"This is the story of how you die"
The man was perhaps 30, dressed in black with a sheathed katana at his belt, a shinigami for all that the young boy could discern, He had entered his room no problem when the boy had left for the toilet, and upon the boys re entry had plainly addressed him. There was no malice, no hint of threat, merely a statement. The boy fled, as fast as possible out of the house along the street, for twenty minutes until his body was on the verge of total collapse. He stopped, to catch his breath.
"It is inevitable, running won't help."
The man was there, behind him, still the same, not tired in the slightest. The boy fled once more, this time only going one street before collapsing.
"I'm not the one who will do it. You may as well listen rather than injury yourself further."
Wh- what do you want?
"Nothing, not that you can give me, not yet at least. I want to see the true you, I'll come back when it's there."
Why me?
The man smiled, almost knowingly. Then he turned and walked away, a breeze making the boy blink. Then he was gone. The boy got up and walked back to his house. Confused he put it out of his mind.
The next day he began his exile.
Around 7 decade later an old man was standing at the entrance to sand kingdom, musing on the events which happened after and if it had happened again, to his son. Sighing he knew he was deluding himself, his children were probably long dead, left out in the desert to die. The cruelty of the clan who had ever resented their first exile, so made their children live it out too, each generation building on the bitterness of the past for the sake of tradition. Still the old man kept up his quiet vigil. The guards for the most part leaving him alone, he had become a part of the surroundings for them, always staring out into the night. Waiting for something that would never come.
The man was perhaps 30, dressed in black with a sheathed katana at his belt, a shinigami for all that the young boy could discern, He had entered his room no problem when the boy had left for the toilet, and upon the boys re entry had plainly addressed him. There was no malice, no hint of threat, merely a statement. The boy fled, as fast as possible out of the house along the street, for twenty minutes until his body was on the verge of total collapse. He stopped, to catch his breath.
"It is inevitable, running won't help."
The man was there, behind him, still the same, not tired in the slightest. The boy fled once more, this time only going one street before collapsing.
"I'm not the one who will do it. You may as well listen rather than injury yourself further."
Wh- what do you want?
"Nothing, not that you can give me, not yet at least. I want to see the true you, I'll come back when it's there."
Why me?
The man smiled, almost knowingly. Then he turned and walked away, a breeze making the boy blink. Then he was gone. The boy got up and walked back to his house. Confused he put it out of his mind.
The next day he began his exile.
Around 7 decade later an old man was standing at the entrance to sand kingdom, musing on the events which happened after and if it had happened again, to his son. Sighing he knew he was deluding himself, his children were probably long dead, left out in the desert to die. The cruelty of the clan who had ever resented their first exile, so made their children live it out too, each generation building on the bitterness of the past for the sake of tradition. Still the old man kept up his quiet vigil. The guards for the most part leaving him alone, he had become a part of the surroundings for them, always staring out into the night. Waiting for something that would never come.