Eh, so I found like two pages full of scribbled Twewy drabbles that I probably wrote some months back when I first got into the fandom. They are more or less inter-connected, so I just typed them up and happily adjusted it as I saw fit. Though, I suppose I could have done a little better here and there. But oh well. And the title comes from the original Japanese opening song of Tales of Symphonia - the opening and ending italics are kind of inspired by its lyrics (as far as I can translate them without the help of a translator, anyway).
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("make a wish and it will die") - the truth of shooting stars.
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He thinks he had been dreaming.
Upon his hospital bed, the boy stares off into some imaginary distance - his hands occasionally twitch and a myriad of expressions flitter past his face within a second. What he sees is not his clean, white room, and what he hears is not the soft clack-patter of walking nurses or doctors, nor the beeps of rooms-away heart machines.
Instead, he sees himself standing in the middle of Shibuya's scramble crossing. His feet tap to the rhythmic beat of his headphones. He cannot find even the slightest care for the people of many ages around him, of all the birds flying overhead or the noise of conversation and movement and vehicles mixing and echoing in city-familiar chaos. He can care even less of everything that walks by and passes through him - as if he's a ghost. Maybe he is, maybe he was, goes the flighty idea.
But those thoughts don't really matter any more, he supposes.
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She thinks she had only been wishing.
In her room, she stands before the full-length mirror that has been recently bought for her, admiring something she's not sure about. What reflects in there is herself, a boring wallflower girl with a black cat plush-toy in her arms. But she doesn't mind that, and simply curls her lips into a smile. A dreary, nostalgic smile - and what reflects is someone else.
Raspberry red hair, stylish dressing that attentively follows every rising trend in ever-changing Shibuya. There's a cute, aspiring girl of nearly every desirable trait in the mirror, and she knows a real person who really looks like that too. But she's not jealous. Or at least, she hopes she isn't any more.
Everything would be for nothing then.
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Sometimes, he thinks he's being paranoid about things way more than he has the mental capacity to - which isn't much, according to many.
In another room, through the door of his bedroom, he can hear his (slightly) crazed old parents in some other mindless chatter of their own, the topic most likely revolving around whatever mishap or the other they wish to critically survey today. It grates on his nerves more than he would like it to - not because it's about him. No, for once, his father and mother have chosen their subject of discussion to be his little sister. His calm, dreamless little sister.
He always thinks it's his fault when this happens. Those old bats should be arguing with him - he should be the one shrugging off their expectations, like he used to. But no, it's not going that way any more now. Not until his sibling dreams the dream she's been waiting for ever since.
And, perhaps it's stupid of him to even consider it - but he simply cannot help but be afraid that his dream and her dream will never come.
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She wonders if she's just afraid.
She knows only two truths in this world - the one that is the real truth, absolute fact, and the truth accepted only individually. That is to say, a lie we know, nurture, and hope and wonder is the truth.
But she doesn't really consider her truth as a lie. She isn't lying when she tirelessly says - no, she has no dreams, no wishes (no future), and she would rather do mediocre than excellent like how she used to be every day, all the time. That there is no point in trying hard or doing her best when there is nothing to try for.
In other words, she tries to say, that she had given up. She couldn't bear the thought of awaiting with any hope for a clear, wondrous world in the distance of time - what if she is just disappointed to find nothing there? What if there would never be another dream for her again?
She wants to dream - to have a million possibilities laid out before her, just like how her brother said - but she's not sure if she really wants that to happen.
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He muses indefinitely - on the thought of chance and choice, and what else could and should have happened.
It is the fifth day of yet another Game. Unknown to all Players, he watches them, seated on a bench near Hachiko. Before, he may have been amused as these tuned souls fight for a second chance, most knowingly, but the rare others not. Now, it is a little less of dimmed interest and more of papery nostalgia as he sighs at the sights and unconsciously finds parallels in all he can see. The past reaches out to all those who remain lost in their thoughts, and for someone such as himself, it is more than simple a happening.
Violet eyes glance away from the ghostly crowds, blinking without much surprise when he notices a boy waiting by the statue, with a second player pin shining on the collar of his purple-black turtleneck shirt- a little gift, a little reminder, that death exists as a constant reality that has always been.
At the thought - the Composer smirks, and Joshua smiles.
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("there is a path to the stars, lets just find it together") - and this is the idealistic finality.
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