⊕ eleven

[neverbeenworse]

[The communicator's video feed clicks on as Enma's cat knocks the thing off the couch as it bolts from the room, startled -- rightfully so, as the audio picks up the tail end of an angry, frustrated scream. Soon Enma's shoes appear on screen as he paces, and the sound of paper ripped can be heard before dozens of little bits of paper flutter down

Comments

text;

[neverbeenworse]

Didn't sound like me. Made no sense. I wouldn't ever--

| [a pause]

Wouldn't even write that.

text;

[neverbeenworse]

Because it goes against everything my family back home wanted. I couldn't forget what they wanted. No matter how long I'm here. I'd let them down.

text;

[neverbeenworse]

Not that much.

At least. I hope not.

[There's a pause before he starts keying in a few letters, then deleting them again. He doesn't like the thought of change, not in this way.]

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[neverbeenworse]

|

[...something he hadn't considered in his outburst. It's actually almost comforting, really.]

Wonder how different.

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[neverbeenworse]

[Behind the communicator screen, he's toeing at the shredded remains of his letter]

Oh.

And do you believe it?

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[neverbeenworse]

[He can't deny it himself -- people in his own world have travelled to the future, after all]

...guess it's good that future isn't happening, then.