S E I J I
Halo. The word is unfamiliar. Seiji tilts his head as Weaver’s question redirects toward him. Looking up, he blinks at her, an embarrassed simper creasing his mouth. “Somewhere else,” he answers. “I am not sure where. But I live here, now.” Why does saying so fill him with sorrow? He turns his attention once more to the lantern, delicate brush strokes now framing the glass in place of rust and soot. Here and there, he can see the mistakes, the strokes too broad or too hurried, and he frowns slightly down at it. Perhaps he needs practice.
As he stands to examine the selection of candles, Seiji takes in this talk of old gods and unfamiliar places, though he has nothing to add. He could sit all day in the corner of a room somewhere and soak up conversations like this. He should return to the library, or the Loreseekers’ home. He would be welcome there, he knows. The brief embarrassment of having gone so long without visiting would fade in a matter of minutes.
“What was your brother’s name?” he asks, gently. It is a risky question — perhaps she does not wish to speak of it. But she brought it up, so he offers her this chance to say more. To maybe teach him more of Halo, too, in the telling. Seiji’s gaze is attentive as he choose a candle and returns to his seat, where he fits it into the base behind a glass door. Crude, he thinks, but maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe the dead care more for the effort than the outcome.
Life would be kind if it were like that.
Halo. The word is unfamiliar. Seiji tilts his head as Weaver’s question redirects toward him. Looking up, he blinks at her, an embarrassed simper creasing his mouth. “Somewhere else,” he answers. “I am not sure where. But I live here, now.” Why does saying so fill him with sorrow? He turns his attention once more to the lantern, delicate brush strokes now framing the glass in place of rust and soot. Here and there, he can see the mistakes, the strokes too broad or too hurried, and he frowns slightly down at it. Perhaps he needs practice.
As he stands to examine the selection of candles, Seiji takes in this talk of old gods and unfamiliar places, though he has nothing to add. He could sit all day in the corner of a room somewhere and soak up conversations like this. He should return to the library, or the Loreseekers’ home. He would be welcome there, he knows. The brief embarrassment of having gone so long without visiting would fade in a matter of minutes.
“What was your brother’s name?” he asks, gently. It is a risky question — perhaps she does not wish to speak of it. But she brought it up, so he offers her this chance to say more. To maybe teach him more of Halo, too, in the telling. Seiji’s gaze is attentive as he choose a candle and returns to his seat, where he fits it into the base behind a glass door. Crude, he thinks, but maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe the dead care more for the effort than the outcome.
Life would be kind if it were like that.
The rain is full
of ghosts tonight
of ghosts tonight
