Pensiveness
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Why does it feel like I've lost trust in everybody, when really they've lost trust in me? Am I trying to damn myself?
Why do I feel like crying?
Why can't I make myself stop?
There's a poem spinning inside me, using the threads which are pulling loose from the fabric of my life. How did I get this deep in?
Kiki, Hales, Stacy, Lauren. You deserve all ( Read more... )
"You say you named him after one of the legendary Knights?" hems an older beetle, clicking her tongue. "Xenahort is such an old-fashioned name..."
"And a misplaced one, it seems." His father, so familiar yet so different. "This boy is more inclined to books."
"A scholar. Splendid. Will you place him in a school?"
It is a question Xenahort has asked so many times, and still the disappointment stings as he hears the answer:
"Not unless someone intends to teach him personally."
His father says more about how disreputable universities can be nowadays: all lies, he knows; they are poor and his father doesn't want to admit it. Xenahort truly tries to hold back the tears as he drifts as quickly as he can away from his lying father, who is too enchanted by beetles to see how pained his son is.
He doesn't know how much time passes, how long he hides, sniffling, behind the long, thick curtains the color of knowledge and royalty. All he remembers is the moment, when the linen is drawn back and he sees the wizened face of a man who would change his life.
"Why, hello, there. Why are you hiding?"
He doesn't know how to reply. "I don't like...beetles," Swiping his eyes, Xenahort sees the man smile, and grows bolder. "I'm Xenahort."
"Pleased to meet you, Xenahort. My name is Ansem. Tell me, do you like books?"
And his eyes are saying yes, yes, yes.
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