Fax Nocte [Felix]

I determine it to be a boy, and he laughs a bit. Why was he laughing? Perhaps he'd thought of something comical. That did not happen to me much, but sometimes I would think about something my mom had done before my dad got rid of her. She was always very humrous. When I was very little, I would sit on her lap and she'd tel me a funny story. I loved laughing. Do I still like it? Of course I do, it just doesn't seem like the right thing to do anymore. As though laughing would break some strange silence that doesn't even exist. Something tense, keeping my wrapped in a tight cacoon, barely letting me even breathe. How can one laugh, when they are almost suffocating? I believe it to be impossible, and that's perhaps, a theory on why I don't feel I can laugh. Now there's something to hear. Can't laugh? Sounds just as foreign as laughing it's self.

The boy walks towards a tree and is rubbing against it. He seemed to strangely fascinated with the tree, as though it was something he loved dearly. I love trees, too. There aren't many here, anymore, so I've been told. Apparently there used to be many, everywhere. I would love to see the district like that. Devoured in trees, plants, flowers, and all those other beautiful things. The boy rubs his hand aganst the tree. I close my eyes and imagine rubbing my hand against the tree. It would be rough, right? The bark might peel if it was loose. Of course, it might also be a very tough tree, and instead scrape someone before it lost any of it's bark. If it did come out in myhand, would it be thick or thin? It could be either. It might be sharp, or it could have a smooth side on the inside. In the dark it would look like a very deep brown, but if it were bright day it'd look so bright. Bright and beautful. Trees were always beautiful, no matter what the lighting was.

His body turns in the direction of the benches around the square. Maybe he won't see me. It is dark, isn't it? But people can very quickly grow used to dim lighting. As he strolls closer, I keep watching him closely. My feelings feel mixed at the time. Curiousity, relaxation, tenseness. My body feels almost foreign to me when I'm outside. Right now, I feel like I've got my own body, but if someone were to notice me, I'd become an alien. Well, from experience that's what it would be like. For all I can tell. A bodiless alien. I don't like becoming such a thing. He looks traight ahead, and sees me. I cringe for a moment. Spotted. I've been spotted, and he's staring at me. Why was he staring at me like that? He didn't seem angry, nor like he recognized me, he didn't even look curious. He looked almost nonchalant, as though he was in a dream. Perhaps I'm in a dream, or I could be in waking sleep. Hallucinating this entire place.

Reality check? No need. I'm not that sleep deprived. I can - almost - tell the different beteen reality and dreamland. Of course, how often do I enter dreamland? Not as often as I should, so how would I be able to tell if this was a dream? I just know. I keep looking back at him. Maybe he would just walk away and dizzy walk somewhere else. His expression was so soft though. Like someone staring into space, even though he was obviously looking at me. You know that expression people get when they are thinking about something? He looks like that, but a bit more daydream-like. Was he a crazy? Perhaps he was, and he was just lost. I can't help him much though, I can't really find my way around anymore. I've pretty much forgotten the way to almost everything but the square.

I shift on the bench. This staring was getting a bit on my nerves. I get a bit anxious in situations like this. I stand up awkwardly, barely being able to move under someones eyes. It was hard enough moving across the room in front of my dad's friends, but this stranger? A stranger staring at my movements made me too uncomfortable. I start slowly stumble-walking towards him, a question already on my tongue. What was he doing out here? Was my question. I'd ask it, get my answer, then go hide somewhere for as long as I could before going home. I won't bother with too much socializing today. Anyways, I'm sleepy. Oh yah, sure. I'm so going to get some sleep tonight - or should I say today? The little bits of gravel shift under my feet, but I have a light tred, and they aren't as bad as someone starming home after work. Someone who checks the door to see if they remembered to lock it before leaving, and if they did forget, come inside angry and insane with glaring eyes. No, my feet can barely make them shift to a point a mouse would awaken. Barely.

"W-what are y-you doing a-awake?" I ask. I was too curious to let the question stay inside me. I take the last step, and this time the gravel seems to crunch under me. I'm making too much of listening to my own feet. I feel like i've lengthened a seven second walk into thirty minutes. But still, I've asked a question and now I can wait for an answer. Well, that's typically what people do. Except some people, who just keep talking. I don't talk too much. Well, I don't think so. I don't exactly get a chance to say anything, really.