The Identity Of The Sinful Miracle

f i f t y

The night has ascended as the ever-eerie moon broke from the horizon; blackened sky covered everything from my point-of-view. The waves of the ocean is tranquil and it emits sparkles, receiving the little lights from the moon.

I sit silently here, feeling the chilly temperature to my skin.

This place is perfectly a good place to have a conversation to someone. We are setting out of the sea, loading on this luxury liner.

I gaze at the man, sitting in front of me. My hands are resting loosely on this table, keeping a cold-dead expression.

"So," the man prompts first "what do you want from this frailty old man, Young Twain?"

I stay silent. That's right. The man whom I'm seeing this time is Will Nakajima—my father's half-brother.

"I only want a talk." I state simply.

"Ohh... I see." he responds while nodding with a gentle expression. "Coming here bare-handed to the enemy's base just for simple talk with a wretched man like me. I admire your resolve, Young Twain."

I move my gaze downcast. It is my first time talking to him. Truth be told, my will is lacking courage. If my courage won't suffice enough, my breaths will falter instantly.

"You look gloomy, Young Twain." says him again. "And you are the one who want to have a little chat, but you have stayed silent for a very long time."

I lift my eyes and see an amiable façade. What I'm seeing right now is far different from what I thought of him. I always imagine that he's always mad, but he actually have the softest expression ever.

I nod my head again and give him a small bow. "Thank you for humoring my sudden request to have a little chat from you, Mister Nakajima."

"Calling me 'uncle' is fine, Hime. After all, I am Niel's little adopted brother, am I not?"

I'm left agape when he called me 'Hime'. And . . . uncle?

"I guess . . . you are correct, uncle." I reply silently yet shyly.

"Well, well, back to business." utters him, "What do you need? If coming here just to blame me for all I have done to you, then, I will gladly accept your accusations."

"It's not like that." I tell him, "I just want to ask why . . . why did you stay on the miserable side?"

"Well, do you think I have a reason to be happy?"

I remain shut silent. He is also like one of those people who became remnants of despair.

"Carelessly born without knowing or having everything; growing up in a place that I don't even deserve; and then walking on this world, wallowing in endless nightmare. It's always like that."

"Why is this happening to us?" It is my tedious reply.

"Perhaps, you know the feeling that you're always forsaken by this world?"

A small gasp escapes to my lips as I twitch my palms. He is right. The world have locked us in a dark room. As we suffer, we long for someone who could find and save us.

"Yes, I do." I murmur.

"Then, you will dwell to yourself, asking, 'Why me? I never asked for this. Do I deserve this? Does the world hate me so much that it cursed my whole-being so severely?'." Mister Will demonstrates with a snickering grin on his face.