02-14-2019, 04:58 PM
Seventy years. An unfathomable number before, but years sure added up fast. The gravity of such an impressive amount took a hesitant while to sink into his realization. In fear of losing count of time, the boy adopted the tradition of etching a tally mark onto one of the cuffs encircling his wrist, his dagger's point scratching into the cold black surface seventy times with every new year. Even now as he aimlessly lazed on a snowy riverbank, a restless thumb found its way to the shackle to brush past the fourteen clusters of five.
The world changed. Forests toppled to be replaced by civilization, towns developed only to be ransacked by the latest war, fashion transformed into something unrecognizable by its ruffed collars and mercury-dusted cheeks of the royals. Did he change? He was still Beck, still dead, but everything was different. The world felt empty now. It had since she left. On moonless nights, he would find himself curled up next to her tombstone, reading the epitaph carved by her children as if he could converse with her once more. Young as he may be, the girl's death was enough to fracture his ignorance. He was an idiot, he knew she would die eventually. Why should I even care about her? She left me.
With a ragged sigh, he slouched forward, resting his cheek on a propped arm as he glared at the river's contents. Minnows and catfish and bream lurked beneath the rushing water, stirring up dust from their sluggish grazing and huddled in schools. He was almost surprised to see the bottom feeders so active in the tapering winter. The river sloshed with the floe and snowmelt, flooding up the bank until the freezing water could have brushed against the tips of his worn shoes if it stretched out just a little bit more to reach the cross-legged boy. His bandaged hand sifted through the muddy sand to scoop up a fistful of grit, tossing the pebbles at the nearest cluster of fish. The rocks pelted the surface in strewn splashes and sunk with indignity. The fish scattered from the disturbance, disappearing in a haze. Beck narrowed his brown eyes, almost regretting scaring his lone source of entertainment away. What else could he do to pass eternity away in the meantime? Standing back up, he didn't bother to wipe away the mud clinging to his legs and kicked at the water's edge instead. "Stupid fish," ensued the mutter of frustration, rasped and scratchy, and he flipped up his oversized hood to skulk away back into the ice-blanketed forest.
[align=center]»――➤The world changed. Forests toppled to be replaced by civilization, towns developed only to be ransacked by the latest war, fashion transformed into something unrecognizable by its ruffed collars and mercury-dusted cheeks of the royals. Did he change? He was still Beck, still dead, but everything was different. The world felt empty now. It had since she left. On moonless nights, he would find himself curled up next to her tombstone, reading the epitaph carved by her children as if he could converse with her once more. Young as he may be, the girl's death was enough to fracture his ignorance. He was an idiot, he knew she would die eventually. Why should I even care about her? She left me.
With a ragged sigh, he slouched forward, resting his cheek on a propped arm as he glared at the river's contents. Minnows and catfish and bream lurked beneath the rushing water, stirring up dust from their sluggish grazing and huddled in schools. He was almost surprised to see the bottom feeders so active in the tapering winter. The river sloshed with the floe and snowmelt, flooding up the bank until the freezing water could have brushed against the tips of his worn shoes if it stretched out just a little bit more to reach the cross-legged boy. His bandaged hand sifted through the muddy sand to scoop up a fistful of grit, tossing the pebbles at the nearest cluster of fish. The rocks pelted the surface in strewn splashes and sunk with indignity. The fish scattered from the disturbance, disappearing in a haze. Beck narrowed his brown eyes, almost regretting scaring his lone source of entertainment away. What else could he do to pass eternity away in the meantime? Standing back up, he didn't bother to wipe away the mud clinging to his legs and kicked at the water's edge instead. "Stupid fish," ensued the mutter of frustration, rasped and scratchy, and he flipped up his oversized hood to skulk away back into the ice-blanketed forest.