sounding-out idols
People believe in mysteries. They think even though the maps are filled in, something has been overlooked. They believe in loch ness, or the Jersey Devil. They believe in God, and emotions, and DNA. They believe in the how, and that there must be a why though they don't know what it is. They believe in ghosts, and other things no one understands.
At least for years, he added. At least until they're dead and in a position to find out.
But then even that's only conjecture. Because you see, he said, waving in the vague direction of the stars, All the mysteries are out there. And deep in the ocean. And in caves. All the mysteries now are below sea level or above plane-level. Nobody's seen dragons in for—
Except in the Beystadium, Hiro said, trying to joke, trying to argue.
Brooklyn froze, considering, looking skyward with eyes that sparked in the fall moonlight. He exhaled white in the cold air. Then that's another mystery solved, he said, almost mournfully. Reverent as he traced Cassiopeia. God has been found. He's in my beyblade.
But Hiro had his own mystery to believe in.
He stopped to listen, when Brooklyn laughed.