Jamilton Oneshots :)

還願 : hallways [Jamilton]

The tv plays in the background, muted, as his mother informs him that Alexander fell down again. Thomas felt as if he had to antagonise the principal again,although his mother reminded him not to do so. Her reasoning was "children grow by stumbling and picking themselves up" although alexander was hardly a child anymore.

He had to remember to buy fruit for their mentor next time, after all, Alexander's a lot more livelier under his counsel, and he felt that it was his good karma rewarding them. He was getting closer and closer to his dreams,and thomas was proud of him,after supporting the other for the past few years as friendly neighbours, they're finally starting to get somewhere.

"alright, one more dish and we can eat!" His mother chimes, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"oh, and where is alexander anyway? he should come over and eat!"

"where's alexander?"

the noises get louder,his mother's voice more distorted,and try as he might, he could see his vision hazing up, almost as if he was underwater.

"alexander?"

"where's alexander?"

he feels like there is a knife through his skull.

"where's alexander??"

another thud.

"WHERE'S ALEXANDER?"

thomas wakes up in a cold sweat. He walks out of his bedroom, disoriented. He stood up, walking past the red arowana residing in a slightly grimy fish-tank, a pet fish considered to bring luck and prosperity, in a bid to get to the kitchen for a glass of water. as he drinks the water, he spots his mother's old photograph, in her famous red qi pao dress that brought her to fame.

a glance at the wall and he sees the old but peeling height chart that came with the powdered milk his mother bought, which used to record his growth but at this point he was too tall for. he finishes the water and with a soft clink, he sets it into the sink. this time,he goes back to bed,almost admiring the nostalgia of the moment.

a red umbrella shields him from a dark liquid slowly dripping, the only light source being a dingy washed out lightbulb. as he looks back, a red slipper barely misses his face as he dodged it at the last minute, the unusual reddish glow of his apartment hallway a far cry from the usual yellowish but bright light illuminating the hallways past. as he turns back again and walks back into the comforting door of his apartment.

this time, he finds a piece of paper that acted as a script, from which he recognises as one of his. the script depicts a scene which he fondly remembers, as a single mother and her son move into an already furnished apartment. there was a line frantically written at the bottom of the script.
it read: tulips symbolise elegance and sweetness. nothing else. he sets the paper down.

with a human touch, their abode begins to feel more like home. he finds the moment a striking one, almost as if he's experienced it before.

the radio crackles suddenly,startling him out of his reverie.

"A lonely soul, weaving their nest in a make-believe home. with a stranger, caught in love's masquerade."

he couldn't help but feel that it was addressed to him.

wandering around the still mostly empty room, the radio's pathetic crackling now reduced to nothing but background noise, he looks into a box and finds one of his many trophies for a particular screenplay that he didn't really care about, but his attention was caught by the porcelain bowls, and thomas takes them, almost unconsciously, to the dish rack already holding some plates, and placed the bowls into the drying section with a higher ridge so the bowls wouldn't topple over.