----------------------------------------

He didn't feel good, and judging by the condition of his battered limbs, he didn't look good either. Glancing around, the young boy tried to gain bearings through the surroundings, but instead, one was met with unfamiliar territory.

No homes. No landmarks. Everything is but dead barren streets, and a mayhem of a city in ruins. Lives were at stakes, supposedly so as it seems, yet he couldn't see any signs of life, and the wind was stale: nothing. Nothing at all, not even a sound; perhaps the requiem of silence was what led to such an atmosphere for anyone to be at dismay and panic — even with calm and stillness of mind, something yielding dead air that fills such void: is quiet, too quiet. It's like an asylum.

the horizon stretching out as far as the eye could see, and as he stared heavenward; gazing, to find the noonday sky giving naught in return — no instructions, no way west or east. He continued to do so, as-if still as a rock, solid yet so dumbfounded. What should he do? What should anybody do in this one moment? What can he do..? Questions like these began to arise, as naturally as it would for all.

Confused, disoriented, and slightly unnerved, his eyes were seeing things he shouldn't; things he'd never thought to see, or want to see — the life he once had before wasn't of the perfected nature, he cherish a great many memories, but he still harbor that sense of regret and disdain for others, for himself, and for what god made his life ought to be. At the end of the day, he couldn't blame anybody but himself.

Is it considered lucky? To be able to witness the end of mankind?

Now that he wandered through his thoughts, he could feel the sense of longing — he could feel oneself's hatred and salvation. For the world. Or he has just now realised it was his own maybe today, yesterday, or tomorrow; he can't be sure. But it was always there.

He was lost. He cried in pain as his right hand quickly went to his wounded left arm, holding it by instinct thinking it'd ease the pain, when it wouldn't. This was the worst thing yet. Not only had he awoken himself to a sight of a deserted wasteland of a city, for some inexplicable reason his arm was found injured; he held the pain in, gritting his teeth as he squeals misery and holding his voice in as hard as he could. He tried to lift his dominant arm — being left-handed — only to have to stifle a scream of agony and blink the tears out of his eyes. It had to be broken, surely.

Debris started to fall, he stared upward, only to see the scattering fragrance of what seemed to be pieces of broken glass in millions of indivisible bits. He's going to be blind. He wondered and contemplated it for a moment.

It wasn't a bother, for at the very last moments of his life, he regretted but one thing: dying alone, is quite rough, huh? The dust and pieces of glass shot right through him in the dismay of rack and ruins; the city burned aflame as thunder roared and rain came pouring through. He can't see, not even a thing — and soon, a building follows to crush him in his entirety. He was surrounded by people before, he lived a normal and good life; but ended with none to spare a moment to bid farewell.

When it came to, nobody else was in plain sight after that one ordeal. Another one survived for long, so one can only wonder who tried so hard sacrificing themselves to keep someone else living on? What a waste of effort. It was obvious the outcome being: that tomorrow is out of the picture.

----------------------------------------

He woke up, on his bed — what just happened? He was sure he felt the pain of death, and the throbbing feeling of having his whole body crushed by debris; he can't help but be distressed.

“Was that.. a dream?” No, no. It couldn't be a dream. It was a bit too real, it felt too real to be untrue. He can only wander to such conclusions that dreams are meant to feel real to the beholder, and continue to convince himself as he grasps ahold of the current situation.

“..?” He looked around. This isn't his room. It's surely also not a room of someone he knows either. He was lost in the head. No clue where to run or where to head for. He turned his head around in several directions only to be faced with the same scene on all sides: a blank, typical Japanese styled house with coarse trails of overexposed ground quickly being drawn up and away by the dry winds.

It's not messy, there's just some holes on the wall. A broken window too, and they're still repairing it because it was caught in the crossfire; an aftermatch and result caused by the war? He could only speculate.

Stolen story; please report.

He turned, and didn't snap — gazing outside to see the mesmerizing moon carving a crescent shape with delight. He hasn't seen a full-moon in forever since the war broke out. Is he still in Osaka? Will it end up like in his dream soon? Or is he still safe as long as he's at the evacuation centre? Speaking of such, why is this room only reserved for him? What actually happened? He could only ask questions more than deduce an answer himself. All the while admiring the moon, loving the moon, and cherishing the memories.

In his reminiscence, he thought of the days in school, he thought of the days he went out with some of his friends before. He wasn't of the lonely bunch in school, nor was he the cool kid there, but a normal person is deserving to hang out with the others too — 'school was fine' is his usual mindset and response to any question related to it.

Math was hard, maybe he already forgot the formula Kazuhiko taught him the other day before the outbreak.. English was interesting, Hana was so good at speaking it!

You don't need a lot of friends, one or two is more than enough. He thought, but losing that precious one is probably more painful than a hundredfold.

Wait. “m-my hands..?” They were different. Now that he came to it and realized, the moon sickle is supposed to come after a new moon, which is weeks from now. There was a full moon the other day; he couldn't see it, ofcourse, but that was what Hana told him: that even in spite of all this, that although everything is crumbling down and society is falling into a state of chaos — the moon is still so beautiful. He didn't know the meaning behind her words as she cry it out in tears, but reassuring her of the fantasy living in a world of equality and destiny is far from whatever it is here, she hugged him and uttered the words:

“then.. I want to live in a meritocracy where you and I meet, and I want to treat you more than I am now.”

Caught by surprise, he took the blow and slowly wrapped his hands around the crying damsel in distress. “I want you to know,” she stuttered and muffled, “that the moon is still so far away, even in a fantastical world.” He held her the moment she fell down on her knees, gripping tighter.

I'm not letting you go, he thought coldly.

“The pain has been weakening me more and more..” To which she replied softly.

He held her tight in his hands, as he bursted into tears at the dead of night. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he pondered in this bittercold atmosphere. His hands were like freezing cold, solid, and his breath is as-if the froth on the sea begins to spread rather than dissipate; unremittingly, he struggled and failed to grasp, to behold strings of words to convey to her.

“I couldn't be of much help to you.”

It's been constantly lurking in his mind. A solemn promise, he took; a gentle and soft, long hair — wavy-like beaches and sky — he stroked. “I promise you, I'll see it for you. I'll go there in your stead.” A transpired story of identical sorrow and longing, yet it remains in his heart, “I wish you could be there with me.”

Even though he didn’t know her long, it feels like they’ve been friends his whole life, so he let her stay and follow him around in school and whenever they hang out. The buildings around them stood still, and they both basked in the light pouring out from the windows. It was a moment's peace; in the disparity and most war-mongering day and night of the decade. And as every lantern for salvation and hope for the war to soon end passes by, both of them stare at it in hopes that it will find its way across the ocean.

However, each passing lantern shall one day fade away and die out. It's a sad thought to think anything like that could ever happen, but as they're both aware that no matter what anyone does, they can’t change that. That, was the beauty and delight of the moment.

She was near death's door.

“Hey, where are you? I can't.. see you..”

“I'm right here, Hana.” He teared up, his voice was as-if broken down from dusk to dawn. “I'm right here.” He held her more, and hugged her in her last moments. She had a severe injury and, quite frankly too late with the urgence and insufficiency of medicine during that time.

“Ah, I can see it.” Her voice, dying; her eyes, dimly fading colors into obscurity. “Your eyes, as blue as wind and cloud alike — enveloping the night sky in delight.” She closed her eyes, “Whenever I look out from my window, I see it; sparkling outside, like stars.”

He didn't want to let go of her; he continuously wept like a crying child lost without their mother.

Don't go, please.

Anything, anything but you . . .

[https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/826403363980967947/908000590540451870/image0.png]she stops.

> He missed her last breath.