wonderland • wolfstar

35| the tale ended

It was cold that night in Wales as Remus sat on the coast line, leaning against a dilapidated brick wall separating the sand from the patchy grass on the other side. His home was only ten or so metres away from his seated position on the cold grainy texture of the ground, but it felt as though he was placed to in a whole new dimension entirely.

That caliginous sky that cradled Remus Lupin gave him sugar twists of imaginative thinking and no, he did not get high at three in the morning, mostly due to the fact that there were no drugs on their little corner on their little town. It was so small, so sparsely populated, that it worked like clockwork

Nature's Sound blossomed from marginally deranged thoughts given from such a terribly brisk climate and a tremendous sky. Such a tremendous sky that curved flawlessly around the planet that Remus had conjured from nothing more than his pretty, sometimes painfully dense head.

So, after intense development in the coming months, an allegory of humans and their human instincts was formed.

There's a boy. A boy whom the world had treated with love and care for the majority of his childhood, blessing him with a great understanding of the musical arts until his silence was never empty. This boy's name was Oliver Curvestone. Pretty name for a pretty boy with a pretty life in a pretty town, right? His father was a printer of Bayer's Grove's newspaper and one of the many rich individuals inhabiting the orderly town. The life he lived was that of simplicity, and it was quite safe to say that he was fed up.

His father, the figure that held strings over his life, was one of the rulers, one of the select few who ensured that the corset remained as tight as possible, because with beauty and perfection, there's no difference at all.

There's another boy too. A traveller and an environmentalist who grew roses of venom from his fingertips and had blazing trees burning in his eyes. But he was passionate, so eager for change. This was Noah Croft. He was the epitome of strong passion, of words that ink themselves over your heart until rose-tinted lenses shatter and the world focuses at last so no one is blind to the deterioration.

Noah found himself at Bayer's Grove one spring eve after a broken down bus ruined his travels, but he acquired a reason to stay. There were furious men and women, so high up on the list of affluence and power, but they abused their post and it was clear. It was almost laughable how infantile they could be when it came to problems with simple resolutions, except there was nothing amusing about war being chosen and the lives of so many put in danger.

He didn't take a bus back to his forlorn hometown where excitement was a wish within a wish, mystery a myth and adventure a falsity.

Noah remained for a while, merely because he felt as though he should.

Turns out that he actually had a space in Bayer's Grove, with his chillingly fierce opinions and shamelessness to speak his logic. Logic that no one else in the town seemed to possess.

Except Oliver, the boy that Noah had stumbled across in the book shop. They're hands hadn't fallen over the same book, nor had one of them fallen and had the other one aid them in picking up a load of books. It was nothing special, really. Noah saw him picking up a book that he deemed horrific and he couldn't help himself from tutting because damn, if that boy happened to buy it, he'd be regretting a lot of things. Oliver noticed the slight condescending sound and acknowledged it with raised eyebrows. The rest is history!

Things that made sense to Noah made sense to Oliver and for the first time in probably forever, there was some sort of rooted connection: Oliver wasn't like anybody else. He wasn't as devoted as he was about a number of things, not exactly, but he listened and made his own opinions.