Creative writing dump

Stuck in the Past

A continuation of the previous work. In Isaac's perspective.

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"So, how do we get you out of these chains?" I look down at my arms.

"Well, they're my magic meaning-"

"Meaning that they're made of ink and emotions. Gotcha." I stare down at my hands in discomfort as he pats them. Simon did that a lot. He would pat my hands before squeezing them. "Well, if they're made of hardened ink then my magic should burn through them." A shot of anxiety causes the chains to tighten around my arms, and I wince. Beau stops to look back at me.

"Isaac?" I stare into his baby blue eyes and only see Simon staring back. A worried frown on his lips.

"I'm fine, Si-Beau. I just... I won't look."

Seeing his magic reminds me of Simon. So I stare down into the void that makes up the floor. The cave is pitch black, yet we can see each other perfectly. I wonder why that's the case. Maybe it's because of his magic and my mixing just like Simon's and mine. Maybe, it's a reason I don't know, I'm not sure. I quickly glance at Beau, and he looks so much like him. Simon. I barely remember him now. He was tall, not as tall as Beau, but just a few inches taller than me. He loved the color blue, just like Beau does. Dark navies or softer teals, any shade of blue other than light blue. No, he didn't like light blue, I can't remember why. He was always so interested in becoming a Guardian too, he willingly left his world to keep me company.

"Isaac? Can you walk?" I look up from the floor at Beau. His expression shifts to shock for a reason I don't know. "Isaac! Are you okay? Why are you crying?"

Crying? I bring a hand to my face. Oh, there are tears on my cheek. I didn't notice that I was crying. I focus on the color, peacock teal, melancholy. I smile sadly at the color. Simon would've liked the color. I'm sure he wore a peacock teal ribbon around his neck. I turn back to him, trying to smile, but I don't want to, and I don't have the strength either. I look away before settling on squeezing his hand twice then one long squeeze, just how Simon and I did. I don't expect anything in return, but then I feel him squeeze it back. My eyes widen. Simon is still there. Beau is my Simon because Simon is still there. I look up at him in shock, and his eyes are filled with comfort.

"Don't worry then. I'll carry you. Just like old times." Old times? How does he... He hasn't carried me before. But if Simon is still there, he would remember. He smiles at me, and then I see him.

"Okay," Simon. Fresh tears gather in my eyes.

He picks me up, and I grip his sweatshirt. It feels like him. He looks like Simon and acts like him, so this is Simon... But then I look into his eyes. Simon never had baby blue eyes; he had sea-green eyes. But everything else is almost the same. The tan from training in the sun; the pieces of shined armor with scratches in it, the navy fingerless glove, the long blue scarf that hung around his neck like a cape, and the blue boots. I dare another glance at his face. The nose is the same, and the mouth too. The shaved line in his right eyebrow is still there; the scar running from his chin to his upper lip is still there; his freckles and birthmark are all there. Everything screams Simon... But this is Beau, right? I set my ear against his chest.

I can almost hear it, the memories in his heartbeat. The times we would make spaghetti together or have movie days. I can hear his laughter as he would talk about the kid. My kids. I can hear them laughing with him, the picnics we would have. I can smell the sweet scent of the freshly picked buttercups. The flower crowns glowing in the light of the sun. The sweat on both of us as we would spar. His cries to stop when he needed to retie his fluffy brown hair into a ponytail. How every muscle in his arms seemed to contract or extend just to tie his hair up. Before picking up his sword and continuing with the spar. I can hear his whining that it wasn't fair that I won. How he begged to spar once more, to prove he was strong enough to leave his world to stay with me. How he never stopped asking to spar again. I can hear the way our swords clashed together in a seemingly endless dance. I hear his surprise when I pulled my whip. In his heart, I hear the alarmed tone when he scolded me for having a whip as a weapon. I almost laugh as I hear his groan.

"Nevermind if a whip is better than a sword! You're just ruthless either way!" I smile softly at the wisps of memories coming from Simon's heart. This isn't Beau. Beau never existed, Simon's been here the whole time. He lied about it... But I'm not mad, just happy that he's been here the whole time.

"Isaac?" But, his tone isn't Simon. "Are you okay? We're almost to the exit, bud."

"Yeah. I'm okay, Simon."

I hold onto him tighter as we continue to walk towards the dim glowing beacon. A way home I think. I smile at the thought of home. Evan waiting for me to come home, he'll be happy I found Simon. I thought we lost him forever.

"Isaac, are you okay? You haven't spoken since we left." I close my eyes as I lean into his warmth. I'm just so tired, and he's so warm. "Inky?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you okay? " I smile softly at him. He doesn't need to worry about me.

"Yeah, Simon. I'm just... happy." I feel his grip tighten on me. "Simon? Are you okay?" I look up at him. He looks down at me with an expression I can't place.

"Isaac... You know I'm not Simon. I'm Beau." My eyes widen as the sea-green eyes fade to baby blue. Oh. Right. Simon, he no longer exists. But just for a moment, I let myself think he was still there. I was kidding myself.

"Oh. Sorry, Beau. I just..." I bite my lip and look away as tears blur my vision. He shifts me around in his arms so I can wrap my legs around his waist and bury my face into his shoulder. "You remind me so much of him." I feel him pat my back as we continue on our way.

"I know. I'm sorry he's no longer here, but I'm here now, and I'm not leaving for a long time." I bite my lip harder to hold in my sobs; he acts just like Simon. I remember that Simon had said that to me as well. I tighten my grip on his sweatshirt. "Look, Inky. It's the opening. We're almost home." I open my eyes even if I can't see anything because of the tears.

Home. I want to go home.