{ his point of view }
"But really now," I watched her carefully, "how old are you?"
"I told you already," she shrugged as she polished a button that's bigger than her with hands, "I'm 9."
"You can't be 9," I insisted. Why is she lying? "You look like you're about my age."
"But I really am 9," she stopped for a bit, her hair turning silvery blue, "at least that's what I last remember."
"What do you mean?" I asked, completely confused.
"I don't remember celebrating my birthday after that one. There's no one else around and my brother's always in your world so why bother, right?" She clicked her tongue, "Humans are such hectic creatures, worrying about birthdays."
"But still," I mumbled before trailing off. After an awkward silence, I asked, "when's your birthday?" Maybe I can accompany her next time. You know, at least be there for her.
"I don't . . . remember."
"Okay, but don't you remember how many years passed since you turned 9 years old? Like, an estimate? Like, 10 years? 11? 12?" I asked, wondering if she's older than I am or younger.
" . . . no . "
"How?" I asked unconsciously. I've never met someone who's forgotten about her birthday for so many years.
"I only learned how to count up to 9."
" . . . oh ."
YOU ARE READING
keeper of lost things
Fanfictionhave you ever wondered where all lost things go? like, a spare button or some dimes and pennies or your eraser or your pen or your hope or your faith . . . or at some times, even yourself. where do they all go?
