Waves crashed against the empty shore. It was dusk and the last bits of sunlight were fading from the sky.
In a house by the beach, a young woman stuck padded around the kitchen, making a dinner. But it was an unusual way to make dinner; pots moved by themselves, kitchen knives cutting and chopping without any human hands holding them, and there was light music playing in throughout the house. The young woman was humming right along to the music.
Suddenly, an owl flew up to the small cottage and tapped on the window with its beak. However, the young woman could not hear the tapping, due to the music and the constant clanging of dishware.
The woman reminisces on her day and looks down at her almost dirt stained hands. She never imagined that doing this job would make her so happy, planting her namesake.
Then, the owl flew straight in through the open window and flew right up to the pretty brunette woman. Instead of being scared about having a strange bird in her house, the woman looked up surprised.
"Thaddie?" she whispered.
The owl hooted and then she notice the letter in the owls beak.
"What do you have there, Thad?" she asks quietly, taking the letter from the owl.
The young woman glances briefly at the letter, then frowns and drops it on the counter.
"Here Thad, take a treat" she motions toward the owl, as if the owl could understand her.
She opens the window to let the owl out, but the owl doesn't move.
"You won't move until I read it, will you?"
The owl hoots again.
"I promise I will read it."
The owl just looks at her, then flies out the window into the night sky.
The woman picks up the letter from the counter, turns it over in her hands, then goes to a desk in the cottage and opens a drawer. She puts the letter in the drawer and goes back to the kitchen to finish preparing her meal.
The drawer is filled with unread letters.
A man walks into a bar. He sighs and runs a hand through his already messing black hair, making it stand up even more.
"The usual?" the bartender asks.
The man grunts in acknowledgement.
Then, just like always, the man pulls out an old, tattered photograph.
Four people are in the photograph, laughing. It helps him remember the good times; before everything went down. He glances down at his younger self and barely recognizes himself.
The happy teenager has been replaced with a bitter, resentful young man and he doesn't even know how to get the "old him" as everyone else called him, back.
The bartender hands him the drink, and offers some advice like he does every night.
"Get out of here, kid. You'll feel better."
The same lines, the same bar, the same drink, his life had become a routine of monotony.
But this time, the advice was different,
"I'm going to take that photo from you." the bartender says.
The black haired man looks up at the bartender, surprised from this change in the monotony.
"You'll get it back when you stop trying to make the past be your present."
That night, something changes inside the young man. He realizes: the monotony was only monotonous because he made it so. He was still the "old him" just a little older, with a few more scars. But that didn't mean he couldn't change up the monotony.
He would change it.
The man walked out of the bar, without drinking anything for the first time in months.
The pretty girl glanced around the café where she was eating. Various people were scattered around the café, eating unique foods and talking in fascinating tongues. This was the epitome of culture.
She sighs quietly as the waiter comes up to her again.
"Is there anything else I can get for you, mademoiselle?"
"No, merci, Jacques. I think I might just sit here and write a little more."
"Only if you promise to play it later" he winks at her.
The pretty girl laughs, "that's my job, Jacq"
"All the more reason to play it!" he laughs and walks away.
The pretty girl sighs again, ties up her brunette hair into a plait quickly and then takes out a piece of parchment and a quill and begins to write.
A few people look at her strangely, yet she ignores them. She seems suddenly immersed into a whole different world. She concentrates hard, and rarely ever stops for a break, except to drink some more espresso.
When she is finally finished with her writing, she goes into the back of the café and then up a set of stairs. Through a door, she enters a small apartment, just above the café.
She whistles just a short, high, whistle and an owl comes.
"Thaddie," the pretty girl says quietly, "send this to her…you're the only one who knows where to find her."
The owl hoots obediently.
"Oh if only you could talk! I'd ask you how they all are…"
Then the pretty girl begins to cry, she cries until Jacques enters the room and then takes her in his arms and holds her until she falls asleep.
It was Sunday.
The blond boy didn't get out of bed. For months he barely survived, he only ate when his friends brought him food. And then, his 'friends' disappeared.
Of course, he had to eat even though he wasn't sure why he wanted to sustain his life when he had nothing to live for.
He used to have something to live for, but then his something disappeared.
No-not disappeared, gone- chosen to leave him.
What really sucked is knowing that your reason to live left you and there was nothing you could do about it. You couldn't even find that reason anymore.
But now, he wasn't sure if he wanted to.
So, he went to work. He healed people and smiled and made small talk when he was supposed to. He dated, but never for long.
As of recently most of his 'dates' were just one night stands.
His family was worried. His friends were worried. Three people weren't worried.
Three people didn't care.
Three people that he thought cared about him the most abandoned him.
Fuckers.
He drank some more.
Then, the woman beside him woke up and he fucked her once more before she left.
But no one was like-no he wouldn't say it.
He wouldn't say that ever again.
He's moved on, he thought, they all have.
A/N: Wow! It's finally here! The sequel to These Bonds of Friendship! What do you think? Can you guess who is whom? Are you so excited for the next chapter?
On a side note: has anyone ever started reading a series of book and really enjoyed the first book...and then the other books just seem to get weirder and weirder as the series goes on? like the author doesn't know what the heck they're writing about and each story gets more and more far fetched? Just a thought since two series I have read have recently done this to me and I was extrememly disappointed and wanted to know if anybody else ever felt what i'm feeling now...
On a happier note: the next chapter should be out soon! :)
~wwccd