"Come out now, honey! We already miss you," said his mother with quite the happy voice while dancing with his dearest husband, of which he had already heard for a hundred times.
No. A million times, which made him believe that there was something more than just missing him, though the very reason was yet unclear and ambiguous for Micael, but he never really bothered, and he had not budged an inch, and continued on playing with his hum behind the resonating beauty of the guitar's sound coming from its waist while its neck was scarcely begging for remorse, as Micael's fingers were pressing it hard, but there was good, soothing music rather than a mournful gag which would have resulted from choking. Her waist was held on the side by the hand of Louis and her hand was wrapped unto his back, while the other was holding the hand of his and their arms where straight-pointed away from their hearts, but never theirs.
They spun with accordance to Micael's playing, which had gotten a lot louder and out of key. "Oh, Micael. You gotta do better than that," dared his father while spinning and he bent towards his wife's body, and tilting hers like an arc. Micael continued playing, but he stopped humming, for he knew he was getting thirsty and wanted the dire need to quench his boredom much more imminently. He started using his hand to thump the body of the guitar, which resulted in a quite thump sound, which adorned his playing, and then he continued. He oftentimes inserted some licks in between bars, from the D to A and to G to C# he went, with pull-offs and hammer-ons as quite substitutes to legato. He could hear the thump of his mother's heels on the wooden floor of the room beyond his locked door and the laughter and utter happiness of his father, feeling of which came from his very smile that hit Micael on the very back of his spine, and then he looked outside, and this time, the sky was different. He could see a new line of whatsits along the horizon he was currently looking at, and then he stopped the vibration of the guitar's strings abruptly and without no mere hesitation at all.
"Honey? Why did you stop?" cried his mother from outside with a toned voice and the dynamics for him to be aware of. He quickly put his guitar on the side of his bed carefully, hid his composition and some of his stories, wore his shoes and went to open the door, which was held locked for weeks after his death on the other world, where Jack and him never had the signals since. He twisted the knob the lock had uttered a click which his parents had heard, while still dancing with the still music still resonating inside their heads, and passed through their hands held together. Then his parents stopped dancing and looked at the very knob of his room's door. They had seen that it was twisting lovely, and then they anticipated. The door was shut, and soon it had been opened, and there they saw their son with a gray shirt and black shorts, wearing weary sandals, a messy hair and he started growing the littlest of beard. He stood up with a slouch, which ensued from his isolation from the deck. "The horizon has finally changed, he uttered while smiling, showing the greatest and brightest of them all.
"I see it, finally," said Micael with an undiminished smile and the paper on his hand, which looked like his very composition he was recently playing. It was a long time he Micael and his parents had seen each other, for he wanted to have some time with himself, as time well spent was really time well wasted. "Yes, son. You see us, and we see you," replied his father with the quietest doubt inside his head, as he was shocked of the door being suddenly and uninformedly opened by his son. His mother quickly got up into her knees and went to the kitchen to get Micael water, and scurried she went, while Micael was talking about what he had seen.
"No, father. The new horizons can be seen, finally," he replied, and his father looked unto the window and he was amazed too, much more astounded by the fact that Micael had ridden his burden from weeks of self-quarantine but of thoughts rather than the deadliest plague. He looked much older than seventeen and a third, too. With some short beard gradually growing on his chin and cheek, he sure had the time of his life isolated. His mother then went back to the room with a glass of water on her hands, and this time she was more than being clumsy and careful. She then handed the glass to Micael and called his very attention with her eyes to his, and Micael willingly grabbed the glass of water. He then drank on the glass of water, of which he hadn't touched with his lips for weeks, let alone a dozen of suns and thirteen moons. He glugged the water in the glass, and stopped drinking halfway. He then placed the glass of water half full on the table, with a quite force which resulted in a quite thump on the table.
"Anyhow, what's the matter, honey?" asked his mother after realizing the second time that he indeed locked himself away from the deck, except for the horizon of the open seas and the whistling of the atmosphere and the chirping and flapping of birds. He looked once more on the window without uttering his reply, and he had seen the new horizons, again. A lighthouse, a big island, a British flag, and some ship sailing and boarding the very shore. His looks were not indifferent that time and his thoughts had shifted from thinking about his second death from the gun of Jack to his journey on the new horizons visible on his very eyesight, and he then asked for the whereabouts of Amy, of which he had never lost of thinking.
"Has Amy been here?" He asked with worried eyes, which were only concerned of his cynical sight of Southwark, though something was not seen on one's bare eyes. His lips had followed a quite reunion after he talked, with no smiles following their separation. Amy had become the being of his thoughts since then, but it was crazier than something of which no one could deter him from excessively and submissively looking at his very perspective. Sure, they had sex but there was something more than having one, and lips never had the chance to separate at all, and took all the chances to shape as flat as the new line formed at the open seas, of which sails of ships began to look at S.S. Mary with the glance of their lives.
...