Disclaimer:
I do not own Klonoa or any other of his game series' characters. For one thing, I do own one of them here.
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A NEW LIFE
– SHOULD I MOVE ON?--
What do you do when things fall apart?
He made silly sounds. Sounds that only one caught up in his own little world would make.
It was sunny that day. Merrily and alone, the boy was playing. There were hardly any shops in Breezegale and the few shops that were there were nowhere near being close to being called a toy shop. The nearest one was eight visions away. So one day, out of the blue when his grandfather had handed him a colorful box, it would only be a few seconds later before he was the happiest child in Phantomile.
Birds flew from where they were perched. You could hear Klonoa's overjoyed voice echo.
The toy was that special. It was not only new, but it was a red moo made from a soft huggable material, a material that bears the best traits of silk and rubber. It was a fairly sized plush toy of sorts that could bounce of the wall. Best of all, it was a toy from his grandfather. It overflowed with love. How on Phantomile could his grandfather take hold of such a treasure was a mystery to the young cabbit. Hugging the toy tight enough around its core would make it squeak.
*Squeak*
For a while the kid would hug it to death. There was just something in its texture, its softness that he found irresistible. The toy itself seemed that it liked this kind of attention. Adrenaline would fill him, and he would pose, readying himself for his throwing. He would pretend to be someone else, maybe a big name in their sports world. A breath escapes him.
*Squeak*
He had thrown it, and for some reason things would slow down. It bounced back, and the kid would catch it, or at least try…
A vase took the full blow. He decided to name the toy 'Breaky.
He got sent to bed early that day. But that never stopped him from playing in the living room with Breaky ever again. Klonoa's chores tripled that week.
*Squeak*
Time passes, and the frequency on how much times he would play with the thing would keep getting less and less. However, whenever he does come around to remember Breaky existed he would never think twice. He'd just go play with it. Like right now.
*Squea-* the toy exploded. Strange fillings rained (and looked) like confetti.
THAT stopped him from playing in the living room ever again.
The next morning when he woke up, he sat himself up on instinct. He was getting the sand off his eyes. On the other side of the room where he was facing, right in front of the window was something unexpected. Breaky was beaming; back to its old self. Klonoa out of surprise ran to examine it. There was skillful yet still awkward patching on the part where the filling escaped. It didn't matter actually. He was just happy that his grandpa took the time to do that for him.
He didn't care if it looked weird. In his opinion, the patching itself made the toy look way better, way more important to him.
"Grandpa, what would I do without you?"
…
"Without you I wouldn't know what I'd do."
What do you do when things fall apart?
You find a way to fix it.
Klonoa woke up. Things seemed to be normal; it's as if nothing had ever happened. He was on his soft bed inside his room; the window facing him was wide open letting the sunlight and the distinct scent of nature invitingly enter his sleeping chamber. He was used to waking up with this tranquil site so the first thought that came to his young mind was to do whatever his daily routine was. He started to get out of bed.
Somewhere along, he noticed what he was wearing: a black suit for formal occasions.
"Oh no…"
The bedroom door was banged open, and he rushed down the wooden stairs. Sometimes almost missing a step or two, he began hoping that everything that had occurred to him was some extremely strange coincidence faith has cruelly played on his young self.
"…please no."
The kitchen was right next to the stairs. The kitchen itself had no door but it had a rectangular opening. And a white curtain covered it for some level of privacy. When he reached that front, he could vaguely see a shadow through the curtain. And he pushed through that as he went in.
He smiled, his grandfather was alive.
The light was against him. He was there right in front of him, but his vision was being tested. His eyes started to hurt from the staring, but he could tell his grandfather was facing the other way, he guessed he was doing something with the kitchen sink, maybe washing dishes.
The bigger of the two somehow felt him and turned his head, neck and chest – just enough, allowing him to look back at the boy.
He frowned, this was not his grandfather.
Someone Klonoa never thought he'd see again, a person who was as if a dead that came back to life. If this was his grandfather then this event would be acceptable, but this man was a different case. This man was large and black; he had dark grey fur where Klonoa had white. His pointy ends opposed the boy's cloud-fluffy ends; they were pointing in an arc, like wild fur, they were feral. This man broke Klonoa's hope.
The boy's expression changed. Memories flashed, thoughts returned, remarks are created and rage restored. Forget about sorrow, let anger guide him. He frowned. Showing his fangs, his eyes burned darkly, it was as if he was trying to burn a hole through the man's head with his glare. "What are YOU doing here!!?"
How the boy had said that, it came out as deep and harsh as he could, disappointing though. It was still high-pitched and shrilly. The man was obviously not welcome in this home. The man was never in a million years welcome in his life.
The stranger reply came out rather sarcastic. "Yeah… I missed you too, son."
The man opened a container. The container itself was wooden, with a plastic hatch that opens from the bottom. It was storage for plates and other forms of culinary ware including drinking glass and two customized mugs. He reached for a bowl, pouring in it the contents of whatever he was cooking.
Klonoa just stared.
It was a little late when what the father said registered on the boy's mind. Again, Klonoa just stared.
What do you do when things fall apart?
You find a way to fix it. Whatever you do, be it end in vain, you move on.
Klonoa finally murmured. "You're not my father…" He didn't even notice that he was harshly gripping the curtain.
The older cabbit carefully placed the hot tempered dish on the table. For someone with large ears, it seemed that he didn't hear what the boy had just said. Maintaining the tone he used earlier, he replied to his son. "Whatever you say…"
Klonoa just stared.
The father showed gesture, he was inviting his son. "… Here, eat up, you need it." There has never been a more awkward moment in that house. Food was something Klonoa had needed for days, but pushed aside.
Klonoa blinked.
The child would never get used to this. He was fighting his hunger, his pride had taken over. "Right, like you care." His reply was rather bitter.
It was strange, the father had rebutted back. "Of course I care." The way he had said it, it was plain, maybe even sarcastic.
Klonoa found the right question to ask. "Why… are you here anyway?"
"What do you think? Like I said, I care."
Klonoa looked away.
"… and, when are you leaving?"
He shrugged. "I don't know; just soon as you're ready to go."
"What?"
"It's not like I'm going to leave you here on your own."
Klonoa just stared. His features had started to darken. Klonoa hissed, like a cornered cat. Klonoa ran away.
The front door forcefully creaked open. Back in the kitchen, where the scent of freshly done cooking lingered was a sighing man, the man just nodded disapprovingly. He must be strong; he could not let this chance slip away. He faced the window, a figure was looking back. For some reason, both knew what the other was asking in their respective mind.
The cabbit spoke first. "I've known forever… that he'd react like that. Don't you have work to do!?"
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The people of Breezegale had already left their homes. They look around, checking for casualties. Some would stop and notice someone running. Eyes were looking at Klonoa.
He made a trail of tears as he ran, he didn't even think. His feet just guided him to where he was heading. The forest was known for many secrets. There was an elder tree. This tree had died long ago yet it stood, sturdy but hollow. An opening around the roots made way for something that mocked a cave. He would go there to think from time to time. Right now he was thinking about what his father had said. 'Why did he come back? What will I do now? Why would I leave? Where are we going?? Am I even going to consider him? After what he did…'
'…after what he didn't?'
He was losing himself. After that, his mind went numb. It seemed that he could not think of anything, even if he tried to.
There was a sound of steps. Leaves and branches had settled on the forest grounds, they brush against each other, making a crumpling sound as someone stepped on them. Klonoa kept silent. He did not want to be found. Sometimes, the steps would stop; Klonoa concluded that the owner was checking the area out whenever it happens. He could not take it any longer; he just wanted to be left alone. The owner was searching for the boy, and the boy knew that.
'I don't want to leave you grandpa…'
He fell asleep.
"… Mom…"
She was a catch, his mother. She was a beautiful white; even the freshly fallen snow would be put to shame. Not albino, she was one of those pure bred color. One that was genetically untainted. White was all she was, an enigma for their kind.
He was being playfully fed by his mother, the most beautiful creature in the village back then. A knock on the door was heard. Her mother then placed the plate on the table. From his seat he could hear the creaking sound of the door opening. He heard a shriek of excitement a few moments later, and out of curiosity he rushed his way to the door and then there he was, his father being hugged by his mother as if she hasn't seen him in a long time.
The key phrase was: 'as if she hasn't seen him in a long time.'
He was five that time when he last saw his father. He never had any recollection of him before that and in fact, the memory of that day was his one and only.
'Wait a minute.'
He woke up. By then, the sun had begun to set.
He pondered more on that dream. He crawled out, stretching himself after. He didn't even notice that he had started moving again. Klonoa has to face his father some time. It would be now or never.
He recollected more of that day and remembered having an outing on the grassy outskirts, just the three of them. His father had carried him via piggy-back. What happened after that was a blur. He remembers waking up, lying on the grass, and he saw his father giving his mother a fresh bouquet of wild flowers. The white ones that would give a mystic glow during moonlight were her favorites. That was where his last memory of him ended.
He just realized something, his father never did anything to be hated, and he made them happy… so he questions his rage.
He remembered. It was one winter night.
He stopped his thoughts. That was one moment he never wanted to remember again.
His father would have to wait; he decided it was time to pay his respects.
What is it about graveyards? They make you feel so nervous; they make you feel so peaceful.
Klonoa never liked going to the graveyard, but his mother's grave was there. Maybe in the future, people would ask him why his grandfather's was so secluded. What else could he rebut on that? He can only tell the truth. His grandfather wanted to be buried by the sea, by the cliff where the wind blew its best. His mother never gave any sort of request, mostly because she never knew her death would come so soon, nobody expected it.
He is not going to cry for his mother anymore, he had done it so many times before. He wonders if the same would happen when it came to his grandfather. The more you hold on to something that was, the more you seem to unintentionally move on.
A curious Klonoa noticed something resting on his mother's grave.
He picked it up. The flora was white with some sort of metallic hue on the petals.
"This is…" the flower was his mom's favorite kind. Another moment passed and he smiled.
'Maybe… I can give him a chance…' he thought as he gently left it there on the standing part of the gravestone and made his way back with a genuine smile. On the way he was still pondering on thoughts. A second chance was something everyone deserved, but nobody's perfect, especially Klonoa.
On the way, he pondered more on the subject. Whether he should give his father a chance, or to not to, he also had to think about the future.
When he reached the door he paused. "I won't… he deserves it… for leaving us… but…"
He entered the door and made his way to the kitchen, slowly shrugging off the curtain on his way. The kitchen was empty; there were no signs of his father. Taking in the scent of fish he looked to a corner of the room. The dish his father made was in a closer look proved to be a type of soup made with fish, something that was in his top ten mental lists of favorites.
A closer inspection made him realize something. The soup seemed to have retained heat. Maybe his father had reheated it recently.
He sat there and breathed in the alluring scent before grabbing the spoon and taking a taste, it was better than anything his grandfather attempted on a similar dish. That thought made him pause while sipping a spoonful of the soup was in mid attempt. Why was he comparing the two? Why should he?
"Maybe, just maybe…"
He began to reconsider opinions once again. Klonoa had more than enough potential to accept him after all his pondering, but one thing's for sure in the boy's mind; he'll never admit it in front of the big guy himself.
From the other side of the curtain was a smiling father.
After a while when the soup was done and every bit of broth was finished, Klonoa sat slump, giving his first true spontaneously genuine smile in a while.
Without warning, his father suddenly entered, it made him give a sudden quick attempt to change his figure, and position to a more decent form. A few hours before this, Klonoa would never even care about what his father thinks. He'd probably throw the bowl at him just for entering.
Klonoa decided to break the ice. He stuttered a muffled 'What?' before shifting himself, he wanted to get a good view of his father.
"Well, I've decided to give you a choice." That simple sentence gave Klonoa suspense the ten times his size. What was it that made it so life changing? "You can choose where you want to live." Rather unexpected, but it showed signs of a loving father.
The father continued, "As your father, I'll support whatever you decide." However, he was rudely interrupted.
"I thought you cared!?" this sudden outburst obviously shocked the father. Klonoa was taken by rage. Now the father could hardly retain his composition.
"Wh- of course I care! I just said that…"
Klonoa accused back. "So you're just going to disappear again!?" He felt the urge to point, but as his grandfather said, it is not polite to point, nor throw a bowl at anyone.
"Hey, I'm trying to relate to you here-"
"And, then disappear, again!" Klonoa added.
At that point, Klonoa's father started to get a headache. "I thought you wanted to stay here?" His father was probably one of those people that think people do not change their minds that easily, or that fast.
"Well I thought you wanted to take me with you!" Now at that point, Klonoa was just a helpless child that felt like he was being abandoned. At that point, Klonoa's father was one of those overworked breadwinners facing a child with a tantrum.
"Well, I thought you didn't!"
"Well what do you think!?"
"Well son, I think you're getting crazy."
"Well… Who do you think I got it from!?"
"That has nothing to do about this!"
"So why did you bring it up!?"
"Oh for the love of- you were- what's it gonna be!?"
"What else? I'm coming with you dad!"
For some reason, when Klonoa called his father 'dad', his father was the happiest parent in the world.
…
"I need breather. Son, you just go… pack your things or something" was what his father said, before slipping out. Klonoa was left alone to his own devices. It was out habit, he decided to wash what he had eaten from. Things had suddenly started to slow down.
The man had regained himself. Steadily, he made his way into the house, before peering into the kitchen. His son wasn't there.
After a few minutes, he had finished going through every room in the house. He noted that there was a bag lying on his son's bed. It seemed to be stressfully stuffed. He realized that he partially owned everything in that house. One of these days, he would have to find a way to move everything. But right now, it was more important to locate his son.
'Great, what a hassle' he murmured.
What do you do when things fall apart?
You find a way to fix it. Whatever you do, be it end in vain, you move on. The rest of your life is how you make it.
The sky was already dark. The moon had shown itself.
Klonoa kneeled facing his grandfather's grave. His father was standing behind him. A bag was lying by Klonoa's side. It contained the necessities: just clothes actually. Earlier, the father had told him to just go with clothes, and that he would be the one to take care of his other belongings.
"I think grandpa never liked you." The boy suddenly spoke.
"What makes you say that?"
"He never actually said it." Klonoa hesitated a bit. "But there were times where… I don't know. You're name; it would sometimes sneak out, dad."
"-my what?"
"You know, 'Gale.' He would say your name."
The boy was trying to find the right words to say. He needed to be honest, but he needed to be kind. "And it would sound sad, sometimes angry." Now he needed to be himself. "But I don't blame him. You're a jerk dad." And they both chuckled.
"Is that what you think?"
"Maybe"
The man didn't know whether he should accept his son's remark as a joke.
"But you're still my dad." That was relief enough for the man.
Klonoa revealed that he was holding a flower. It was the same kind of flower on another grave earlier. "Mom loved Lunar Breaths." He held on to it with utmost delicate.
His father happily replied. "I know." But that wasn't the point of that particular Breath.
"Did you know about this?" Klonoa decided to show why, he blew into the flower. It started to glow, and strange luminescent pollen started to scatter. He carefully placed it upon his grandfather's grave.
Klonoa continued. "It only works during the full moon. He said that's why they're called Lunar Breaths. Grandpa loved them too. So does me."
"Oh?" The man had nothing to add.
Klonoa rose up. It was time to move on. "Where are we going anyway?"
"Well, you're going to be living with me." Even the boy knew that part was obvious.
"And you live in?" It just occurred to the boy that he does not even have a single clue where his father would take him.
The father just answered, "A land far away" like that helped quenching Klonoa's curiosity.
He was honestly starting to gain a healthy sense of curiosity towards his father's life. "Oh… and how do we get there?" Klonoa smiled.
"You'll see."
His father took hold of his bag, and suddenly pulled him. All of the sudden, Klonoa felt lightheaded as his vision played tricks. Their surroundings became darker and darker; he never realized that they were literally starting to fade away.
TO BE CONTINUED
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I'm the laziest person I know. I don't know, the last parts started to get rushed. Rather long chapter don't you think?