Standing in the sands where a hundred giants stood before, where a hundred swords clashed before, where water killed fire, and boys became men; standing in the sands of the small coliseum was a boy in his early teens. He was wearing a black hooded jacket with a wide neck, and underneath a plain white shirt. The boy wouldn’t catch the average passerby’s eye unless they decided to stare intently at him, which upon doing so, most would blink and rub their eyes as in order to clear away the deceiving blurriness that made it appear as though the boy was emanating steam. He was not, but he was not quite average as one would think since from different perspectives his hair and clothes appeared to change colors, from black to white and white to black. Kumori was his name, and he didn’t stand entirely in the physical world, neither in mind nor in body.
But why was he standing in the middle of the coliseum sands? And why was he holding a dead hare in his right hand?
The day was at the golden hour, nearest to sunset, and the boy was not moving; he was simply staring in the same direction. He was waiting, waiting for something interesting to happen, for someone interesting to appear.
MFT
But why was he standing in the middle of the coliseum sands? And why was he holding a dead hare in his right hand?
The day was at the golden hour, nearest to sunset, and the boy was not moving; he was simply staring in the same direction. He was waiting, waiting for something interesting to happen, for someone interesting to appear.
MFT