III
Then his mother got to a reply with a smile up to her cheeks, which looked more deceiving than the last: "She has not come even the loneliest of night, honey, and even their family. Your father is the only one seeing them and he likes to hang out with Mister Harry at his room. Why'd you ask?"
He looked at his mother's eyes with some degree, and got up into no answer at all. He was worried of Amy, her father, and her whereabouts after the ship got adrift on the shore. He never really uttered an answer, but his lips did. His lips had separated by less than a micro-inch, but he smiled his touch, like a skin of a snake bathing with his own smile, looked at the window once more, and drank the water incessantly, of which his lips had the chance to separate, but had never become wary of talking.
His father went on to check on Mister Harry once more, and for he would ask them about their plan after reaching the shores, and so he did. Micael and his mother could hear the click from the knob, and soon the hinges of the door had uttered a quite menacing squeak and the floor did, too, as the door was a little bit sagged away from the rusty, copper-to-orange hinges which kept themselves tight on holding the very door, and his father went beyond the doorway and closed it back.
"What's really with Aleck, mother?" Micael asked without the littlest of doubt behind the back of his head. He had never expected any answer, and even if there was, it would be just a shit load of information of which he could not even supported if true or the other. But one way or the other, he was expecting for something. A reply, a hiss, a sigh, or even a slightest light piercing through his eyes and through his mind would be the best his mother could have told him, but there was not any good at all. It was merely simply a rhetorical question, but this time Micael knew that he would get no answer at all, instead of knowing the very reply and the answer beforehand, and then his mother talked along with the chirping of some birds and the seas hitting the haul of the ship, which ensued some splashes and meaning behind their very faces. "Aleck is simply… gone, my dear.
You should not be bringing back what has been ruined under the grave of yours," she replied with some tears beyond her eyes, and she was emotional, diminishingly emotional that words had poured beyond his eyes rather than salty, transparent liquid. Micael had never buggered, either, for he knew that something, someone could have uttered the very same way, but he was stunned by the word grave. Is grave eighteen? Or my mother? ran inside and around his head like circles of varying radii and all of varying importance, of which one had risen up from his head and nonetheless, grabbed the glass on the table, which had become wet while it was resting like a very cozy man in his vacation. came up from his mouth like bullets which sieged his lips and rendered them separating:
"Am I not allowed or convincing enough to know what my past really was, mother?" he replied persuasively, and his eyes glued towards his mother's, of which gathered up some words and she uttered back much faster than four horses could pull off on the run of half a kilo-mile. "You are worthy of what your past was, Micael, but you are just too young enough to know that what made you stronger was something apart from being deadly," she replied which caught the ears of Micael's, and she had the power to conquer one's mindset and senses not to persuade, but to merely believe the fact that Micael was, indeed, still young to know the very being of his past universes, let alone the very story of Aleck Millner, of which he really knew by face and bodily features but not of being, psychological reports, and the keystone of universes he had put himself into, however real of utmost imagination all of them had could have been into, and so Micael and his mother had thought no more, and they went on to do things independent of themselves.
His mother had started cooking and Micael started putting a number of his belongings instead the brown box his mother had given him from the very first month of their voyage.
IV
And then their day continued, with their lunch being prepared by his mother. He had gotten back into his room and started doing his manuscripts back in order. His manuscripts, compositions and drafts were scattered on his room's floor and some were taped at the room's walls of which read:
Long gone the beginning of one's masterpiece
For one's thy sake is to be brief and obscure, that is
It nearly looked like one of his poems of which he had written after getting shot on by Jack, of which the thundering roar and the deafening shout of the gun was never heard by his ears, even though the gun's lovely smirks and chirps would sound as much as hundreds of decibels and loud enough to rupture his eardrums, which would render him deaf, at least on the other side of the spectrum of his very world. He used the remaining available space on his box and put all the manuscripts he had caught all throughout his rummaging, and him cleaning the room was very thorough and delicate, yet his mother could have said a lot dimmer than Wow! Is this clean enough for you, darling? and his mother finally had the voice to shout once more, which sounded happy though distorted which had his voice as cracked and fragile as a cinnamon bar made of its very fine powder: "Honey! Our lunch is ready!" and he gladly followed, but he knew something was near, and he looked onto the window, where he saw the line getting thicker and some boats were passing theirs. Some were tall, small, and in varying colors from brown to silver.
Some are cruise ships ready to go back to Australia, or maybe to the otherer parts of the globe, and some were just plain cargo, like theirs. But nothing had thought that the cargo ships were the least to expect, too. Some contained goods, weapons to use, and the mere but delicate fact that some people had slipped into ships' coast guard, and managed to reach the open seas without even spending a buck, but of course, one should expect something far from being unexpected and logical. He then went on after admiring the thicker horizon from their ship, which looked like a few knots away from their ship, and the splashes had changed sound, of which something very unorthodox to believe into but the new horizons from their ship was being enveloped of which looked like something from the other parallel, independent universe.
...