#micah01

Beloved as his younger sister is by family, Colin finds himself worrying about how she gets along with others; she can take care of herself, of course, but she conveys herself in a contrary way and despite tough attitude can be surprisingly naive at times. 

This afternoon, he’d been staying late in his classroom for love magic, discussing the latest thing they’d learnt in classs alongside two of his peers, one who he knew as Micah —Misca was snoozing, as usual, ignorant of anything but sweet dreams of blossoms— when Meyha had burst into the room, arms crossed with stern expression and a parade of an flowering dragon partner and wispy bunnies familiars following after her. 

As it turned out, Colin had left his umbrella at home, and it was already starting to storm outside. She’d hunted him down to deliver it, alongside a set of hand warmers, worried that Colin might catch a cold, but that was embarrassing to admit in front of his classmates, so she’d tried to play it off as something else, though it really only ended up leaving her more flustered.

Once she’d left, Colin let out a soft peal of laughter, shaking his head gently. Smile had never really left his face throughout the whole thing, even as sister went off on a short tirade, and generally seemed non affected by the situation.

“Sorry about the interruption,” he said, still with smile on his face as he rearranges his now present umbrella on his lap.  “We can continue our discussion now, if you’d like.”

Unfortunately, one of their classmates, Siesel, excused themselves, obviously a bit put off by the whole affair. That just left Colin and Micah, and Colin offered another apology—

The topic of religion was one Masen often liked to avoid. There was a time in his life when he considered himself a believer; there was also a time in his life when he never had any reason to question his faith. He could recall attending church with his parents all throughout his childhood and, though he had his doubts at times, his mother would just kiss him on his forehead and assure him that he would understand on his own some day. She was wrong, of course.

When the preacher laid hands on him, Masen did the same as the others: fell back, closed his eyes as if the event was too precious for his eyes to comprehend, and the crowds just  cheered. They didn’t even notice him slipping away to the bathroom where he began to cry, because he had faked it and none of them had even noticed the difference. He wept because if he had faked it, how many others had?

He sobbed because he no longer believed and it made him feel so very, very alone.

Masen’s eyes darted over to Micah, empathizing with him. There was, perhaps, no greater torture to a man of faith than to be stuck in these godless times; maybe Masen had lucked out by becoming a non-believer in the end.

“Gotta be honest here,” he said, sparking his lighter and taking a drag from one of the cigarettes he’d found in a desk drawer. All those years avoiding parties with his friends, avoiding alcohol and drugs and anything that could distract him from being the best athlete he could be, and for what? In the end, it hadn’t mattered at all, had it?

 “I think maybe I was missing out.”