.:Some Kind of Mysterious:. [lucy x heath]

The fresh soil was wet and cold against his feet. He twisted his toes until they scraped clumps between every last one. The last time he remembered being barefoot in an idle patch of grass, he couldn’t have been much more than knee high. They were learning to climb trees and explore the elements. Heathcliff had spent a morning picking daffodils and being chastised by his mother for wasting time. He’d taken one of them home and pressed it into a book—paradise frozen between pages. Memories were like that now, gentle reminders he could use to put himself together. He’d remember the boy from back then, and think that there was so much unknown. Was he always running with a funny gait? And his sister by his side, pulling him back to reality. Without her to tether him, he kept drifting up and off again.

This was better, though. As much as he wanted to concentrate on the weaponry skills, he kept finding his eyes wandering. How could they not appreciate the vastness of the training center, the rooms filled with history? These were halls filled with ghosts; they too would have their names drift through the halls when time came due. Perhaps it was out of honor, or general curiosity or his problematic attention span, but Heathcliff kept itching to distract himself. There had been enough time to practice his stride. Any fleeting moment of practice here wouldn’t change the course of fate. He kneeled over a patch of lilacs and daisies and began to tear them apart.

Heath weaved the stems of the flowers together, minding some lilacs along with some baby’s breath. He could approve of a tulip or two—their stems were a good base. His hands were steady, and he started to forget the purpose of having come to the plants station was to figure out how to not poison himself. And yet after a few days within the training center he was finding having no center or focus was much better than all the days he’d spent lost as a robot. He knew he needed to focus but this—he felt compelled to put it together, to separate away from the task at hand. He placed the creation atop his head with a smile. How he wished his sister was there to see him now.

He was under no illusion that he should’ve been wearing a crown, but the starry eyed boy kept at playing with the flowers. “It’s much better time spent making these than thinking a patch of berries is going to save you,” He said to himself and anyone in earshot. “Don’t you think?”

Made by Frankel