Storyteller | JHS ✓

Chapter one; everythingoes

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˜The rain comes down
The rain comes down
Everything shall pass˜

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I walked along the forest path - swatting away the branches who dared to go near my face. The slight drizzle of rain dampened my clothes and shoes.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

The leaves crinkled under my footsteps as I brushed away more branches to get a better view of my destination: a small- but elegant - cottage, sitting atop a hill.

The cozy structure brought a smile to my face. I came here often- not for the place itself, but rather for the person who inhabited it. Do I know that person well? No. I barely knew the first thing about him. And while others might not fancy meeting a stranger they knew next-to-nothing about, he wasn't just any kind of "stranger."

He told stories. Tales that would come alive at his words, any wives tales, fairy tales, etc. - he knew.

But he lived alone.

He was kind to any creature, practically radiated it, and always spread happiness.

Yet he still lived alone.

It's peculiar, really, now that I think about it. Even though the man was the whole package, he had no one to be with him. He seemed lonely, making it a part of the reason for my continuous visits.

I walked up to the structure, admiring its features - unlike the run-down ones in storybooks, this one was well-made. The humble house stood proud- but welcoming.

I walked up to the front - the doormat practically screamed, "welcome!" in happy scribbles. Seriously, one could see it a mile away.

I knocked three times in the pattern he taught me.

A moment later, there was the sound of a masculine- but not gruff voice.

"The door's unlocked. Please come in."

The door never was locked.

As I hastily turned the doorknob, there was the sound of a few pages flipping and a voice humming.

I pushed open the surprisingly heavy door, and there, I see the sunshine-man himself, sporting a simple grey sweater and pants. The man's gaze shifted from his book towards me, and a grin overtook his facial features.

He ushered me into the living room where two cups of tea sat on the table, waiting to be drunk and accompanied by biscuits. And don't worry, dear reader. It wasn't like I was a fifteen-year-old exploring the woods and going into a stranger's house by myself. I was a nineteen-year-old exploring the woods and going into a stranger's vicinity. The law stated I was an adult, yet I didn't act like one.

I gave a small smile to the man before sitting down on the sofa.

"Now, what story would you like to hear?" he laced his hands together on the table, "Dragons? Wives-tales? Oooh, how about the story of this one merchant selling a quill for-"

"Actually," I interrupted him, "I would like to know about you..." I then quickly added that only if he was comfortable with it. He would always tell ancient stories or fantasies, but he has never told me his name, nor his age, so I practically knew nothing about him.

He considers my request before letting out a chuckle.

"Yeah, of course! But let me tell you about the stories of seven boys first, then I'll tell you about mine, alright?"

A bit sketchy, but I complied.

"Deal."

He had an attraction to him, something that made me want to delve deeper.

I set the tea down, and he began.

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"Once upon a time, there was a wizard who knew all the spells. He was incredibly intelligent: he had an IQ of 148, after all. His name was Kim Namjoon."

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"Was?" I asked.

The sunshine gave a sad smile, "Yeah, was..."

The flicker of sadness dispersed, and he was back to his bubbly personality.

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"His magic was known to be powerful: he could bend the wills of minds with ease, changing an opinion within a heartbeat."

He paused for dramatic effect.

"The one element that he couldn't control, however, was love.

There were days filled with caffeine and exhaustion because he could never tie a red string to two people, linking them forever. Maybe that was his downfall. He stopped working on his dreams, leaving his group of friends, all to pursue a potential scientific breakthrough.

When he left, the six other boys slowly grew distant. The others stopped bringing items for him during meetings, knowing that he wouldn't be there. It's a shame: the six were so talented, except one. The talentless one begged Namjoon to stay, to say that the research and the experiments were a waste.

But of course, that didn't work. It did the opposite.

Namjoon never went back.

Instead, he cooped up in his lab all day, mixing chemicals, waving his wand. His research was growing, more successful than the last, more prominent than the latter.

And before the other six people knew it, he quitted entirely on their meetings. Namjoon never once went to another hangout. Namjoon found his breakthrough.

The remainders should've been happy: the five of them could still pursue their dreams- their ambitions. But what about the one lacking in anything? The lacking boy looked up to Namjoon, sought advice from him, and now that he left, what was he supposed to do?

Nothing.

Just put on a mask and smile when Namjoon presented his creation - his accomplishment.

Maybe the boy should've said something, a word, a simple 'Don't leave.' would've sufficed. But he didn't. And perhaps he shouldn't: Namjoon was happy. His life after that was fulfilling. Short, but-"

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I cut him off, "Wait, wait, wait, hold up- short?!"

"Yeah...short. Five years after Namjoon's award-winning achievement, he passed away. A car crash. Someone cut the brakes."

The air felt tense.

"Who...Who did it?"

"Nobody knows."

I gave a pout and sat on the floor.

"Well, that takes the fun out of it! Besides, there were multiple things wrong with your story-telling!"

I continued to complain about the plot being "too simple," and the bootleg Mr. Rogers jokingly took out a pen and wrote down notes. And before you know it, it was 5:00, the melody that told children to go home played outside.

"Guess you have to go."

"Yeah. I'll come back next week, though."

The heels of my feet reached the doormat, the familiar cheerful writing bidding me goodbye. But I wasn't done yet.

Turning around, I asked him a question, "What's your name?"

He looked up from the book he was skimming. The corners of his mouth twitched in a sad smile.

"Hope," he said, "you may call me Hope."

And I shut the door behind me.

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A/N: hello hello~ I honestly have no idea if this story is good or not fjeoiwafjerh