Apostasian Revelations

Chapter Three

The storms having lightly subsided meant that the light drizzle didn't do much harm for the monotonously walking man, seeing inside his small shack, it brought a weird sense of joy in him, revisiting something he had once been a constant part of in it's preservation.

Sighing at the sickly looking thin cat that hissed daggers at him, he was sure it would leave sooner or later, and as sure as it was to his instincts, the poor malnourished cat did indeed go off from a distance of his shack and house, watching him with suspicious eyes.

In his hands was his last remaining milk bag for the day, and an old and slightly tethered looking, yet fully functional bowl just recently procured from his kitchen.

He knew he shouldn't have fed the pest, but he took pity rather easily, far too easily, and perhaps even he admitted it himself about it being a big mental fortitude for him to constantly have pushing him along.

Shaky hands that stopped just before the dirty cat drinking the milk, he sighed, once again unable to get over his fears and touch an animal.

Yet his smile never left his face, burning lungs and all made him cough alot, but surprisingly, it didn't scare away the animal at all, which gave him a rejoicing feeling of happiness to have helped another out.

     "I wonder.. what's it like not having problems?.." he pondered with a meek little hand on his cheek, his throat slightly raspy made him sure to drink something good for his health after this.

    "Probably great to be honest.. well, Kitty, better get going now, so stay out of trouble, alright?"

He smiled at his own little bizarre habits while standing up with a huff and puff, and uneasy wobbles for a little while.

The cat's meows came to his ears, almost coherent enough to him, tail pointing behind him seemingly towards the shed even, before it ran off. Having drunken all the milk so quickly, Miguel was sure it was star stricken at the opportunity to rid it's own famine.

Looking behind him, he felt some odd reason to go and check in the shed, whether out of a will full of curiosity due to having a severely limited time frame left, or due to curiosity at the cat's meows.

But no matter the reasons, he pushed the metallic looking rusty door open with a loud creak that hurt his ears and organs slightly just to witness.

Damp was what you could expect of it, filled with all of what could be termed useless, and usefull junk that he should really have sorted out by now, either by himself or with the help of his family.

Of course, the last option was now unavailable, but that didn't stop his smile at the dark place, turning the small bulb's switch on illuminated everything that could be visibly present at the moment.

Boxes, cardboard boxes to be exact and it was all crowded with toys, books and old items he and his late family had lost interest in. Yet it hurt his heart to throw them away, after all, he had grown attachments to seemingly even the dust attached on the black and white ceiling fan just up above, to even the most worthless plastic piece he held a childhood nostalgia that was all done and justified by his mind as important, somehow.

Feeling either a push from behind or the wind, he entered into the large shack with a puzzled look, and after closing the door did he find something peculiar catching his eye, in a small cardboard box full of old magazines that his father used to keep, all of what Miguel thought all men had.

Kneeling down and Keeping the magazines of beer bottles aside, he tilted his head slightly at the ancient, yet somehow fresh looking scroll. It was unrivalled in it's cleanliness, as even though it looked to be made a couple hundred years ago, it somehow felt like it was made just a second or two ago.