"I sit where the day grows thin and slow,
my breath a tide that knows its shore.
The sun lets go of what I know,
and I wait for less—and nothing more."
Outside the window, oak leaves swayed gently. An old man sat on his bed, leaning back as he looked on. His vermilion, hollowed eyes reflected the rustling branches as he murmured the verse again.
"The sky means nothing, yet I breathe its blue…"
His jaw tightened.
"…in the hollows, I chose to move."
Silence washed over the room, broken only by the rhythmic tick-tick-tick of the clock located at the far end of the room.
"Stupid poem…"
The complaint came with a clatter. The old man turned to see a Rubik's cube bounce off the birch table beside the bed, falling onto the floor. An eight-year old boy glared at the old man while he sat on a small stool, its legs creaking as he turned away, clicking his tongue in irritation.
The old man's hollow eyes dissipated as a bright smile blossomed. "Don't you think it's harsh to insult the poem your Grandpa composed with such hard work Ethan?"
Ethan let out a frustrated sigh, hopping down from the stool as he began to search through the drawers. His movements came to a halt as he pulled out a jigsaw puzzle.
The old man watched silently as Ethan returned to the stool, spreading the pieces across the table.
After a while, the old man spoke again.
"Tell me, Ethan. How do you think we should measure the quality of our lives?"
Ethan didn't look up.
"I think measuring your quality of life is meaningless," he shrugged.
"But if I had to choose…" He smirked faintly. "It would definitely be by how much ice cream someone buys me."
The old man didn't even blink, simply choosing to stare at Ethan, whose expression slowly shifted to discomfort. Eventually, he sighed, turning to his grandpa. "Why do you always ask such stupid questions?"
The old man just smiled.
Ethan pursed his lips, before finally spitting,
"Enjoyment."
"Everything you work for is so you can enjoy life in the end. So… enjoyment." His grandpa seemed deep at thought, as if appraising his answer. Ethan tilted his head, finally asking, "What about you?"
"Hmm?" The old man tilted his head.
"How do you think we should measure our quality of life?"
The old man smiled a bit, before answering:
"Bonds."
Ethan's brows rose.
"I think our lives should be measured by the bonds we form,"
His eyes looked strangely solemn. "I only wish I had realised it sooner."
Ethan frowned. His grandpa was like this sometimes– slipping into strange moods without warning. He climbed onto the bed suddenly, tackling the old man.
"YOU-! Brat! I think my backbone just broke!" The old man shouted. Ethan simply deadpanned, "Well… It is your fault for acting all sad again."
Before the old man could say anything else, Ethan asked, burying himself into the blanket:
"So..?"
The old man raised an eyebrow.
"What did you get," Ethan asked, "by sacrificing your 'bonds'?"
The old man fell silent.
After a long moment, he finally pointed toward a spruce shelf behind Ethan. Sitting atop it was a dusty, misshapen vase. Its most notable feature being the ridiculous monkey face etched onto the surface.
Ethan grimaced, "That? An ice cream is definitely better than that!"
His grandpa chuckled, looking out the window to his right, "Maybe I would have gotten an ice cream instead..." he said, "if I could go back."
After a moment's pause, he spoke once more:
"Ethan?"
Ethan lifted his head.
His grandfather wore a sad smile. A breeze slipping through the window, as it stirred the curtains, brushing against his weathered face.
"I'm sorry."
Those were the last words the old man ever spoke to him.
******
The fire crackled loud, illuminating the world around. Crowds formed as people gasped, screams and murmurs everywhere. Ethan's retinas flicked as he stood at his place, frozen.
Reflected in his flickering eyes was a quaint home. His home. Burning in the seething flames as shouts erupted all around. Firefighters rushing in as more and more onlookers gathered.
Ethan barely registered the shoulders that knocked into him. His dry, cracked lips parted, but no words came out, just a shaky breath.
How could he?
He stared at the medics pushing through the crowd, holding a stretcher. In it, they carried a corpse—A charred and shattered, hardly recognisable corpse.
His breathing became uneven as he clenched his chest tight.
"Gramps?"
***
Ethan stared blankly out the window.
A tear slipped down his cheek.
In the reflection of the glass, he watched it fall, as it traced a path along his pale skin. He didn't move to wipe it away.
He rarely cried. However, in extended periods of silence, he usually tends to reminisce about the past.
It was the same. It always had been the same scene.
The loud screams and the burning fire. That day, he lost the last of his family…
"Class, we arrived at the museum!"
Voices filled the bus. Seats creaked. His classmates stood up, shuffling into the aisle as they began filing out one by one.
"…Right."
Ethan had come for a field trip. Not that he had a choice. His Aunt did everything in her power to have him out of the house.
Ethan wiped his face quickly, brushing away any trace of emotion before glancing back at the window. He adjusted his hair with a small sigh, trying to make himself look… normal.
His jet-black hair was still slightly messy, but he didn't care enough to fix it properly.
He stared at the eyes being reflected. Ethan's most striking part was definitely his narrowed vermillion eyes.
Yes. Vermillion eyes. No one understood how the coloration occurred naturally, regardless, it did. Ethan gritted his teeth, they were always the reason he remembers the past. After all… it was the only thing he could remember his grandfather by.
A voice nudged him from the side.
"Yeah. I'm coming."
He stood up, slipping into the slow-moving line. The wait was annoying, so he turned his gaze outside again.
The building loomed ahead.
A neoclassical building with enormous pillars. Its glass panes reflected the light, and banners of various colors draped down, fluttering in the air.
It was a massive museum.
Ethan frowned slightly.
A strange unease settled in his chest.
…A bad feeling.
Shaking it off, Ethan took a deep breath, exhaling, "Here we go."