Dear My Friends, | ONE PIECE VARIOUS x Reader

Arrow 2. hatred is a systematic disease.

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Your squirming isn't doing much against the tough exterior of the chair. It's bumpy, hard, and difficult to sit still in. Both your hands are neatly crossed in the comforting embrace of your lap. The faint smell of vanilla reaches your nose, and you once more glance at the cake that leads you to the sight of the aroma.

"Happy birthday to me," you call out, closing your eyes to reminisce over the year. "Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me."

You lean in close, standing from your place on the chair to blow out the candles. There are sixteen of them spread out on the bland surface. Eight of those that remind you of your youth and eight that bear a scar on your heart. One more and you aren't a child anymore. Not that you'd been one the past years, considering your accommodations.

"Happy birthday to me..." you say one last time. A gentle smile reaches your lips and it's large enough that you feel your eyes wrinkle.

Removing each of the candles at a distanced pace, a brief shine flickers through the black mist of your eyes. It's much too lonely; a birthday to celebrate the beauty of youth, but why isn't it happy as the name insinuates? The empty words you sing fall short of breath. Your scarred hands reach for the knife discarded motionless to the side of the cream-coloured cake.

You cut a small slice, gently placing the tool away, before using a metal fork to bring the piece of sweet to your mouth. A soft, tangy, and yet buttery taste envelops your tongue in an array of delicious battles. The mixture of flavours blends in to compliment the velvet texture the perfect amount. Chewing each bite with a firm nod, you reach for your pocket to grab a fresh-sewed handkerchief. Yellow like the sun. Its colour is vacant of the courtship that a sky full of stars would hold but somehow, you think, the happiness it provides is just the same, as your lips lift the slightest bit upon cleansing the dull palette of delicate taste.

"I wish... I wish for an adventure. One that not even the tales of those dumb fictional stories can deny," you say simply.

With those last few words, the mark of your sixteenth year begins. No matter, you note, it's almost like a faint reply sounds a hum of affirmation only meant for your ears as you swear the wind ruffles a lulling dream of peaceful goodbye.

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The sun has long since gone with its cheers of hurrah, replaced by the looming shadow of the dark iridescent-like moon. In a forest so large, full to the brim with the dainty remains of birch trees, you remain alone standing side with the company of neighbouring hoots and melodious calls of deep rasping. Shadows but your own mimic the constant chopping motions of wilful motive. Twigs, branches, and leaves depart from their home of comfort to join the barring animated ground. Another tree falls down. Its ponderous trunk causes nothing except for the stark reminder of graceful resilience.

"Man, this sucks," you groan, pulling the clumsily brandished iron axe out of the enshrouded residue.

Shaken by the additional sudden weight, your body falls backwards as you trip over your own feet. An unimpeded thud echoes through the nature suffuse plains.

Your back stings with the burning sensation that could only be thousands of needles pickling at soft-bruised areas of sensitive skin. Iron axe thrown to the nearest, being the left, side with little care, your hand reaches to cradle the plush scope of tissue where the vertebrae connects to form the unique curves of your spine.

"Shit," you cuss in pain, letting out uneven pants of regret. Sitting up to crack your back, you extend your arms both ways. Immediate sounds of relief follow in short to resume the silence.