Toughness is not being a bully.
who. Kiku and Moon.
when. August 16th; a darky, misty Monday night.
where. Heritage park. Yes, that park.
what. A fated reunion between two old friends classmates acquaintances.
Even recluses like Kiku needed to get out and have a bit of fresh air every now and again. However, not even breathing was worth the painful task of-dare he even think it?-socializing. Which was why he had waited until it was night to creep out of his bedroom and roam the deserted streets restlessly. He remembered a time when this might have been unnerving to him, but now he felt strangely at ease in the dark, strangely... calm. Maybe it was the painkillers.
Or maybe it was the slick black gun that he had found under his pillow, like a gift from the tooth fairy, a few weeks ago; the weight in his pocket was very reassuring for some reason. Either way, Kiku didn't feel troubled at all when he stopped to take a break at an abandoned park. It didn't look like a child had played here in years and he eased down onto the rusty little swingset carefully, hoping it would hold his weight.
When was the last time he had visited a playground anyway? He couldn't even remember, it was so long ago. He rocked back and forth idly, pushing himself along with the tip of one foot. It creaked, but little by little he felt his eyelids begin to flutter, the soothing rocking motions lulling him into half awareness.
Up in the distance, from the corner of his eye, he suddenly saw a tall shadow cut through the mist (the sprinklers had just turn on.) Kiku sat up straight, suddenly alert and attentive, and his hand wandered to his pocket of its own volition. He couldn't make out who it was, but if they would just come a little closer...
when. August 16th; a darky, misty Monday night.
where. Heritage park. Yes, that park.
what. A fated reunion between two old friends classmates acquaintances.
Even recluses like Kiku needed to get out and have a bit of fresh air every now and again. However, not even breathing was worth the painful task of-dare he even think it?-socializing. Which was why he had waited until it was night to creep out of his bedroom and roam the deserted streets restlessly. He remembered a time when this might have been unnerving to him, but now he felt strangely at ease in the dark, strangely... calm. Maybe it was the painkillers.
Or maybe it was the slick black gun that he had found under his pillow, like a gift from the tooth fairy, a few weeks ago; the weight in his pocket was very reassuring for some reason. Either way, Kiku didn't feel troubled at all when he stopped to take a break at an abandoned park. It didn't look like a child had played here in years and he eased down onto the rusty little swingset carefully, hoping it would hold his weight.
When was the last time he had visited a playground anyway? He couldn't even remember, it was so long ago. He rocked back and forth idly, pushing himself along with the tip of one foot. It creaked, but little by little he felt his eyelids begin to flutter, the soothing rocking motions lulling him into half awareness.
Up in the distance, from the corner of his eye, he suddenly saw a tall shadow cut through the mist (the sprinklers had just turn on.) Kiku sat up straight, suddenly alert and attentive, and his hand wandered to his pocket of its own volition. He couldn't make out who it was, but if they would just come a little closer...