The rain continued without end, carrying on into the next day, and those that followed. Carrying on into the weekend, still as persistent as ever. The sound of rain tapping against glass, that’s the way I’ve been waking up these past few days.

It’s been a week now, since I came here to this city.

Morning arrived, greeted by the endless rain. In a large, empty room. I sat up, rubbing my sleepy eyes. Today was the first day off school since arriving here. The first time since arriving that I could finally slow down, at least for two days.

The week had past right by me. In the blink of an eye, the time it took to flinch, as it zoomed past. I chased after it, struggling to keep up. As my mind tried to process it all, unable to catch up.

These past few days had been a blur. I felt dazed. Like I had been dreaming. A long dream, which I was rising from more restless than before I went to sleep.

I slid out of bed. My body felt heavy, while my head felt light. It was a strange feeling, accompanied by a sharp headache, that caused me to feel off balanced.

I walked robotically toward the bathroom and washed my face in the sink. On the mirror, the reflection of a tired man stared back at me. He had begun to form rings under his eyes and his face looked pale and sickly from poor nutrition.

I might have been getting sick, or I was on the verge of getting so. I needed to take better care of myself. Just because I was living alone, didn’t mean I could stop taking care of myself. Rather, now, more than ever, I needed to be responsible for my own self.

…

I brewed myself a hot cup of tea. The leaves weren’t exactly the freshest or of the best quality, but the taste was still bitterly sweet – the mixer of the cheap tea leaves and honey. As the tea flowed down my throat, it caused my body to feel warm inside.

I slowly sipped on the coffee mug I was using as a teacup, as I reflected on the past, the present, and the future.

…

These past few days had gone by so quickly. That’s how life was here, in the city. That’s how it was going to be for me, from here on out. This was my new life.

It moves so quickly, you’ll be left behind.

That’s the feeling I got when I thought about it. Perhaps that was why, even now, it still didn’t feel like I was living here. Why it still felt like a distant place, far, far away.

Because even though I was here, I just couldn’t adjust. I couldn’t keep up, no matter how hard I tried. Life was passing by me, faster than I could process.

Everything. Everything was happening around me, all at the same time. The crowded city, the crowded streets. The crowded school, the crowded halls. The crowded apartment complex I was staying at. The crowded room, I was in.

The mountain of boxes felt as it could crumble at any second. As if the towering mount would collapse and bury me under. The walls felt as if they were closing in on me. Looming over me, as the room narrowed further and further.

It the background, the rain, like static, roared. My ears fixated on the noise, as it became the sole sound I could hear. As the walls closed in on me, my vision fogged.

Even the sound of the rain disappeared. Leaving behind only a long, continuous ring. A sharp ring that pierced my ears, resounding within me. Nauseating, causing great distress.

And then suddenly…

I wasn’t sure what happened next. A table seemed to flip over, as glass shattered against the tile. A pair of feet stomped on the floor, as they rushed forward. A door flew open. And then there was a ruptured sound, as someone poured out acid into a porcelain bowl.

Fumes wafted the air, as they burned my throat.

…

I sat on the floor, in front of a small pile of boxes. Alongside me, there were other small piles of similar sizes. In the middle of the room was the large pile, originally a mound, the others had sourced from, now significantly decreased in size.

I was sorting out the boxes into specific piles. One for the boxes that would go into my room. One for the kitchen, and the bathroom. One for the stuff that would stay out here. And one for the boxes that would be stored away.

A few of the boxes were bare essentials and some personal belongings. Stuff I had packed myself. Others were kitchen utensils, dishes, cleaning supplies, and the like. Extra stuff my parents bought for me that they believed would help facilitate my move.

However, the great majority of the boxes here were filled with junk I was forced to bring along with me. Parting gifts I’d probably never put to use, mementos that would help me remember home, and even toys I hadn’t played with since I was a kid.

It made me wonder why they even bothered to send some of this stuff. They didn’t seriously think I needed all this? Or were they just trying to get rid of it, get it out their house? Part of me wanted to just toss out most of it, but when I thought about how much it must have cost my parents to send this stuff over here, I felt too guilty to go through with it.

I decided I would just store it away. And if I ever saved up enough money, I’d sent the stuff back.

As I sorted through the boxes, a certain object caught my attention, sticking out from a box, tearing from how overstuffed it was. Curious, I reached out and grabbed the box. Laying it in front of me, I tore off the tape and popped open the box.

It was like a treasure chest inside, brimming with a wide arrangement of different things. Loose drawing, old notebooks, a compass, binoculars, preserved pinecones, withered plants contained inside plastic baggies, among other things.

It was like opening up a time capsule from my childhood. Memories of the adventures we would go on as kids, me along with my friends, began to surface. Going deep into the woods or up to the mountains. Canoeing across the lake or traveling along the river. Searching the depths of the wheat fields or the ends of the town.

Monster hunting, gold mining, ruins exploring. Detectives, ghost hunters, heroes. We were everything and anything. Limited only by our minds, which never seemed to be scarce on imagination.

There was an old hat among the things in the box, my explorer cap, smushed under a stack of picture books. A pale green fisherman hat, decolored overtime due to its age. Worn out and with a few holes. And it was so small, tiny compared to my current hat size. Obvious as that may be, it still surprised me to think my head was once that small.

I dug further into the box, as memories continued to flood my mind with every new object I rediscover.

Among them, there was a large, rolled-up sheet of paper, that seemed to be made out of a special type of material. I spread it out across the floor. It was a map, a treasure map of sorts. The map itself was a general outline of our town and the landmarks around it. Written across the bottom in cursive were clues, simple in their mystery, that helped guide to the final destination, marked by an X as the last clue indicated.

This so-called treasure map, most likely, was created by one of the adults in town. My memories surrounding it weren’t very clear, but I remembered we spent an entire summer trying to solve this mystery. It was the highlight of that summer and it must have been incredibly fun. If so, why were my memories so hazy?

In the end, I wonder if we ever found the treasure.

I dug further into the box, until I reached the end. The last item in the box, right at the bottom, was a picture frame. Having been buried underneath the weight of everything else, the glass frame had cracked from the pressure.

I lifted it out slowly, being careful with the cracked glass. Using my sleeve, I brushed off the dust collected on it, to reveal the picture underneath.

It was of two boys, one with long, dirty-blonde hair and another with similar length, black hair. They were both barefoot, soaked, and covered in mud. They were standing on a wooden dock overlooking a lake, holding a large fish, big enough that they both had to hold it with two hands. The blonde kid had a smile from ear to ear while the other gave a proud, almost smug expression.

I remembered this day. My friend, the black-haired kid, and I, the blonde, had both joined a fishing competition. Held annually, for kids, alongside a more professional one for the adults. We weren’t exactly good fishers, or rather, we didn’t know how to fish at all.

I could set up a fishing pole and cast it, but I didn’t have any idea what to do if I actually caught something. On the other hand, he didn’t know the first thing when it came to fishing. He had absolutely zero clue what he was doing, yet he was still confident we’d win the competition.

It was his idea we should join, he was the one that signed us up and prepared everything for that day. And when he saw that we weren’t catching anything, he was the one who decided we should jump into the lake and catch a fish with our own hands.

Soaked and muddy, losing our hats and shoes along the way, we somehow managed to catch and drag a large fish out the water, off the bank, and up a rocky hill back toward the dock. All while it frantically flopped around, trying to escape or bite our fingers off.

Of course, we didn’t win. We were disqualified for breaking the rules. Yet we were still able to catch the biggest fish that day, and in that, he took great pride. And along with him, I too felt joy.

He was my best friend.

From the first day I met him, in elementary school, he had been my best friend. We did everything together. We spent every day together. He was like a brother, perhaps even closer.

Yet… how long has it been since I last spoke with him?

A month? Maybe two. Maybe more.

We had a fallout. A huge argument. I thought we would eventually resolve it. Around that time, I was already planning on coming to the city to study. When he found out about that, he swore he’d never speak to me again.

I left without even saying goodbye.

…

I finished storing away the last box. There was so much stuff I filled both the coat closet by the entrance and my own closet with boxes. I had to place the last few boxes in the extra storage room outside, next to the balcony.

I leaned against the railing, looking out at the night cityscape. It wasn’t exactly the intricate high-rise buildings of downtown, it was a residential area after all, but it still had that city feel to it. Whatever that was supposed to mean anyway.

The rain had finally let out, for the first time in the week I had been here. I was a new world entirely, different from the dry one I had witnessed the first day I arrived, and the rain filled one I had begun to grow accustomed to – yet could never fully get used to.

The world was still wet, from the rain that had just passed. The roofs were dripping, and you could still hear the sound of water running down gutters as they tried to drain themselves. When the wind would pick up, it’d ruffle the leaves of trees, and waterdrops would dance off and tap against the roofs of cars parked underneath.

In the distance, you could hear the sound of tires tearing apart puddles on the road as they passed through. Along with chirping birds, who had come out to feed on the worms, which, excited by the rain, had crawled up to the surface of the grass.

The city was as lively as ever, only growing more so with the passing rain.

Earlier, I almost had a mental breakdown from the stress of my new life here. But when I looked out at this view, the prospects of the future didn’t seem so dim. If only the city could slow down a little, it truly would be a beautiful place.

Who knew, perhaps I would never be able to fully adjust to life here. Perhaps each day would only be filled with stress and anxiety, stacking on top of one another day after day, until I finally snapped, unable to take any more.

The fact was, I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t return to the small town I came from. That was no longer an option, it stopped being so the second I decided to leave. Among several reasons, I simply couldn’t return.

It was as if, I felt, I wouldn’t be welcomed back if I was to return. As if I no longer had a place I belonged there. I could no longer call that town home.

This, right before me, was my new home. Even if I’d never feel a sense of belonging here either, this was my new life. The one I had chosen myself.

This view was beautiful; yet why, when I looked up at the sky, it appeared to be so dark. The small, dim moon, almost invisible compared to the lights of buildings and streets. Being drowned out by the city lights. Insignificant in its faded glow.

I still remembered the vast skies, illuminated by brilliant stars that shone like fire in the night. The breathtaking beauty of the sky I had taken for granted. Along with everything else, I too had lost that. Left now with this empty sky, devoid of light.

Perhaps a perfect representation of my current state, the lone, fading moon.

As if hoping on the impossible, as if knowing full well it was all in vain, I closed my eyes…

…and wished upon this starless sky.