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‑ˏˋ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ˊˎ‑
𝐈 𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 end of my pen against my desk, my face twisted in thought. There was a time when I had thought that doing this was a complete waste of time. But as the piece of paper sat there with nothing on it, I couldn't help but think that the old man was onto something. I would never tell him that, though.
The tip of my pen met paper, marking a small black dot. My hand didn't move because the words wouldn't come to me. My thoughts had turned blank ― like the notebook paper. Frustrated, I tossed my pen aside to crumble up the paper, throwing it over my shoulder. I opened my drawer, placing my entire notebook on the desk.
Why can't I do this? It's just a few questions that I needed to answer. I took a sip of my coffee to ease my nerves. This was turning out to be just like high school. And that was the last thing I needed.
Unwanted memories began to flash in my mind's eye, all life-changing and moments I wanted to forget. The gunshots sounded in my ears, the dark blood covered my hands, and the bodies blocked my sight. All the regret drowned my senses, and for a second, I couldn't see anything other than what I didn't want to lay eyes on ― not ever again. One in the night and one in the day, each one causing grief to refresh within me.
My breathing had become ragged, but I forced myself to grab that damn pen. I needed to do this if I was going to be the same Natsu I was before all of this. My friends ― my family ― were all counting on me to get better, to see life the way I used to.
No. I was counting on me, too. I had to keep reminding myself that this was for me as much as it was for them. I'm tired of being this person, of being the Natsu that screams and yells and can't get a good night's sleep.
My fists tightened, my fingernails digging into my palm in prickles of pain. I needed to go through it because everyone wanted me back. Hell, I wanted me back. I want to be that person that makes people laugh at his stupidity, that person that gets into arguments with his friend over ridiculous things, that person who knows who he is. I wanted to be that person.
I slowly relaxed. Placing my hands flush against the desktop, I stared down at the notebook, then the page the old man had given me. My gaze transferred to the pen, and that's when it came to me. The words had begun to drown out the agonizing thoughts, but they were still there.
I let out a breath, lowering my pen to the paper to write out the first question: What does your name mean to you?
