As the sun dipped below the rugged silhouette of the mountain, Morph trudged wearily along the dusty path that led him homeward.
The orange hues of the setting sun bathed the landscape in a fiery glow, casting long, eerie shadows that seemed to dance.
He couldn't help but feel a connection to those shadows, their constant shift and sway
as if responding to his emotions…
as if calling him…
as if wandering souls mocking him of his cowardice…
His steps were heavy, burdened not only by the weight of his own existence.
As if this overbearing world wasn’t enough…
To him expectations of a world that often seemed indifferent.
The mountain, a steadfast sentinel in his life, held both the promise of solitude and the echo of his defeat.
As he walked, he began to collect his thoughts about the events of the day, each step seemingly echoing his internal contemplation.
"[...should I live on?]"
"[Maybe I was overreacting. Even if life sucks... no, I'm sure it doesn't suck that much...]"
"[...there are probably, no, there are definitely worse cases than mine...]"
"[Is it just about courage? Am I just being pathetic?]"
Mesmerized in his thoughts, he walked beneath the last glow before nightfall. Soon, his home came into view—a weathered yet comforting abode that provided a roof over his head.
Not extravagant by any means, but enough to house a family of four.
Approaching the entrance, Morph was greeted by a familiar figure—his younger brother Francis, holding a baseball bat. Francis was a young man full of charisma, even from afar one could tell that this guy is confident of whatever he is gonna do just from his firm strides.
[If it weren’t for…] Morph's thoughts and words seemed to stumble over each other. "Was it a good game?" he asked with his expression showing a hint of indifference.
"Yes, it sure was," Francis replied with a tired joy.
"We're home" Francis and Morph said concurrently as they both entered the house.
"Welcome back, dear. Quickly wash up; it's time for dinner."
A pleasant voice greeted them into the house from back in the kitchen preparing for dinner.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"You can go first."
"You sure? Well then, off I go."
Like a fish gliding with the current, Francis scooted across the narrow corridor toward the bathroom. Pausing at the doorway, he glanced back and nodded to Morph, catching his attention. Without a word, he handed his bat and glove to Morph.
"Help me with these," he called out.
[…am not… am not him] "Sure." with Francis already out of sight.
Taking Francis's belongings with him, Morph climbed the stairs to the second floor. He tossed the items into Francis's room, conveniently located across from his own, before retreating to his own space.
Collapsing into his study table chair, he let out a long sigh, his hands covering his eyes, elbows resting on the table. He was attempting to calm down from whatever had transpired just a few hours ago. Sitting quietly in his cluttered room, where things seemed to have lost their place, he tried solving with his jumbled thoughts.
[...I could've been dead right now; this world is already indifferent to me.]
[…they wouldn’t have even cared that much… he wouldn’t let them…]
Glancing aimlessly to the side, the corner of the room, which could no longer be called cluttered—it was now more like debris.
"….Maybe I should read something good to calm my nerves."
Morph picked up his favorite comic from the same corner—a story based on an overpowered character that possessed everything one could wish for.
…
And as expected, it helped.
[Am hungry...]
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I sat at the dinner table with the meal already served, feeling grateful that I wouldn't be bombarded with questions. It appeared that he would conveniently be the center of attention instead, as he often was.
As I started eating, I caught on some of the chatter going around.
They were chattering about how the match went for Francis, seemingly more focused on him than anything else. Not that I minded—I started devouring everything in front of me, tuning out their conversation.
Being lost in thoughts, I didn't nitpick much about my dislikes in the food, even though the dish contained everything I usually detested, to the point I would rather starve than have them.
[It's okay... whatever is done can't be changed... I have to concentrate on the future.]
With these thoughts lingering, I cleared the table, doing the dishes, I retreated straight to my room.
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"...If it wasn't for my last-minute save, we would have really lost," Francis exclaimed, pride in his eyes as he concluded his daily match report.
"Oh, my baby is so reliable, isn't he?" Mother interjected with a smile on her face, the kind of smile you'd expect from a proud parent.
"You make me proud, son. You know, when I was your age..." and like a classic father, he joined in, perhaps to flaunt his resemblance to his son, fully aware of the evidence of his own great deeds.
"Oh dear, we've already heard your ‘youthful tales’, let our boy shine now, It’s his time." she added, cutting off her husband.
"Okay, okay. I was just saying. Anyways, I'm proud of you, son. You should learn something from your little brother…" Father noted, realizing that Morph had already left. "Huh, he was here just now."
"Seems brother finished early," Francis suggested.
"Usually, he takes quite a while," Mother pondered out loud, glancing at his part of the dining table. "Did he do the dishes too? Well, that's good," she noted, seeing that the dishes were already washed and placed back where they were supposed to be.
"That kid, at least he should have told us he was done..."
"Are you being serious right now, dear?"
"I mean, like a signal or something like that, you know..." "Mom, Dad, it's a good day. Let's not dwell on the details too much."
“Right, honey. Our child is growing up so fast, dear." "Haha, whose son is he?"...
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Lying on my bed, I gazed outside the window.
The stars, the trees—the thought of possibly losing the ability to look at the night sky made him uncomfortable.
Worse was that he could still hear his family laughing among themselves…without a care or knowledge of what their child was going through…
A tear rolled down from Morph’s reddish-brown eyes
[…they don’t care…]
Morph burst into tears, the room absorbed whatever quiet whimpers Morph let out…
Enough to keep him wide awake for quite a long time, and so sleep came—without any prior warning, it embraced Morph, carrying him into slumber without a care for the world.
As sleep, with its tranquil embrace, banished all disturbances and thoughts, he found peace of mind at last.
Surely the boy was very courageous today…
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Yawn
Stretching his arms to their limits.
As he sat up to grab his glasses, just to realize that his surroundings were a little different than they should have been.
For example, He couldn't find his spectacles... and the futon felt softer?
__ End of The Chapter __