Like You've Done for Me (Shelter)

by CrystineLucarnia

A one-shot that may or may not become a short series, depending on how it's received. Rin is living alone in the world that she creates, her memories of where she came from becoming less and less clear as the years go on. She holds on to the knowledge that her father loves her, and that everything will surely be okay.

No messages in 1099 days.

I kicked my feet a bit as I sat on the edge of the bed. The tablet sat beside me, blank. Today, I didn't know what to draw.

It wasn't as though I couldn't think of anything, but it seemed as though I had already drawn everything that it was possible to draw. Every day a different world would burst into being around me, just from touching the stylus to the screen. It was too easy. Even my simple drawings became worlds of color and light, just for me. It was wonderful, just like my father had meant it to be.

But it was lonely. I was the only one here, in a world just for me. It was different every day, however I made it, and yet somehow, it was lonely.

Quietly I hummed the song that Papa had sung to me.

It's a long way forward, so trust in me.

I'll give them shelter like you've done for me.

And I know I'm not alone….

Sighing, I flopped back onto the bed, hair pooling around me. I stared up at the blank ceiling, and then picked up the tablet again. On days like this… I always ended up drawing the same thing. I felt like if I didn't, I might forget.

Tall, broken buildings. A dark sky. Rocky ground. Dead trees… it was different from my dream-worlds. It was a reality that I had left behind. Each time though, it was harder to remember what it had really looked like.

Had the trees been that tall? Had there been more buildings standing, or not? My lines were uneven, because I was uncertain.

Had I just dreamed it all? Even him…

Had I really been here forever… and just imagined all of that?

A single swipe of my hand returned the destroyed scene to white.

Maybe I shouldn't draw that anymore. Things that were beautiful were better. Things that made me happy were better. That would be what Papa would want, right? He at least was real, if nothing else was. My memories of him were too warm, too gentle to not be real. It must be that the dying world that was so hard to remember was fake, just something that had stuck with me after a bad dream.

I sketched out a tree, and the ground, watching green spread out around me. Smiling, I hopped off the bed and ran out into the new field, spinning around and giving a short laugh.

Much better.

I could never find the right way to tell you.

Have you noticed that I've been gone?

Cause I left behind the home that you made me,

But I'll carry it along.