Suggested Listening: Tracks in the Snow by The Civil Wars
Many thought him to be insane. Crazy, unhinged, or out of his mind. It didn't matter how they said it- it hurt every time. Even when it was said in passing, or as a joke- it stung like his mother's hand across his face.
L didn't let his emotions overrun him usually, but it was January 3, the anniversary of his parent's death, and it still hurt, sometimes. And the quiet, cold, out doors seemed much more welcome than the loud, hot orphanage. He'd informed A of where he was going- the young boy had sworn not to tell B- after calling him crazy.
He sighed, the wind blowing through his black, unruly locks as the tree's branches, bare of leaves, scraped against one another and he took another step, the snow underneath his bare feet crunching between his toes and numbing them painfully. But he ignored it, instead turning to face the wind, and the orphanage. The building stood, almost invisible in the snow-covered ground and blank, whiteish sky, signaling more snow to come. He could make out the gold lights from the windows, and the red and green ribbons that wrapped around the pillars that guarded the door and the others that gently caressed the windowpanes and walls surrounding it. It was a beautiful sight, one he couldn't appreciate in that moment, knowing it housed other children like him- genius orphans.
He lowered his eyes to the ground, following the long trail of footsteps he'd made to make it to where he was just inside the tree line about sixty meters away. The indents weren't that deep, or straight; they sort of went all over the place. He blinked, feeling his lashes get caught between the ones on his lower eyelid as his gaze turned upwards to the trees. They formed a ceiling, almost, like a church, he thought idly. He gazed at them, not really seeing them, at the same time; it was the only thing he could see.
The wind blew through the air once again, causing an involuntary shiver to rush through L's body. He listened as the branches crashed against one another, breaking the cathedral like view. He blinked, his trance breaking. He again lowered his eyes to the blinding white below him and shoved his hands in his jean pockets, then kept walking.
Eventually he came across a small stream- one that was frozen over, small icicles hanging from the frosted stones in the water. He crouched down next to it, and fancied that he could see the water running, over and around the stones, the rocks breaking the steady rhythm that it had set, many years ago. Gray eyes watched his daydream for a little while longer while he bit at the skin on the pad of his thumb, his nail scraping the inside of his upper lip harshly. He barely noticed, used to such insignificant pain.
The daydream played out for a long time, with the stream being his main focus as the wind whispered songs as it whistled through the trees and brushed the snow lightly into the crisp, cold air. It was practically a colorless fantasy, peppered only occasionally by light blue and gray. He brought his hand away from his mouth when he realized that, reaching into his pocket to pull the scarlet and gold ribbons from his pocket and twist them around his fingers. After another hour, he stood, and walked back home.