Note:
Terribly sorry for all of the delays. :C After my computer lost internet connection for nearly a month, updating here slipped my mind rather easily. Especially since school started back. But I'm on Fall Break now, a two weeks I'm cherishing. :D I recently realized I even had work on here, and re-read some of it. ...I was not too happy with some parts, ahaha. |D So I've decided to spend my free time re-writing this, and possibly the others I have, if I don't just.. you know.. delete them. :( But, despite this, I do actually have intentions on writing some newer things, exciting.
But again, I apologize. Hopefully the updated version of this story will appeal more to you all? c":
Sometimes, I wonder about why I wind up in places I've been brought to. My mind will expand then, taking the curiosity beneath it's wing as it takes me back and hunts for it's prey - reasons to feed this itching wonderment. Though I know my surroundings are aware of me; my shagged, unkempt auburn hair, my too-pale lips that are stained with pink and seem to always be parted in some way, my scrawny figure making movements that would recall a spider, I don't really seem to be aware of them. It's especially this way when I start really thinking, more-so about the past. Was the past that I could remember in very quick flashes of colour and emotions really mine? Things were so different from then. So my mind will delve down to retrieve memories, taking them from this photo album that keeps them all together in a clumsy fashion. And one by one, I look through them like my own personal slide show, flipping through the pictures. Some are older and more worn than others, I see, and it is the very oldest I seem to treasure the most.
Memories flood my brain uncontrollably, my mind still soaring with the squirming wonderment to pick out reasons. Why was I here? Mello told me to come; I wanted to. Why was I given the option? It's not like either of us wanted to part. His sanity seemed to play a role in this as well. Why was I even able to get the option at all? Our childish faces, rounder and innocent, brimming with good feelings as we played a game to introduce ourselves to each other issued by Quillish himself. Why was I able to play this game? My father's fingers slipped from the wheel, the rain and acceleration sending the vehicle skidding before sliding over the metal flanking either side of the street and into the stirring waves below. And further still, the questions would go, until I found myself satisfied and bored.
However, there was one photo in my memory that seemed to float up to the surface on my brain more than others, turning and swaying in a near grim way, as if it could sink at any moment. This picture, not the oldest yet still it is the one with the most damage from being looked at and handled so much, is of a young boy with messy dark hair. He's wearing a smile that lifts his lovely and pale-toned cheeks, that shows his teeth in a perfect and childish way. The boy's eyes are closed, as if this feeling of utter bliss he must be having is simply too much for him.
While I think of this picture so often, it is very rare I even consider letting my mind wander off to the origin of it. I don't know if I'm too scared, too angry, too uninterested. But I know this picture is one that changed and caused much for me, even if it didn't effect where I currently was at all.
There's a story, from Norse mythology, that says that the universe is made up of nine worlds, all held within a large ash tree called Yggdrasil. The lower part of this great tree, Yggdrasil, holds two worlds - Muspelheim, land of fire; and Niflheim, land of cold and ice. The middle of the tree has Midgard, land of humans; Jotunheim, land of giants; Svartalfheim, land of dark elves; and Nidavellir, land of dwarves. And at the very top of Yggdrasil - Asgard, land of gods; Alfheim, land of elves; and Vanaheim, land of Vanir gods and goddesses. In the very roots of Yggdrasil, three old crones reside - Urd, the crone of fate; Skuld, the crone of necessity; and Verdandi, the crone of being. Here they weave the "tapestry of fates". Each person's life represents a thread in their loom, and the length of this thread represents the length of the person's life.
I remember him telling me this once, years ago, and I never forgot it. The idea of Urd, Skuld, and Verdandi interested me in an odd way. Did they ever forget and weave things more than once? Or did they get something akin to writer's block?
What I do know about this tapestry, about those old crones, is that they included this boy in the picture in my thread on the loom. Sometimes I wonder why, and then why again even after I come up with reasons. This boy - he's important to me. My mind goes numb, the picture ceasing it's gentle movement on the surface of my memory. A part of me tells myself to tap it, to send it fluttering down into the depths to be forgotten. But another part is transfigured, staring. I find myself staring too, the former part of me growing irritated the longer I wait to push the photo under. ..I do not want to push it under, do I? I want to think about it. I want to think about that boy.
Though, proxy to this, haven't I already thought about him? The picture is there, always, the smiling face imprinted on my brain. What did it want from me, exactly? I can see how worn it really is, crumpled and torn, faded in colour. Yes, I want to think about this boy.
I lift the picture off of the surface. I center it, give my full attention to it. I listen as it begins to play movies in my head, memories.
What do you want from me?
Note:
..Yeah. Much word vomit, but I wanted to give the story more depth, as you'll be able to see later on. XD"
Clearly, it's in Matt's perspective, though it might change later. Do not worry; I'll always tell whose point of view it is before hand so you aren't confused. (:
I guess this is sort of like a preview, so get ready for flashbacks.