Snippets and Stories: (WtI) Whimsical

"There comes a point, where they just don't get better."

It was difficult for him to dredge up the energy. And this none knew better than Neiro.

Silas nodded along, eyes heavy, but nonetheless stubbornly open as his flatmate decorated the house with the fervor that came with youth.

In a way he envied the albino. Lithe as he was, so full of vigor, and skin glowing with a healthy glow that his had long since lost in pallor.

Such enthusiasm was refreshing from the snail's pace that he had taken back in the small rustic town where the Tea Shop. After all, the atmosphere was such that it compelled one to take a simple and unhurried afternoon. To let go of one's stress that they may indulge in palaver.

More often than not he had lent an ear to both the sugar and lumps in the colorful sonder of his patrons.

Now though, he struggled to keep up with Neiro. It was exhausting.

But Neiro wasn't all excitement. He seemed to just know, and understand. It wasn't all poking fun and jests. Nothing like the whimsical fancies he so loved painting himself as.

Rather, this was the lesser known, but true disposition.

He bustled about, hanging the mobiles they had made a month prior, and putting up little additions to add to the "Windsong Festival". Though he himself had never heard of it, the holiday was apparently quite well known where Neiro had come from, and rich in its history besides.

Neiro was silent as he worked, concentrated as he was in his task of setting up the colored pieces of sea glass that cast a mesmerizing and scintillating dance of lights around the room. Yet never far, was that same grin he had always known that was, at the least, present in a small smile.

Occasionally he'd glance over at him, nodding his head when they exchanged looks, and throwing him a thumbs up.

Despite what others may believe of his reserved demeanor, the Invalid had done his best to express the interest and fervor that he couldn't help but get caught up in with his companion.

It was infectious.

And also draining.

Things just weren't the same anymore. Adventure no longer appealed to him, and neither did the whimsical fancies that were so prevalent in youth.

He felt tired, and it showed.

Even now it called out to his consciousness, and slowly his eyes slipped shut.

"Hey Sy, what do you think of--" Neiro paused in the doorway. There on the couch his dear friend's posture had gone slack.

Neiro shook his head, smiling all the same. Seemed he'd be putting on the finishing touches alone. Not that he minded.

They had long seen it coming. Silas wouldn't be able to keep up with him much longer, but though he yearned to spread his wings and seek out new horizons, it wouldn't do to leave his friend behind.

In truth the Windsong Festival was of impermanence. Indeed rich in their history it was thought to be the transitory nature of all that life was and lay in those of mortal flesh and blood. Like the passing wind would they rush through life, to die down with naught to show of their passing. Yet always would life once again rise and prevail, in a never ending ebb and flow.

Such as the receding wind would once more bear winds anew, so too would life begin again.

He hung up the chimes in silence, letting their pure crystalline sounds twinkle softly with the zephyr.