Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply.
Author's Note: My first story here. Eiri POV. First appeared at the Gravitation RPG at deadjournal (community name: gravitation underscore rpg). Comments, suggestions and violent reactions are welcome.
New Falling Snow
I'm unsure of myself. It happens fairly often, not that it shows. Every novel I've unleashed to the world was preempted by a period of self-doubt - doubts that at times overwhelm me so much that I have to fight the urge to throw my laptop out the window.
But the uncertainty I feel now is not like the times before when it was anticipation that made butterflies fly in my stomach. I think I'm afraid.
My, my, isn't that amazing.
When I get there, what will I find? A predictable happy ending would be too much to hope for. An actual happy ending, that scares me even more.
Commitment. Uncharted territory. I'm torn between brazenly rushing into things taking the 'come what may' attitude, and committing seppuku on my father's immaculate front lawn.
Indecision. Considering the why's and what if's. Tiring, tedious and too practical. Is there anything at all left for the heart alone to judge?
I had chosen to go by train rather than fly to Kyoto, trying to delay the inevitable, buying myself time to think. Nor did I make it a point to hurry when I got there. I walked the familiar places, memories I've attached to childhood and innocence that is always attributed to it. My feet knew the way, though I myself seem to have forgotten. The night I spent wandering, perhaps trying to remember, maybe trying to understand. Inevitably reaching a decision.
I visited my mother's grave, right before I went inside the temple - my childhood home. It was my moment to gather my strength, for whatever it is that today and hereafter may bring.
It was early morning, the sun still shielded from the horizon. My father would be rising in a few minutes to begin his daily routine. I enjoy the stillness and the company of myself for the moment.
I heard it, the muffled sound of early morning preparations, as I made my way to the west gardens, the one closest to my boyhood room, my favorite in all of Kyoto. I sat at the familiar stone bench, noting in passing that I fit comfortably in the roughly cut seat, whereas as a child there was room enough to tuck my legs underneath me while I concentrated on my writing. Yes, so much time spent here, watching the setting of the sun, looking at the pond before me, listening for the sound of the birds, and breathing crisp, clean air. It is here that I find my focus, here were I cultivated my talent, where I'd learned to dream.The familiarity calmed me, soothed my frayed nerves. I didn't even look up when there came the sound of slippered feet; too engrossed was I in the blessed peace I had not felt for such a long time.
My father sat beside me. The calm was not broken, for the silence that hung between us was not due to any feeling of hate or animosity. No trace of tension in the utter stillness of the morning. Perfect circles are the ripples that I see on the pond.
He was the first to speak. "He is a spirited young man," he said. "Much like you when you were still a boy," he continued. I didn't speak, merely submerged myself in listening. The words came unhurried from his mouth, the tranquility enveloping the entire garden seem to permeate even his tone of voice. Again, I listened.
"You've changed much, my son," he said, the reference was not lost on me. "And he is the reason."
I looked at him, trying to decipher the meaning of his words, and know the emotion he was trying to impart. Hesitation in self-expression is a family trait it seems.
He returned my stare. "My heart is glad," was all he said. And what I saw there, behind his eyes, was understanding. And acceptance.
