The leaves crunched underneath his feet, the sound crispy and brittle. He could feel the dead foliage disintegrate under his weight. Mikoto sighed and heaved in a lungful of air. This was the second time he felt awfully empty, like there was something big he was missing. Whenever he wakes up like this, he finds almost everything unpleasant. The sight of the maple trees caught his attention, they were as vibrantly red as ever, it hurt his eyes and made him seriously want to go back home just to escape the sight of it. But this would be the last time he's going to see his home village again. That's why for the last time, he wanted to engrave it in his memory no matter how everything seemed to be pointless.
The soles of his feet were beginning to get sore from too much wandering around so he decides to cross the street and sit on a bench. There were not many people, nor vehicles. Everything was completely serene. The deserted streets pleased him. He liked being alone like this just walking to get away from awful thoughts. It was early in the morning and the morning dew was still fresh and untouched by the strength of the midday sun.
His footsteps reverberated in his ears. His heels cluttered against the cement, the scraping sound it makes from time to time keep him awake. His vision was bouncy like the focus of a documentary film, as if he was an audience in his own movie, in his own perspective and view. He closed his eyes for a second, heaved in and blinked a couple of times before dropping his gaze.
The wind blew strongly making the branches quiver so that he could hear them tremble. The quivering sounded reedy, like a rain maker or a maracas being shook. It was accompanied by the cooing of the wind and the screeching sound of the insects, lilting, blithe. Would he miss this? He wonders.
He could feel the cold breeze against his skin, its strength tugging on the tendrils of his hair, turning it into a mess. The foliage spread, swirling, messy against the pavement but he didn't take particular attention to it. He was brooding, so entirely lost in his own reverie. He wanted to smoke this early in the morning but stopped himself.
Slowly, as if to bring him back on his feet, the shrill sound of the chimes being gently caressed by the breeze faded in. Each metal rod coalescing against the other sounded like a rush measure of a chord, each high pitched note played successively. He looked up and his world stopped for a second. The light that scintillated in his vision made his pupils contract. For a moment, he felt everything so bright. The rays of the sun filtered through the trees covered the flowershop with its shadow. The insects screeched, the water rushed and flowed. The sound of it rang in his ears. The click of the door made everything too strong for his senses. He lift up his head and his eyes widened. It was the first time he was stunned.
The twist of the hand, long fingers and hair of ebony. These were the things that captured him. Graceful movements, a flick of the wrist, a twist of the hip, folded sleeves, a green apron, an open mouth and long matted lashes, those made his heart clench. A clink of the pot, the sound of running water from the sprinkler, and the gaze he had when he turned to him slowly, his eyes bright with recognition made him wonder if one could feel so deeply attached to someone at first sight.
Mikoto looked away, instead of sitting he walked past the flower shop, never to return again.