Chapter 2: Never Let Her Slip Away
One Sunday morning, Sunshine Boy sent a message to his friend, Barkada Guy.
“Tol!” In the Fellowship of the Grid, this was a term they generally used to address each other.
Barkada Guy, who was probably busy that day, replied with a simple “Why?” and waited for the reply.
A second hadn’t even passed yet when Sunshine Boy sent a new message.
“Last Friday was just.. really great,” he said. “The most amazing thing happened.”
“I talked to a girl.”
Realizing how cheesy he sounded, Sunshine Boy laughed out loud.
He was walking along a narrow and dimly lit corridor, when he happened upon a piece of parchment lying on the floor. To his knowledge, he was alone, and so it came as a surprise to him that he was holding in his hands a tattered letter. Straining his eyes against the hazy, yellow light of an old street lamp, he blew away the dust from the letter, and started reading:
Chapter 1: Can We Just Stop And Talk Awhile
Simple, yet meaningful. This was to be a recurring theme in the lives of Sunshine Boy and Rainbow Girl. Even now, none of them would have thought that a simple encounter would be the starting point to this amazing tale.
When they first met, they knew nothing about each other, only the fact that they were meeting for strictly business reasons. There were no bells, no doves, no sentimental music playing in the background. He gave her the shirts she ordered, she gave him her payment, and that was it. Their roads branched out, and they each lived their own adventures.
It’s the new year.
I can still remember a time not so long ago, when our apartment block was filled with the noise, sparks, and smoke that fireworks bring. There were more people occupying the units back then. If I recall correctly, one of our neighbors would go and light a firecracker on every corner. It was for luck, I think. Some sort of holiday tradition. I just thought they were being noisy.
A few years ago, I was also among those who celebrated the new year with lights and sparks. Mine was harmless though, compared to theirs. I just lit up those rockets that shoot a fountain of sparks probably up to 2 or 3 meters high. I wasn’t the one that bought those rockets. They were gifts, and it’s a shame to let a gift go to waste. They were beautiful to look at; it was as if each spark was a symbol of hope.
Melancholic musings will always be a part of anyone who has ever felt low, or has at one point in their life felt so miserable from doing the things that ought to have meant something to them. You start out with that smile painted on your face, and yet by the end of the day, the smile starts to fade and discolor from the moisture brought about by your own tears. As night slowly creeps in to snatch any trace of light, you try to comfort yourself by hiding yourself in your own personal sanctum, dreading the coming of events that will once again leave you drained, and lifeless.
I’m back. Even I can’t believe it. I’ve gotten used to the fact that regardless of how many times I toggle the switch, I won’t receive any response from my computer. I simply must get a new power supply. Of course, I wouldn’t hear any of it. From my perspective, whoever broke the pc in the first place should be the one to buy a replacement. Since there was no action taken, I let it rest. I, unlike them however, had an ace up my sleeve. From outside the box hidden in the upstairs room, I brought out our first PC, an IBM AT Intel 80386. My father bought it when I was around 7 or 8, and from there started a monochromatic adventure of danger, suspense, dram–
..I’m mostly talking about the games I installed up until my 2nd year in high school. Ahh.. DOS games still rock.