If you go out in the woods today, you're in for a big surprise...
WHO: Kidlet!Yoite {erasemeaway}, Lockon Stratos {gn_002}
WHAT: Finding a lost little boy!
WHERE: The mouth of the jungle
WHEN: Day 227
It had been a week since Yoite had disappeared into the woods from the clinic. Without the morphine to manage his pain, he found it hard to blink, much less breathe. Forget about walking. When he got enough strength to move and walk about, the teenager had made a "nest" in the forest; a sad little lean-to constructed of dead tree trunks and a canopy of banana leaves. palm fronds piled atop each other served as a makeshift bed. Yoite would spend most of his time asleep there, energy too depleted to forage for food. He gathered what he could when he was sprightly enough to walk and even exercise. But his senses and ability to move around comfortably came in waves. His crumpled-up hat served as his pillow when he slept, rolled scarf supporting his neck. In the hours where he lay on his back, blinded by pain and being steadily rained on through the drips in the leafy ceiling, Yoite mused that the shelter would likely collapse on him.
All the better, he thought. That way, no one would have to put effort into burying me.
In one of his more lucid moments, he scooped up the journal he had brought with him, and thumbed through the pages. How was Molly? How was Matsuri? they seemed well, from what he read.
And then he came across a rather unassuming entry, though it glimmered a little in the light. His muscles all relaxed at once, journal falling overturned on his chest. And he slept.
~~
And he awoke; sweater dangling off his body. Hair hanging in his eyes. He was not meant to be here! Where was the familiar white box that he had spent his whole life inside, peering out the barred window to the world.
It was dark, it was cold. The trousers that were too big for him fell about his ankles as he stood. The child was healthy, if not a little confused. He padded along the forest floor in his dainty bare feet, gazing up at the sky curiously.
He crouched beside the journal at his feet, lifting the pages one by one as if they could be poisonous, until he spoke to it- and garnered a response. A bit of writing, and soon a man who proclaimed himself a rescuer promised to come to his aid.
The child stared at the tiny portrait of the smiling man. Why would this man come to him?
What worth was he?
WHAT: Finding a lost little boy!
WHERE: The mouth of the jungle
WHEN: Day 227
It had been a week since Yoite had disappeared into the woods from the clinic. Without the morphine to manage his pain, he found it hard to blink, much less breathe. Forget about walking. When he got enough strength to move and walk about, the teenager had made a "nest" in the forest; a sad little lean-to constructed of dead tree trunks and a canopy of banana leaves. palm fronds piled atop each other served as a makeshift bed. Yoite would spend most of his time asleep there, energy too depleted to forage for food. He gathered what he could when he was sprightly enough to walk and even exercise. But his senses and ability to move around comfortably came in waves. His crumpled-up hat served as his pillow when he slept, rolled scarf supporting his neck. In the hours where he lay on his back, blinded by pain and being steadily rained on through the drips in the leafy ceiling, Yoite mused that the shelter would likely collapse on him.
All the better, he thought. That way, no one would have to put effort into burying me.
In one of his more lucid moments, he scooped up the journal he had brought with him, and thumbed through the pages. How was Molly? How was Matsuri? they seemed well, from what he read.
And then he came across a rather unassuming entry, though it glimmered a little in the light. His muscles all relaxed at once, journal falling overturned on his chest. And he slept.
~~
And he awoke; sweater dangling off his body. Hair hanging in his eyes. He was not meant to be here! Where was the familiar white box that he had spent his whole life inside, peering out the barred window to the world.
It was dark, it was cold. The trousers that were too big for him fell about his ankles as he stood. The child was healthy, if not a little confused. He padded along the forest floor in his dainty bare feet, gazing up at the sky curiously.
He crouched beside the journal at his feet, lifting the pages one by one as if they could be poisonous, until he spoke to it- and garnered a response. A bit of writing, and soon a man who proclaimed himself a rescuer promised to come to his aid.
The child stared at the tiny portrait of the smiling man. Why would this man come to him?
What worth was he?