Alfred raced through the field, well-toned muscles pumping. He finally had a day off; he would not waste it. It had surely been awhile since he had been outside in the fresh air instead of cramped up in a cubicle in a congested room typing out codes until his fingers were stiff. He'd also wanted to get some exercise because the last time he had stepped on the scale, what he'd seen had terrified him.
So here he was, out among the long, soft blades of grass, taking in nature for all its worth. His rectangular glasses slipped down off the bridge of his nose from the perspiration, and he paused to push them back up to their rightful position. When his sight was back to normal, he noticed that he'd stopped right in front of a long, barbed-wire fence that extended the length of the field. Gazing at him from the other side of this fence was a furry brown buffalo. The buffalo snorted, spraying liquid out of its black holes of nostrils, and thundered away.
Alfred watched the beast retreat until it was long gone in the distance. He tried to submerge the memories entering his mind, but they kept floating right up to the surface. A tiny child, frolicking around in this grassy field on a bright, sunny day just like this one. A tall, blond gentleman watching over him, smiling and laughing whenever he received a gift of flowers from the young boy. And one day, the coming of the buffalo. It had towered over the comparatively diminutive child, huffing angrily. His caretaker had shouted, "Get away, Alfred! It's a dangerous beast!" But Alfred had simply ignored the command and stepped fearlessly up to the massive creature, picked it up by its front legs effortlessly, and swung it around him like he was twirling a partner while ballroom dancing. His caretaker had never been more shocked in his life. "That kid is strong," he'd remarked.
After his jog, Alfred drove down to a British restaurant. He plopped down in a seat next to the window and ordered some scones. Wait…why did I choose this seat? His legs had moved of their own accord, carrying him to this specific seat. What was so special about it? Then it hit him in the face. In his teen years, he and the blond gentleman had come here countless times. Every time, they sat in the same exact spots: the one Alfred was currently sitting in and the now-vacant seat next to him. His guardian had loved this restaurant and always insisted on coming here for lunch, no matter how much Alfred had complained. But the worst thing was that every time they'd come here the blond man had claimed to have "forgotten" his wallet at home and made Alfred (who'd always had his wallet) pay for the both of them.
This nostalgia made Alfred teary, especially when he remembered how he had gotten so fed up with his caretaker that he'd actually pointed a bayonet rifle at him and declared himself an independent entity. He was able to recall his exact words on that gloomy day: "I am no longer a child, nor your little brother. From now on, I declare myself… independent!" He had not hesitated. He had had no doubt in his cerulean eyes.
He munched on his scones absently. Outside, the clouds had rolled in, obscuring the glaring sun. The rain started to pour.