Right now, I have no inspiration whatsoever for the next chapter of Lying Loves, so I'm attempting this oneshot. R & R please.
Faie.
That Autumn Day, A Fallen Flower
The sky was a canvas of subfusc grey, with faint swirls and wisps of evening clouds splattering across the background. All around them, the trees that once boasted of crowns of verdant greens, were now a bare skeleton, a pitiful memory of their once majestic selves. A sudden breeze swept across the ground, sending a smattering of shriveled leaves tumbling and rolling across the surface, disturbing the silence that encompassed the two figures that were gradually making their way across the clearing.
A man, estimated to be in his late 40s, suited casually in a black dress shirt, grey breeches of fine silk and a thick leather trench-coat that hung loosely about to his shins. Walking alongside him was a young boy whose height reached no taller than the man's knees, dressed to suit the cold weather out in a long sleeved tee, denim jacket and a pair of black cotton jeans. The two walked in silence, the boy sometimes turning to glance up at the man beside him, before resuming his careless fiddling at the plastic toy car between his stubby fingers.
A chilly November wind caught at the hem of the man's trench-coat and toyed with its ends, flicking them about teasingly. The flapping ends of the coat danced about in the boy's peripherals, quickly catching his interest. Before long, a small hand was swiping playfully at the coat's hem, sometimes reaching, sometimes merely skimming the edges. The young boy finally gave up and gripped at the soft cloth of his father's pants instead, his short, stubby fingers clutched tightly into the fabric. As the pair stepped over a tangle of dried roots protruding from the ground, the toddler's tiny foot caught on the edge of a root, sending his form sprawling across the ground, his fall fortunately cushioned by the layers of dried leaves.
The older man sighed exasperatedly, and reached down to grab his son by the collar of his jacket. With a fluid move, he lifted the young boy up and hung him over his shoulder, a hand draped securely over his small, squirming back. There they walked, with the boy simultaneously pounding and humming out a jolly tune on his father's back, and the man with a look of muted toleration on his face.
The father and son duo finally came to a stop in front of a chaparral of coniferous evergreens, the only spot throughout the whole area that actually had life growing. At that point, the man sat his young son boy down onto his feet, who immediately toddled awkwardly forward, his tiny hands reaching enthusiastically out at the small marble tablet that stood erected a foot ahead.
The man gently dropped down onto the leaf-littered ground, assuming a cross–legged position. Stretching his arms out behind him, he planted his palms firmly on the ground and slowly leaned back. Closing his eyes, he released out a loud sigh, his breath condensing into a tiny cloud puff in front of his face. Then, he began his weekly reunion speech.
"Hello again, my sweet. Sorry for being late today. Caleb's been a real nuisance about wanting to wear his new black boots for this trip. Said he wanted to flaunt it off to you." The man laughed softly. "Bloody thing cost me half a fortune, so appreciate it."
"Have you heard, love? Callia's made it into the overseas Science and Technology research program. She'll be leaving for Junius 7 next week. She sends her apologies for not being able to come and visit today, since she has a compulsory pre-trip briefing to attend." The man opened his eyes, turning to smile at the small marble tablet. "Quite the wonder, isn't she? No surprise though, since she's your daughter."
The tablet remained silent, the pre-winter sunlight shimmering off its polished marble surface.
He blinked just once, and then propped his chin up onto a palm, his expression contemplating. "Aiken though, he's been a bit of trouble nowadays. Too much basketball, too much gaming, and too little studying…Boarding school may not have been an appropriate choice for him. Of course, his language and mathematical foundations are still the prime of his class. No prizes for guessing that that's because his father is a professor at the local analyst bureau and has a Master's in math." The man laughed, his smiling eyes regarding the silent marble tablet. "And as usual, Caleb's…being Caleb."
At the sound of his name being called, the toddler turned to face his father, his amber orbs gleaming with mirth.
"Da…da."
With a clumsy gait, he wobbled over to where the man sat, his tiny hands reaching out for his touch. With a warm smile, the man opened out his embrace, folding the young boy snugly into his hold. He stroked the boy's head slowly, his fingers entangling themselves among the thick, wavy strands of gold.
"Well, look at you." The man teased, pinching his son's cheeks playfully. "You're looking more and more like your mother nowadays. The same eyes, thick blond hair… Such a sweetly beautiful combination. Oh, how I had loved the way your darling mother's own hair never failed to shimmer and flame under any bright scintillation. Or how just a simple smile from her could make any worries melt away, as if they had never existed in the first place and… "
The man's voice slowly faded out to a whisper, and his vision subsequently started to blur, the images in his eyes dancing like the early ripples across a summer lake. Despite his resistance, a single tear escaped from the corner of his left eye, trailing a cold path down his cheek, before fading into the cotton of his collar. A second quickly followed, and then a third. By now, profuse tears came one after the other. There never seem to be any end to them.
The man turned to look at the single photograph that graced the cool surface of the tablet, one of a vibrant young woman, her smile gay; and he immediately felt a welter of pent-up anguish choke up his throat.
He wanted, no needed, to hold her, to touch her, to feel her, desperately so. The loss of that familiar touch on him made every inch of his body ache. That painful desire for the soft, loving caress of her slender fingers sliding along his arms, or threading between his own was suffocating. He yearned for the sound of her breathless, eager pants and urges as he satisfied her physically; for the loving gaze she always honoured him with when he pleased her mentally.
He longed for the sight of her sleeping face next to his when he awoke to the morning song of the bluebird, for the fragrant tang of the breakfast hotcakes and muffins that she was so adept at baking. He longed for the sweet, addictive tastes of her kisses, of her touch, of her company, of her.
After she had departed, everyday he woke up, and everyday he wondered if he was truly living in the real world. As he lay in bed, he'd always have that nagging feeling that one day, when he left the bedroom, he would once again be greeted by that familiar tang of banana and hazelnut muffins permeating from the kitchen. That when he stepped out onto the open balcony, she would be about her usual morning activities of spooning lumps of fruit mush into Caleb's open mouth, whilst somehow managing to cut at her own pancakes. And as he approached, she would arise from her seat with a beaming grin, lock her arms around his waist and nuzzle his neck.
She'd always comment about how she hated that particular brand of aftershave he wore, but, fortunately for him, tolerated it enough. Then she'd kiss him, sometimes with a little tongue if she was in a good mood, and resume her breakfast duties.
And then reality would kick him hard, for as soon as he sat up in bed, the altar propped up on the opposite wall would be staring at him straight in the eye. His daily sucker punch to the gonads.
He felt lost, so very lost without her to rein him to reality, to sanity. The usual demons of insecurity made merry in every corner of his mind, and he felt himself shiver ever so slightly.
Caleb reached a hand up, his eyes wide with surprise, and poked lightly at his father's cheek. When the man responded only with a hoarse sob, he turned about in his father's embrace to face him. Reaching out his other stubby arm, Caleb tugged on a clump of midnight blue hair, and finally caught the man's attention.
Athrun looked down at his son's face, which was warring between worry and curiosity. Forcing a smile, he wiped at the wetness across his cheeks and eyes and sniffed loudly. He regarded his son silently for a while, feeling a small bud of warmth bloom in his chest, feeling his strength slowly returning to him. Athrun lifted his son off his lap, setting him amongst the bed of red and stood up, proceeding to dust away whatever stray leaf that may still have been clinging onto him.
The pair turned to face the tablet with gentle smiles on their face, and bade their silent goodbyes. Picking his son up into his arms, Athrun turned and left towards the direction of their car.
It was another autumn day almost 30 years later that, beneath the same chaparral of evergreen cones, that that single marble tablet was never lonely again.
えとう, I finished this piece over a span of three days, never really meant for it to be so long. I've never written a story like this before, so I sincerely have no idea how good it is.
So R & R please! Comments and suggestions on improvements, I welcome with open arms!
Faie.