Arc 0: Prelude 25 - Bright-Colored World

jubilation /dʒuːbɪˈleɪʃn/

a feeling of great happiness and triumph.

Away from the crowds’ cries and the rainfall, the two men sat on a bench.

The grass seemed to be greener than where the gravestone was, and the dirt rustled beneath their feet with every bit of movement. It made for a sick joke that neither of them conceived at that moment.

Despite Lauren's father’s friendly, or rather solemn demeanor, Zachary felt his bones being shackled and his muscles tighten. The tension was far too great for his liking. It didn’t help that they hadn’t spoken a word since they departed from the crowd, it was only a measly five minutes, but to them, every minute was an hour.

Then the father breathed out to speak.

“You… you know,” he rested his arms on his knees and took a deep breath, “That competition a while ago… you were in it, right?”

As he tilted his head to his right, Zachary nodded quietly in response.

“When they offered to publish her story… she declined,” he faintly chuckled and quickly covered his face to hold himself together, “She said it would “upset Zach,” that you started together and you needed to reach the finish line together, or something like that…”

With those last words, the father fell silent.

“I…,” Zachary had nothing to say.

To be able to interact and discuss his recently deceased daughter proved to be an exhausting task, the man was at the end of his wits. As for Zachary, hearing what he had to say had earned him enough frustration to tighten his grip in silence. Both of them bared faces that urged them to scream and to stomp their feet into the soil on which they stood, and if they ever did that, they’d be no different than the mother who went looking for her daughter beneath the grave.

But what could they ever do? This was fate; the ever-so-odd red string of fate.

“Lauren… she uh…,” the father opened up his mouth once again, “She was very, very fond of you. And I need to make sure that… you know that… none of this was your fault. That…,” he eyed him a look of both warmth and sorrow, “You’re a good kid, Zach. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, so… walk tall.”

“Right…”

“Um… that’s probably enough chit-chat for now,” he got off the bench.

The father might have maintained a sorrowful smile as a means to keep himself together but — Zachary could tell — he could not hide the pain in his eyes, which seemed swollen as if they were about to burst into tears again. He desired no longer any mention of his daughter for the time being so as to not mourn her any longer than he should, for he too believed he had to stand on his own two feet, for the sake of his now deluded wife.

“Yes yes. It’s truly a heart-breaking matter.”

A voice, a third party, interrupted with youthful enthusiasm.

There was a man standing near the father, gazing at the crowd and funeral from where he stood. Despite donning a black suit appropriate for a funeral and a fedora hat of equal color, he still stood out like a sore thumb. Furthermore, he had his neck wrapped by a dark green scarf riddled with inscriptions of an unknown kind. His unkempt long brown hair and crimson eyes told nothing good, and yet one could not help but be entranced by them.

Who this man was and why he was here, none had an answer. And no one had the heart to speak up.

“A soul ever-so-lost in the rain. Oh?” He turned his indifferent gaze to the father in surprise, “Oh my. Pardon me, it was a… how do you say it? Slip of the tongue?”

“And… you are?” The father was dumbfounded.

“Oh yes,” the man opened up his palm for a handshake but after seeing no response from the father, he turned his hand away and slightly bowed, “Charles Orwell, at your most esteemed service! I’m with the watchmen.”

“Watchmen?!” The father widened his eyes, “Here? W-Why? What happened?”

“Oh please remain calm, it’s nothing too serious,” the man coughed before he turned his gaze to Zachary, “I heard a rumor, that’s all. I’m here for the lad.”

Zachary did not flinch, opting to merely stare back at the man in solemness.

“Now listen here,” the father seemed angry, “He did not—”

“I am just here to do my job. I’ll simply ask some basic questions. You know, basic protocol and all that,” the man interrupted. “Can’t hurt now, can it?”

Yet the father didn’t want to move away. Like anyone with a sane mind in this town, he didn’t share a single bit of trust with the watchmen or any of the military police for that fact.

“By the way,” the man smiled and placed his hands in his pockets, “They say there was once a man who stuck his nose into every trifling matter that didn’t concern him and let’s just say, for the sake of our dear friend here, it didn’t end well for him.”

In the face of the man’s harrowing smile and words, the father could do nothing but step away. Following that abrupt farewell, he set off to join the crowd, leaving Zachary with the man alone.

With one matter done, the man moved onto the next. He swiftly walked over to the bench and sat beside Zachary. His bright smile was still present on his face.

“What a sour sight for the eyes, almost felt bad for him.” The man let out a deep sigh before he placed his hands on Zachary’s shoulder.

“Charles Orwell, huh,” Zachary brushed the man’s hand off his shoulder, “Quite the performance.”

“Yes, yes. I’ve grown fond of it,” the man, Orwell, tilted his head to both sides to relax his muscles, “It’s been well over a month now. You cannot expect me to wander about stuck to a tree. Though these clothes shackle me, I, too, need some liberty — I’m not a genie in a bottle, after all. Besides, you’re the one with the impressive array of skills, pisspot. I think you’ve had me beat.”

“Yeah…,” he sighed.

“But in all honesty, if this is bothering you, don’t let it get to you.” Orwell nudged him a bit to ease whatever tension might have persisted.

“I know…”

He knew very well. There was nothing to be done. It was a fact that he could not reject, only embrace.

“I can still taste it.”

△▼△▼△▼△▼△

“Zach…,” she said, “H-Help me… please…”

Lauren Cherith, who was standing on the ledge of the rooftop, who was ready to commit herself to death, was now grasping for dear life as if she had awoken from a terrible dream to a terrifying nightmare. As her legs were slowly giving in to the numbness, her cries and pleas echoed over the rain.

Zachary Ashworth stood facing her at the rooftop, drowning in a cold sweat. He was ready to jump off his feet at any moment.

And then…

…the expected happened.

The wind faded and the rain halted.

The hearts wailed and the minds wavered.

The girl slipped and the dream slept.

The world stopped.

But Lauren Cherith was still in life’s grasp.

When she came to, she was still on the ledge, just a step away from demise, yet her whole body was left in Zachary’s embrace. He had caught onto her at the last moment, never to let her go. Even as he stood on the ledge with her in his grasp, his overwhelming strength was in clear contrast to her own diminishing strength.

Immediately, she wrapped her arms around him and continued her cries.

“I…,” she faintly spoke, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Her breath was still warm. Her heart was still beating. Her eyes were still lit. But her smile was nowhere to be found; that smile befitting an evershine star was lost.

For a moment she felt that warmth she had long desired. A glimmer of what she had lost was found buried deep in Zachary’s chest.

“I… I want to go back… to when I was helping you. Is that selfish? Is that wrong?”

Zachary’s grip tightened.

It was almost suffocating. Within the suffocation, Lauren found comfort and understanding. As she was drowning herself in the warmth she couldn’t help but forget where she was.

“When we go back… can you stay with me?” Her voice let out a faint wail, “O-Or maybe I can stay with you. Just for a day or two.”

She felt his grip loosen and his hand touch her chin. The warmth never left but now he was looking down on her, his eyes warmer than ever.

Their lips met. Their souls embraced.

His grip loosened.

Her mind had drifted long ago. Her legs were numb.

He smiled. He let go

Lauren’s eyes remained as soft as ever.

Her legs gave way. Their lips broke their bond. She felt no more pain. No more helplessness. As the gravity carried her to her resting place, she remained entranced. Their eyes never left each other until the final moment of departure.

Her smile only faded moments before the final stop.

The wind howled and the rain marched.

The hearts whispered and the minds advanced.

The boy left and the dream awoke.

The world resumed.

And so came the end of Lauren Cherith.

To do the right thing is to be virtuous and compassionate but it is also to be inhumane. It is the thin facade humanity wears to hide its true desire. For if there is peace, there are talks of a bright future. But if there is an opportunity for glory behind cowardice, that facade is ripped apart by the uncontrollable grin of chaos.

That is the true nature of humanity.