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THEY SAY THERE'S NO ETERNITY
SO WHY DO WE ALL FIGHT INCESSANTLY?
I TRY MY BEST TO LAUGH AT IT
and go live my life as i see fit
Over on the far end of a long queue was a young lady, face flush with an anger ripe for picking. Her knees felt stiff. She could feel her soles ache underneath the material of her boots. Her chest warmed with petty anger and yet she remains in her spot, adamant on pursuing the object that prompted her journey.
“Up next, number 143!”
The voice echoes like a siren at sea, filtering through a fog that rolled over fishermen. Mari bites her lips at the thought, watching the line thin by an inch. Her patience wanes alongside it.
It’d been her unrelenting hunger for experiences unknown to her that convinced Mari to board a lesser taken train. The indulgence found in shiny new tech that only cost a train ride seemed too good to dismiss. Thus, the mage decides nothing could dampen the novelty of this free luxury. Especially not for the former poor.
But those musings would then turn into a form of prayer as the hours aged the day. She grasped at it harshly as a way of starving the anger that threatened to fester inside as she caught wind of the full picture.
Why did the men of these lands loathe magic? Their bizarre anti-magic systems served to only syphon the cheer out of her spirit. Mari did not appreciate the theft.
The clerk made a call from his desk. "Number 144 please!”
“Uuugghhh.”
Mari sinks further into her chair, huffing as her thumbs fidget to an irate rhythm.
Pettiness was a strange ugliness unbefitting of her. But she was willing to believe in a lie that made it seem like a necessity.
To put it in her own words, the apathy that consumed her as she entered the city snapped at her like a rabid dog. A comforting buzz of magic once danced atop her fingertips. Now there was nothing but a weakness reminiscent of her time in the slums.
The elders here were likely hermits. They buried their sanities under cursed land and sprouted backward customs as a result. Mari's frown sours a little more as her train of thought takes her to old men with rotting teeth.
She buries her face in her hands. "...I'm losing it."
Her spiraling mental continues to run unprompted as time did what time did best. It only spared her once the line shed a person from its branch, offering some room for her to move towards the clerk at the table.
Then dusk came. The queue had been reduced to a small group of the enduring few that refused to leave their positions in the line. They'd all palm at the lacrima as if it were fragile, hunched over the light, almost expectant.
Her self-inflicted madness tapers into her usual pep as she fingered the object they placed in her hands. It shone delicately under the cloak of night.
She helped herself to a sniff. It smelt expensive. The ugly tears that painted her eyes red eventually came to wet her cheeks, as if it'd always been how things went.
"Ah...it really was worth it!"
She later boards a train with the man on the moon as her chaperone.
“Up next, number 143!”
The voice echoes like a siren at sea, filtering through a fog that rolled over fishermen. Mari bites her lips at the thought, watching the line thin by an inch. Her patience wanes alongside it.
It’d been her unrelenting hunger for experiences unknown to her that convinced Mari to board a lesser taken train. The indulgence found in shiny new tech that only cost a train ride seemed too good to dismiss. Thus, the mage decides nothing could dampen the novelty of this free luxury. Especially not for the former poor.
But those musings would then turn into a form of prayer as the hours aged the day. She grasped at it harshly as a way of starving the anger that threatened to fester inside as she caught wind of the full picture.
Why did the men of these lands loathe magic? Their bizarre anti-magic systems served to only syphon the cheer out of her spirit. Mari did not appreciate the theft.
The clerk made a call from his desk. "Number 144 please!”
“Uuugghhh.”
Mari sinks further into her chair, huffing as her thumbs fidget to an irate rhythm.
Pettiness was a strange ugliness unbefitting of her. But she was willing to believe in a lie that made it seem like a necessity.
To put it in her own words, the apathy that consumed her as she entered the city snapped at her like a rabid dog. A comforting buzz of magic once danced atop her fingertips. Now there was nothing but a weakness reminiscent of her time in the slums.
The elders here were likely hermits. They buried their sanities under cursed land and sprouted backward customs as a result. Mari's frown sours a little more as her train of thought takes her to old men with rotting teeth.
She buries her face in her hands. "...I'm losing it."
Her spiraling mental continues to run unprompted as time did what time did best. It only spared her once the line shed a person from its branch, offering some room for her to move towards the clerk at the table.
Then dusk came. The queue had been reduced to a small group of the enduring few that refused to leave their positions in the line. They'd all palm at the lacrima as if it were fragile, hunched over the light, almost expectant.
Her self-inflicted madness tapers into her usual pep as she fingered the object they placed in her hands. It shone delicately under the cloak of night.
She helped herself to a sniff. It smelt expensive. The ugly tears that painted her eyes red eventually came to wet her cheeks, as if it'd always been how things went.
"Ah...it really was worth it!"
She later boards a train with the man on the moon as her chaperone.
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532/500 words | Job Link
532/500 words | Job Link
