A gift to remember
Story by breezing on SoFurry
I tried something different after suffering from the effects of an inappropriate amount of coffee.
This is a flash fiction, originated from a prompt regarding "writing with music". I've chosen the Theme of Al De Baran from Ragnarok Online, reminding me of the clock tower. And I also decided to try some first person POV, just to see if I could.
In the end, I don't think it was all that bad, I quite enjoyed writing with the music in mind.
A gift to remember
It was a summer afternoon, the perfect time to take a sip from a warm cup of coffee – my friend used to tell me – and there I was. Sitting beside the coffeehouse and under the protective shadow of a purple and golden adorned umbrella. I used to think these coverings were used only for rain; such a mistake. Confusions of the young self: innocent, intelligent, strong and often wrong. Now every time the rays of light even look at my ever expanding baldness, they grin with the glee of a jester.
“Should've bought a hat," I always chided myself, but such are the wishes to stay comfortable, both with the climate and with the age. I am not old, not until the next afternoon. I check my clock, the one with the polished golden cover showing its maker, if only to hide my fondness (and perhaps pride); no delay at all.
He approached, bringing that elegance that only Trupurgh's nobles could pretend to know: a black cane, made probably of ebony wood and the sweet sweat of artificers; a blue coat covering most of his chest and fur; a top hat to fail the concealment of his pointed ears – these already perking up since his yellow eyes gazed upon me and my waving arm. Good gods, my friend wouldn't want to hear about what I've become. At least the clocks were still ticking.
“Saleh, I bring good news," he began the conversation, teeth as white as they were sharp and tail wagging to show how much I should look forward to it. Surprises spoiled, but such is the predicament when talking to a wolf.
“Did I win some fortune I wasn't aware?" I said, full of hope and joke. Wishing upon the devious destiny never worked, but I wouldn't stop trying.
“Always dreaming, my friend. It's a big one this time, you'll love it," he shifted in the seat, almost enough to block the sun from reaching the table. Alas, I didn't care; I wasn't old. “A clock tower," he pointed towards the carefully placed and planned streets that led the adventurous spirit to central Trupurgh. Something was there at the end, I could see, but no tower; and certainly no clock.
“I see nothing that could grab my interest."
“You don't see it yet but you will see it, trust me."
“Your good news are something of the future? I can't be impressed by that, these are only howls at the moon, Sharr," I bring the coffee to my lips, expecting the so interesting reaction that never failed.
He growled. Success.
“You should stop dreaming, my friend. Can't you see the enclosed terrain? The piles of rocks and concrete and metal? Even you should know what that means!"
“I see a wolf capable of the biggest dreams. Someone who hides from me what he can actually show, maybe from pure spite," or plain fun, but I shouldn't provoke him further. I know what's coming and it is the very reason my friend is a visionary.
He placed the paw on my forehead and the trip starts. Every light shines with the entrancing beauty of the full moon, purging all shades of evil and doubt out of my vision and creating the world of “How it should be, and how it will". I chuckle, every time, imagining how my baldness keeps itself when such a vision becomes true. Alas, I cannot see myself, only the things that truly matter.
Higher than any other palace, keep, castle or manor. Colors ranged from the metallic copper to the elegant shades of lilac, gold and silver; the kind of care you don't see in clocks, especially those mounted on a mechanical building. It is a display of ambition, of grandeur; a reminder of a time when I felt proud to be a human, as now I could only feel proud of hiding my admiration. Perhaps it could come back – and I shall enjoy it returning my hair as well.
“How selfish," I whisper to myself, to the tower and to my friend. Not that I meant it this way, but now it must be. I cannot go back to change it, after all.
And with that phrase – a small and rare display of inadequate sincerity – I find myself back to the heat of summer, coffee in hand and wolf grin in front. He knew how I felt – power of the moonlight – but damn the rest of my hair if I'm letting it show.
“Beautiful," I say with summoned irony.
“It's a lie, my friend," he says, smile wide as the day we finally met.
“What?"
“It's not mine, it's yours. A gift, before my departure," he paused, “All arranged, planned and paid. Do you like it?"
Few wolves could keep their scary smirk after saying something like that, but Sharr shouldn't be grouped with these; I won't allow it. None of the clocks I carry, the golden one, the silver one with diamonds nor the one I intended to give him, could match this accomplishment.
His question lingers to my open mouth, and the last I can say before standing up to the hug of a lifetime – and to the tears that insisted in showing up, the sneaky things! – doesn't come from irony, but from heart.
“Thank you, my friend."