(no subject)
Somewhere in his apartment in Munich, there's a photograph of his mother and father outside their first house, Mathias just a small bundle in his mother's arms. He doesn't know why he's thinking about it now, as he sits in the Compound kitchen and idly stares into a bowl of soup, but it's come to mind and now he can't seem to let it go. It's something he'll never have; that brand new house, the mortgage payments, the worry, the repairs, everything that goes along with that.
Most of the time, he thinks he's okay with those sorts of revelations, but this hits him almost as hard as his conviction that he was going to die back in Mexico. He's only twenty-six years old, but already these sorts of things have been taken away from him. The decision is out of his hands. He lives in a hut that he doesn't have to pay for, he isn't required to have a job and he has no responsibilities.
It's sort of startling and he stares down at his soup, trying to figure out how he changes that. All those important milestones that he's supposed to hit on the way to adulthood are gone.
With a sigh, he stirs the soup and leans his chin in his hand, his mouth pulled in a faint frown.
Most of the time, he thinks he's okay with those sorts of revelations, but this hits him almost as hard as his conviction that he was going to die back in Mexico. He's only twenty-six years old, but already these sorts of things have been taken away from him. The decision is out of his hands. He lives in a hut that he doesn't have to pay for, he isn't required to have a job and he has no responsibilities.
It's sort of startling and he stares down at his soup, trying to figure out how he changes that. All those important milestones that he's supposed to hit on the way to adulthood are gone.
With a sigh, he stirs the soup and leans his chin in his hand, his mouth pulled in a faint frown.