1 太陽を覚えています Taiyou wo oboe te i masu "Remember the Sun" [Open/NK] Wed May 09, 2018 10:37 pm
Honnari
D-rank
He formed white knuckles from clenching his fist too hard, and gritted teeth from effort to remain silent, his hunched form exuded an animosity that was like acid - burning, slicing, potent. His face was red with suppressed rage, and even setting a finger on his shoulder, would cause him to swing around and mentally snapped.
Was this all he had hoped to see?
Honnari already knew. While time makes the heart grow fonder, some change-- but most do not. Every word stung only fueling the fire that burned inside of him. Every violated phrase was like gasoline to it, his fists began to clench and his jaw rooted. When the final mento had been added to the fire inside of him he could have exploded with anger, with no control, objects potentially levitating and breaking. People would drop to the floor as the primeval instinct took over. He had the choice of losing his temper, but something spoke to him that told that the time to release his father was now. Metaphorically speaking.
He kept the peace, and a slice of his diginity. He stood up, the heat of the sun cleansed him of his emotion which would have been lost on his father. "Goodbye, father."...
Though it was a solidifying experience with his father, Honnari certainly never dreamt that it would be his last. And now he had gone to the last place they had been before he left never to return.
This place, despite the delicious smells that meandered the eatry, held nothing but miserable memories. His gaze languished down to the table. Each word his father said replaying like a broken record in his mind. It took him aback, as if he were there in that exact moment in time. But he was very young, and that was so long ago.
Whilst his mother knew that they had spoken before he passed, he never informed her to the extreme of what their final conversation had been. In the end, he revealed that he held contempt for his son, a mirror that hosted his empty reflection. In real time, Honnari glowered. The sheer hatred in his father's voice left him with a sting in his heart. He hung on to every second of the exchange.
His food finally arrived, ambried into the bento box he asked his server of. How ironical. He knew he was mourning a man that was not worthy of being mourned. He ate small bites that were very meager at first, but grew more hungry and intense as he remembered the words, like poison coursing through him. At one point, Honnari bit hard enough to feel his tounge snag, tasting a rust. He physically flinched, and prayed that no one noticed.
The bustle of the pub, daughters with their mothers, and sons presumably with their fathers. He brooded over his late father, the light hearted atmosphere, friendship and camaraderie that he would never be apart of.
Nonsense! This was his day. After fasting at his shrine yesterday evening, he owed himself to a delightful way to break the day-long fast. And these thoughts were not going to ruin his meal. Though he sat alone, he brought a small goddess statue with him that sat on his table. It was a headless, female shaped trinket that cradled the crescent moon. It stood about only 3 inches or so tall. But it earned him some strange looks all the same.
An unnerving slience overcame him before he closed his eyes, murmuring a grace: "Moon dea, cratered by imperfections, glisten down."
Was this all he had hoped to see?
Honnari already knew. While time makes the heart grow fonder, some change-- but most do not. Every word stung only fueling the fire that burned inside of him. Every violated phrase was like gasoline to it, his fists began to clench and his jaw rooted. When the final mento had been added to the fire inside of him he could have exploded with anger, with no control, objects potentially levitating and breaking. People would drop to the floor as the primeval instinct took over. He had the choice of losing his temper, but something spoke to him that told that the time to release his father was now. Metaphorically speaking.
He kept the peace, and a slice of his diginity. He stood up, the heat of the sun cleansed him of his emotion which would have been lost on his father. "Goodbye, father."...
Though it was a solidifying experience with his father, Honnari certainly never dreamt that it would be his last. And now he had gone to the last place they had been before he left never to return.
This place, despite the delicious smells that meandered the eatry, held nothing but miserable memories. His gaze languished down to the table. Each word his father said replaying like a broken record in his mind. It took him aback, as if he were there in that exact moment in time. But he was very young, and that was so long ago.
Whilst his mother knew that they had spoken before he passed, he never informed her to the extreme of what their final conversation had been. In the end, he revealed that he held contempt for his son, a mirror that hosted his empty reflection. In real time, Honnari glowered. The sheer hatred in his father's voice left him with a sting in his heart. He hung on to every second of the exchange.
His food finally arrived, ambried into the bento box he asked his server of. How ironical. He knew he was mourning a man that was not worthy of being mourned. He ate small bites that were very meager at first, but grew more hungry and intense as he remembered the words, like poison coursing through him. At one point, Honnari bit hard enough to feel his tounge snag, tasting a rust. He physically flinched, and prayed that no one noticed.
The bustle of the pub, daughters with their mothers, and sons presumably with their fathers. He brooded over his late father, the light hearted atmosphere, friendship and camaraderie that he would never be apart of.
Nonsense! This was his day. After fasting at his shrine yesterday evening, he owed himself to a delightful way to break the day-long fast. And these thoughts were not going to ruin his meal. Though he sat alone, he brought a small goddess statue with him that sat on his table. It was a headless, female shaped trinket that cradled the crescent moon. It stood about only 3 inches or so tall. But it earned him some strange looks all the same.
An unnerving slience overcame him before he closed his eyes, murmuring a grace: "Moon dea, cratered by imperfections, glisten down."