"Here, kitty kitty!" Argos said cheerfully, letting out a giggle that sent warm, colourful, fuzzy moths into the air, the insects sticking to the ceilings with their syrup-coated wings.
Breakfast's paws lifted off the floor and jumped onto Argos' back, his claws digging into his sweater with a certain click-trip sound.
I wonder where Mr. Plant is at. Argos thought, I miss him already. Maybe he's at the store.
Argos' heart throbbed at the empty kitchen in front of him. He wanted to see Mr. Plant cooking breakfast again on his birthday morning. He wanted to see him playing with Breakfast, scratching the fluffy cat's spotted head. But today was the afterparty, after all – I have to get over it. My birthday's over, and I have to get to the daycare.
Argos pulled the fluffy critter off his shoulder – Setting him down on the floor. Argos looked ahead at the window above the sink – His gaze stretching outside of his void just enough so his pupils ventured past the window. His irises fondly looked over the cherry blossom tree just outside of his void – That growth had been there ever since he was a little kid. He used to drive past what he now called his home every day on the way to school with his Grandfather, and he'd always ask,
"Papa," Argos' mind buzzed as he remembered how his beloved papa used to look back at him, "Why is that tree pink, but the rest of them are green? Is something wrong with it?"
And he would always shake his head – not so much in a defiant way, but rather ... a solemn way,
He knew something I didn't, Argos thought, blankly staring at the hazel, hardwood floor of his home – Why did he shake his head? What's so special about that tree?
And what was wrong with it?
Argos' thoughts were broken in half at the sound of thunder clapping outside – The tree in front of him growing suddenly into a flash. He flinched, and in a moment of panic, he froze – He stared ahead at what was once the pink tree that he used to see every morning. And now, it was on fire – Burning ablaze right beneath Argos – smouldering, flaming beneath his very gaze, his abundant irises shrinking to nothing but small beads. The branches were paved over with a red flame that burned every memory Argos had known to the ground – The once vibrant, colourful petals falling to the ground as a crisp until the tree was nothing more than a pile of smouldered sticks and leaves on the ground. Argos half expected Mr. Plant to be standing right beside him, holding his hand as they watched his past go up in smoke –
'The tree outside of Argos' windows beneath the parameters of his void danced within the wind's harsh grasp, a blur of soft pink foliage sweeping past Argos' vision like a flash. The rain fell like heavy diamonds from the shadowed sky, and the clouds screamed in anger as the drops of murky, greyed water left their hold.
Argos' soft, gentle hands held tightly onto his warm cup of sweet, rich coffee, the two objects sewn together like the fabric of a child's comforting crochet toy. A sigh left his hungry mouth, and his several eyes glistened from the rain. The rain solemnly spoke a deep conversation with the crystal clear tears in his eyes and created a melancholy melody in Argos' complex mind as his eyes looked up.'
Well, damn, Argos thought, Can't cry over spilt milk, can we?
