This is a sort of prequel to what happened in my other fic, 'Reminiscence'. I recommend that you readers(If there are any) check that fic out in order to understand what happened to lead to this fic. I know it's short, I don't even know what to call this. Is this a fic, a ficlet, or a drabble? Erm, you tell me. Many thanks to my wonderful friend, Win, who edited this fic. Her English is great, really.
Frozen
- I -
His eyes; once such a brilliant hue of dark blue, now dull and lifeless, akin to those of a dead fish's.
His wardrobe; filled with row after row of black and white, now reduced to the monotony of colours that, in actual fact, weren't even colours.
His world; once full of rich shades and vibrant tones, now bleak and colourless; enough to drive a man to tears.
He couldn't care less.
- II -
Sound, he detested.
Silence, he welcomed.
Crouched on the sofa in a position he had never held before, he reveled in the complete silence of the room.
How was it possible that he could hear so much more in the silence, rather than being surrounded by noise itself? Laughter, sobs, melodies of the past; everything sounded so clear to him now, just as how silence seemed more deafening than the sound of thunder.
Resting his head on his knees, he closed his eyes and gave himself over to the void, the absence of sound.
- III -
Food; once a pleasure of life, now merely a necessity to live.
No matter how pleasing to the eye or how divine its scent, everything tasted like cardboard. Even soup tasted like dissolved pieces of hard paper. Nonetheless, he sampled everything set on the table in front of him.
This, however, was different.
For a moment, when the spoon filled with the creamy vanilla custard touched his lips, his senses abruptly awoke. He saw the world in colour, heard the Muzak playing in the background, tasted the overwhelming sweetness of the dessert that he held to his mouth. Crème brulée; his mother's favourite.
He had it for dessert every night since.
- IV -
He did not feel the coldness of the wind that chafed his exposed cheeks.
He did not feel the jubilance that he should have felt when he managed to sign a lucrative business deal with another billionaire.
He did not feel the embarrassment he was bound to feel last time when he tripped and stumbled on the rug in front of his client.
He could not feel.
He did not want to.
-V -
He was tired. Tired of the endless series of nightmares, sick of running away from what he knew he must soon face. Just tired.
Dread filled his heart to bursting, fear made his head spin. He forced himself to face his previous place of residence, the manor which he had abandoned ever since that fateful day. The place he could no longer call his home.
He had left his soul here, locked up with the lingering memories of the past. Should he release them, the core of his very being, and along with it, the anguish of remembering? Could he withstand the pain, or will he be conquered by it again?
He breathed in deeply, then took the first step forward.
Please review, constructive critisisms are highly appreciated. : )