggedy, stained with dust and dirt as well as the scuffs of cement on his knees and elbows. His innocent face blemished with dull browns and grays. A few cuts and scars around his knee caps, trailing along his legs and his arms all the way to the side of his cheek and his limbs, his body in general as thin as a pencil.
Every moment his Deep Lavender eyes manage to meet that of strangers, they seem to turn their backs in disgust or ignore him entirely. But such events occured to the little boy often. Growing accustomed to it as he roamed the streets, pitifully.
Yet such troubles would come to cease moment soon.
The young boy makes his way across the street. His ruined, ripped shoes scraping against the rough surface of the cement and torn newspapers, pushed by the wind below his feet. The slight breeze brushing against his pearlescent, yet scuffed with dirt strands of soft hair.
He was tired, yet the hassle of being able to cross the other side of the street was the one thing his mind put it's focus upon too much to be able to notice his exhaustion despite the vague aching of his feet. Squeezing his small figure between others that simply dont appear to notice him, though it was a bit easier as some pushed themselves away from him.
