Forever
Forever, Michael tells himself as he lifts the heavy leather-bound book from his father's desk, that's how long he has been waiting for this moment. It is almost worth the unreasonable wait to finally be holding the tome in his arms, to hear the creak of its stiff spine and heft its weight in his hands. Strange, he thinks, that even though it is always kept in the same place- he has never in his whole life seen it be moved- it is kept in pristine condition, with not even a hint of dust on its rich leather cover. This thought does not trouble him for long, however, as it is soon overpowered by an intense surge of satisfaction.
Michael is feeling exceptionally pleased with himself.
He is almost tempted to open the book here and now, but manages- just barely- to resist the urge. Instead, he tucks the tome as far under his arm as it will go, jumps down off the stool and leaves the study, having decided on the spot to go outside in order to examine his prize. He is so intensely focused on his own anticipation that the crash when the stool overbalances almost fails to reach his ears.
Someone ruffles his hair as he goes outside, but he doesn't stop to identify the owner of the hand placed briefly upon his head. By now the excitement is bubbling up uncontrollably in his chest and his throat, and his self-satisfied strut warps into a tumbling run as he heads further out into the open air, having entirely forgotten why he cannot yet open the book, concentrating on the feel of it, its shape and texture, how it digs into his ribs as he struggles to keep it wedged between his arm and his side.
Eventually he reaches the crest of the hill, and there is another small victory to add to Michael's mental list as he flops down breathless into the grass, the book falling beside him. He heaves it into his lap immediately, not able to wait another minute, and wrenches the covers apart.
His face creases with confusion.
It is a photograph album. Every inch of paper has been covered with carefully labelled pictures, some glossy and fresh, others faded and tattered at the corners. There must be hundreds of them, he thinks- and yet he cannot recognise himself in a single one. Instead, the book has been filled with images of other people, who stare out of the page and meet his eyes unflinchingly. They are young- children- with hair the colour of sunlight and round smiling faces. But gradually, as he flicks through the book, their eyes become quiet and sad, and those smooth faces grow haunted. He sees time pass, bringing stiff funeral clothes. He sees metal. He sees the collection of people grow smaller. He sees children and then he sees adults, and all the way through he sees rows and rows of graves. He sees things he can't explain, places he has never been, people he has never met.
He sees pain on these pages: years of it.
And then, on the final page, looking almost comically out of place in its environment, he sees a photograph of his parents' wedding.
It is the only picture without a caption.
"What's that?"
Michael jumps, half-turns, guiltily makes to cover the book- before he recognises his younger sister standing behind him. He flips back through the album, watching the passage of time in reverse, as she joins him on the ground.
"It's pictures of some strangers' lives," he says at last. "Want to see?"
Author's notes: ARGH. LATE, LATE, SHAMELESSLY LATE. D: Sorry. This was quite difficult to write, as it contains an OC LOL WHUT? XD I don't normally like those. At all. Still, expect to see more of Michael at some point. :3
On another note, whoo! 50 chapters! I feel so proud. (And stunned.)
