Promise of a ReunionPromise of a Reunion
Ib[Game]: by Kouri
She strained to stretch her hand out, as far as possible, toward the blinding white pouring out of the canvas. Within it, a strong, lean hand reached out; its owner trying with all his might to grasp that tiny, delicate hand.
His fingers curled around hers the moment they made contact, then pulled the body from whence it came close to his chest; enveloping the slight figure into the folds of his tattered faded navy-blue coat. The girl, though shaken, held on steadfast, the strength of her grasp defying its tiny structure.
"Oh!" A Sharp intake of cold recycled air entered her lungs, producing an exclamation barely audible above that of a whisper.
Ib stood bewilderedly in front of the canvas. Vision snapping back to where she was supposed to be looking at: the minuscule title of the colossal masterpiece.
"Fabricated World" echoed through her mind, even though she did not recognize the characters that made up the l
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It impacted her life forever. Life had been the slowest ever since.
No one understood
"Isn't it great, Ib? We get to graduate soon!"
One of her friends seemed terribly excited about their high school graduation. It would be happening in less than two weeks, and seniors would even be allowed to leave school a week early to prepare for the graduation ceremony that would take place in the following week. It was quite hectic for all the seniors of the school, of course for teachers as well, but with everything coming up in a few days, there was a serious need to think and plot about ones future or who they would become.
Ib's friend, Ami, wanted to become a doctor, was accepted to a great college in a far away state, and already had scholarships and full paid grants for her tuition. She was strangely smart for someone so bubbly and... un-focused?
She reminded her of someone...
Someone she wished she could forget.
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She's not here. The darkness slides away as he blinks with non-existent eyelids and sucks in a breath with quicksand-filled lungs.
This world is empty. There is no Ivonne waiting for him with open arms and a warm smile. Nothing but blankness, miles and miles of empty, empty loneliness.
It's too much.
The realization that he is forever trapped in a cage of his own design- he can only watch numbly as he sinks to his iron knees, acidic tears burning holes into his eyes, his hands.
Over the endless decades, he gets accustomed to it. Watching as his artwork takes on a life of its own, devouring people, spitting them back out if they are indigestible.
Behind carnivorous, candy-colored bars consisting of mannequins and lady fingers, he can only dream pointlessly.
Until they arrive. A tiny, crimso