[Orig] Of Studies
Title: Of Studies
Author: Umi-chii
Note: Project Rebirth Moon: Untold Stories Anthology (C) Umi-chii
A/N: The first is of a different timeline from the rest, since it was written before the revision. Second and third are both set after the canon timeline (that being post-Asperger).
Of Studies
Study on a Lost Boy
Whenever Jeanne opens the window, he would never look up at the sky with a smile; instead, he looks up with a glazed look, a face that speaks as if he wonders why the sky is still a peaceful shade of blue.
He had stopped smiling ever since he left them.
Whenever Jeanne goes to school or comes back home, he would walk all alone, head bowed to avoid looking at anything else other than the ground he’s walking and the many shoes passing by him. Sometimes, he would clutch the strap of his shoulder bag, just to keep the tension to himself.
He had stopped taking the bus ever since he lost them.
Whenever Jeanne takes his classes, he would barely listen attentively. He only doodles, and when he feels like acing a test, he would grab the nearest note next to him and copy. Usually, he would just read or skim through it then return the note. At one time, he had skipped class, all because of boredom.
He had stopped trying hard in school ever since he fought them.
Whenever Jeanne would eat his meals, he would just go and buy take-outs or call the nearest food delivery service with the fastest service. There are times when he would just skip the meal altogether for a sleep that’ll lead him waking up in tears. After that, he’ll head straight to the bathroom, open the small cupboard above his sink and grab that familiar bottle of pills.
He had stopped caring about his health ever since he gave them up.
Whenever Jeanne would go to sleep, he wouldn’t bother if he’s still wearing his clothes for the day, or if he has changed to his sleepwear. On most nights, he wouldn’t bother checking if the door was locked, the windows sealed, lights turned off and all electricity plugs unplugged. He would just throw away whatever food he hadn’t finish, or didn’t touch at all, then head straight to his bed and throw himself on it, eyes closing as his mind breaks down, slowly drifting off to darkness.
He had stopped giving a damn ever since he failed them.
And Jeanne knows he did it on purpose not for their safety, but for his selfishness. Now, he lives regretting it.
Study on a Forgotten Man
Helios was walking down the streets when he found an old man, leaning against a barber shop’s wall for support with a pained look. He was about to step past the old man, like everybody else, until he notice the old man had blood all over his sides, and that his crouch was laying a few feet ahead of him.
Helios immediately approached the old man, wondering why people around him are too busy to bother saving an old life.
But when he approached the old man, the old man only gave him a withering look. Much to his surprise, a forlorn smile followed after.
“One day, you’ll learn man’s greatest enemy is not the society, but he himself.”
His whisper was low, wizened and raspy. And the old man fell to the ground in a soft thud of old flesh and drained bones before Helios could even dart forward to catch him.
He found it humorous that a dead person caught more attention than a dying person.
After calling the ambulance, Helios went back home, back to his own apartment in the old, German streets of Berlin, away from the large Rosenkreuz estate in Bavaria. He never liked it there, not after he and his sister made a treaty on the passing of the Rosenkreuz throne.
Helios didn’t like facing reality; it never works with him the way he wanted it to.
By the time Helios finished changing his black suit for a plain, old white shirt and flannel pants, his telephone rang. And before he could answer it, the other line hanged up, prompting him to call back.
In the end, he’s the one who had to waste a euro worth of a call for someone who called just for nuisance.
“Is there any other reason why you have to call me?”
“No, but you do seem to sound tired.”
Every now and then, his sister would call him. There were times when she would call just to ask him how he’s doing, or tell him what’s going on in her side. But most of the time, it’s about a bunch of tiny, little information Helios believed he could live without knowing.
“I just had an old man dying on me. Of course I sound tired.”
“It’s funny hearing that from a man who kills people in cold blood when he was only seventeen.”
Helios rolled his eyes, greatly tempted to hang up on his sister.
“If you have nothing better to say, I’m hanging up.”
“H-Hey!”
And he put the phone down before he could hear Selene’s voice again.
For a few seconds, Helios stared at the phone, eyes searching hard for that something he couldn’t quite understand. The old man’s words had, honestly, hit him real hard. But maybe not hard enough for him not to shrug off and make some coffee.
Study on a Missing Soul
The wind was blowing rather hard against his back. He stared up at the sky, at the dark, thundering sky and heavy clouds. The calm before the storm was finally over. He can go back to his den now and wait until the next ray of light returns.
The lone trek back to the palace wasn’t a long one. The guards greeted him with a stiff salute, and he walked past them without a word, the parasol’s wooden staff resting lightly against his shoulder.
He paused in his steps, feeling the tiny drops of rain pattering on the toes of his slippers, seeping in through the fabric. His mother stood at the porch, between the two lion guardians before the stone pillars. Her eyes were narrowed, (then again, when were they not?) painted red lips twisted into a snarling frown.
He simply stood there, and waited. There was much to do, but less to know. And this he didn’t want to know about.
“Where have you been?”
He didn’t know; this he told his mother. Honestly, he didn’t know. He had just wandered around, letting the wind push him from behind, letting the fleeting clouds lead the way for him.
And then the wind became colder and harsher, the thunder above roaring louder as if reflecting her rising anger. The parasol fell to the wet ground, the puddle staining the paper cover darkly. He felt the hot sting on his cheek, the imprint of palm as the sound echoed in his mind. But it didn’t think of anything else, didn’t do anything else.
He just let his eyes fell, and then stared off toward the far distance, at the stone lioness holding down her cub with her paw. How reminiscent, he mused. How ironic.
“Excuse me then, mother,” he said, softly, a breath just short of a whisper. “I am tired. I need rest.”
And he walked away, raven tresses damp and clinging to his skin, raindrops falling down his cheeks like silent tears, like ice against heated skin. He left her in the rain as he left the rain itself, the sanctity of his room the only thing in mind.
That night, Chris Balteisse was no more but just a little boy.
END
Author: Umi-chii
Note: Project Rebirth Moon: Untold Stories Anthology (C) Umi-chii
A/N: The first is of a different timeline from the rest, since it was written before the revision. Second and third are both set after the canon timeline (that being post-Asperger).
Of Studies
Study on a Lost Boy
Whenever Jeanne opens the window, he would never look up at the sky with a smile; instead, he looks up with a glazed look, a face that speaks as if he wonders why the sky is still a peaceful shade of blue.
He had stopped smiling ever since he left them.
Whenever Jeanne goes to school or comes back home, he would walk all alone, head bowed to avoid looking at anything else other than the ground he’s walking and the many shoes passing by him. Sometimes, he would clutch the strap of his shoulder bag, just to keep the tension to himself.
He had stopped taking the bus ever since he lost them.
Whenever Jeanne takes his classes, he would barely listen attentively. He only doodles, and when he feels like acing a test, he would grab the nearest note next to him and copy. Usually, he would just read or skim through it then return the note. At one time, he had skipped class, all because of boredom.
He had stopped trying hard in school ever since he fought them.
Whenever Jeanne would eat his meals, he would just go and buy take-outs or call the nearest food delivery service with the fastest service. There are times when he would just skip the meal altogether for a sleep that’ll lead him waking up in tears. After that, he’ll head straight to the bathroom, open the small cupboard above his sink and grab that familiar bottle of pills.
He had stopped caring about his health ever since he gave them up.
Whenever Jeanne would go to sleep, he wouldn’t bother if he’s still wearing his clothes for the day, or if he has changed to his sleepwear. On most nights, he wouldn’t bother checking if the door was locked, the windows sealed, lights turned off and all electricity plugs unplugged. He would just throw away whatever food he hadn’t finish, or didn’t touch at all, then head straight to his bed and throw himself on it, eyes closing as his mind breaks down, slowly drifting off to darkness.
He had stopped giving a damn ever since he failed them.
And Jeanne knows he did it on purpose not for their safety, but for his selfishness. Now, he lives regretting it.
Study on a Forgotten Man
Helios was walking down the streets when he found an old man, leaning against a barber shop’s wall for support with a pained look. He was about to step past the old man, like everybody else, until he notice the old man had blood all over his sides, and that his crouch was laying a few feet ahead of him.
Helios immediately approached the old man, wondering why people around him are too busy to bother saving an old life.
But when he approached the old man, the old man only gave him a withering look. Much to his surprise, a forlorn smile followed after.
“One day, you’ll learn man’s greatest enemy is not the society, but he himself.”
His whisper was low, wizened and raspy. And the old man fell to the ground in a soft thud of old flesh and drained bones before Helios could even dart forward to catch him.
He found it humorous that a dead person caught more attention than a dying person.
After calling the ambulance, Helios went back home, back to his own apartment in the old, German streets of Berlin, away from the large Rosenkreuz estate in Bavaria. He never liked it there, not after he and his sister made a treaty on the passing of the Rosenkreuz throne.
Helios didn’t like facing reality; it never works with him the way he wanted it to.
By the time Helios finished changing his black suit for a plain, old white shirt and flannel pants, his telephone rang. And before he could answer it, the other line hanged up, prompting him to call back.
In the end, he’s the one who had to waste a euro worth of a call for someone who called just for nuisance.
“Is there any other reason why you have to call me?”
“No, but you do seem to sound tired.”
Every now and then, his sister would call him. There were times when she would call just to ask him how he’s doing, or tell him what’s going on in her side. But most of the time, it’s about a bunch of tiny, little information Helios believed he could live without knowing.
“I just had an old man dying on me. Of course I sound tired.”
“It’s funny hearing that from a man who kills people in cold blood when he was only seventeen.”
Helios rolled his eyes, greatly tempted to hang up on his sister.
“If you have nothing better to say, I’m hanging up.”
“H-Hey!”
And he put the phone down before he could hear Selene’s voice again.
For a few seconds, Helios stared at the phone, eyes searching hard for that something he couldn’t quite understand. The old man’s words had, honestly, hit him real hard. But maybe not hard enough for him not to shrug off and make some coffee.
Study on a Missing Soul
The wind was blowing rather hard against his back. He stared up at the sky, at the dark, thundering sky and heavy clouds. The calm before the storm was finally over. He can go back to his den now and wait until the next ray of light returns.
The lone trek back to the palace wasn’t a long one. The guards greeted him with a stiff salute, and he walked past them without a word, the parasol’s wooden staff resting lightly against his shoulder.
He paused in his steps, feeling the tiny drops of rain pattering on the toes of his slippers, seeping in through the fabric. His mother stood at the porch, between the two lion guardians before the stone pillars. Her eyes were narrowed, (then again, when were they not?) painted red lips twisted into a snarling frown.
He simply stood there, and waited. There was much to do, but less to know. And this he didn’t want to know about.
“Where have you been?”
He didn’t know; this he told his mother. Honestly, he didn’t know. He had just wandered around, letting the wind push him from behind, letting the fleeting clouds lead the way for him.
And then the wind became colder and harsher, the thunder above roaring louder as if reflecting her rising anger. The parasol fell to the wet ground, the puddle staining the paper cover darkly. He felt the hot sting on his cheek, the imprint of palm as the sound echoed in his mind. But it didn’t think of anything else, didn’t do anything else.
He just let his eyes fell, and then stared off toward the far distance, at the stone lioness holding down her cub with her paw. How reminiscent, he mused. How ironic.
“Excuse me then, mother,” he said, softly, a breath just short of a whisper. “I am tired. I need rest.”
And he walked away, raven tresses damp and clinging to his skin, raindrops falling down his cheeks like silent tears, like ice against heated skin. He left her in the rain as he left the rain itself, the sanctity of his room the only thing in mind.
That night, Chris Balteisse was no more but just a little boy.
END