BBS

fold

hey ;)

sorry for the lack of updates, bear with my lack of inspiration (＞＜) I tried out something new, hope you enjoy! <3

-

He isn't particularly good.

In fact, he's terrible.

Balls of crumpled paper are piled up in a corner, adding another item to his to-do list, but he doesn't really bother about cleaning it up. A messy room doesn't really matter when he knows that there aren't going to be any visitors.

But he keeps trying, striving for perfection.

Fingering the miniature bird in his hand, he observes it, twirls it around a little, and he finally smiles. Carefully places it in the crystal jar. Resumes his task.

He just needs to fill up the jar.

It's cliché indeed. He heard a saying, about a 1000 cranes granting a wish. As soon as the jar has the exact number of paper cranes, he's done, and he can present it as a final gift.

Perhaps it'll make up for that mistake he made months ago.

I probably am insane, he thinks, but he still smiles. There haven't been any tales of a wish actually being granted, but there isn't much time left. It's the only solution which he could still possibly carry out in his condition. But that doesn't matter.

Gently, he makes his next one, before dropping it into the jar with a light plop.

713.

Just 287 more to go.

It seems impossible, painful, arduous - but to his surprise, it's soothing. Fun, actually. It takes up his time, it eases his loneliness, makes the pain so much easier to deal with.

He's getting faster, fingers nimbly moving across the tiny piece of paper, folding, making creases. Precision. Accuracy. Origami requires much of those. And skill. It comes from days, weeks, months of practice.

He's been folding for a long time.

Hours pass. He hasn't moved from his comfy spot on the fluffy, feathered pillows. His leg stings a little, but he deserves it. He knows he does, for what he did.

But he still continues.

750.

It takes a long time to fold one little crane. His stomach growls. He hasn't eaten in quite a while. Of course, he isn't starving himself on purpose, just that he really doesn't bother to walk all the way to the store to get his special food.

They didn't allow him to eat hard foods after his stomach got so messed up, intestines tangled up, and he's a little tired of having porridge everyday. Maybe he could have some fruit jelly, mashed potatoes, or canned tomato soup.

He finishes up a few more, before grudgingly lifting himself from the bed, grabbing his favourite, favourite sticks, and hobbling down to the store.

He doesn't forget to bring his wallet and license this time.

-

He, eventually, decides on some orange juice. Orange juice for dinner. And some soft white bread. If it's edible, he'll take it. Leaning his crutches against the wall outside the convenience stall, he sits and takes a small breather.

He remembers.

Seeing all those cold, stones in the grass gives him the shivers. At least it isn't night yet. Nearly tripping over the curb, he continues making his way down the street, back home, where he feels the safest.