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𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁𐄙𐄁
On the twelfth hour of the first day of October 1989, forty-three women around the world gave birth. This was unusual in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day first began.
Sir Reginald Hargreeves, eccentric billionaire and adventurer,resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible.
He got eight of them...
Almost.
𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐀𝐘
Timid footsteps echo across the barren stage as a young and diffident man approaches the stool sat under a single spotlight. He places his instrument's case on its surface to unlock it, the two metal clicks of the locks loud enough they resounded in the all too quiet atmosphere. He pulls out his violin, its glossy coat shining brilliantly in the spotlight in it's perfect condition. It was his pride and joy.
The man enters the milky white beam of light, silently relishing in the spotlight he had for so long strived for. He brings the violin to rest under his chin, feeling complete. His eyelids flutter closed, already he can see the notes in his mind but they quickly vanish when he begins to play.
Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera medley bleeds from his finger tips as he becomes one with his instrument. Its soft and lilting tune exuding from him as naturally as air.
•·················•·················•
Three sharp beeps bring a large and lumbering man from a deep sleep, his bulging arm swinging limply through the air and landing on the snooze button. The time on the digital clock read 23:28. He rises from the bed with a deep groan, the lumpy mattress never was to his liking seeing as it never properly supported his weight. He squeezes his rather large build through the doorframe and into the cramped living space he had called home for the past four years. His eyes land on the small plant that sits on the counter, his calloused hand reaches up to lightly stroke its bright stems encouragingly before watering it.
He slips into his suit once more, and as he does so he can't help but think about why he is here. How many times he had done this, and there seemed to be no end in sight. The only thing keeping him going was the one thing that had been drilled into his head as a child. The only thing he could cling to; the world needed this.
𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟏 "𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑"
Luther steps out into the desolate wasteland of the moon's surface. The titanium door closing behind him as he bounces across the dusty landscape to the trash compactor, yet another week's trash in his hands.
