Upon looking at the clothes that were not very familiar into his liking, he heard the gentle shutting of the door that ensued from the grip of his mother's hand onto the knob at front, a sound that something he had never chosen to bother because he knew he was going too be late and all, and all he could do was to look towards the clothes and shoes he was about to wear, and it all had the same color right beside the other.
"What's with the blue?" he asked himself as he walked towards the side of the bed and towards the window as he was ought to close it as well as the blinds resting beside the top of the window frame, with one slight step in front of the other. After stepping his left foot, he could feel the difference from the very first step he had taken above the Britain streets: it was the wound right beneath his right sole that he was really thinking really of, and it felt like his sleep had made such a very nice cure, and he was surprised.
And then he remembered about his dream as he reached the side of his bed, where he felt the hand-like touches reaching his back of his head down to the behinds of his heels. And the plateau followed the thoughts of his eyes, and the cliff right below the existence of his feet and the cliff falling around the side of his tears then followed, and what was underneath the cliff's foot: the swamps, wicked crooked trees, and the man in white; his tripping. It was the ensued laceration beneath his sole, and with his bare foot touching the face of the wood-adorned floor, he felt none.
The side of his head then turned towards the window as his thoughts were busy thinking and talking about the whereabouts of the man in white; the child, perhaps.
He felt futile as he started to walk very nicely with both of his feet quite well thinking about the different past scenarios running across the middle of his existence, and then he reached for the windows with his hands stretched straight away from his chest while he was looking across the Bri-tain streets, and there he saw carriages and buses traver-sing their very distances and from his very view, he could nothing but of crooked bowed trees looking at his very place, and he felt he was not alone.
He never was. But he flinched and then proceeded into closing the windows as his hands were holding the handle from the inside of the windows, and his chests, his body, seemed to attract some of the passers-by walking along the streets. Their eyes seemed to be locked tight of his presence but he never bothered into talking and the windows went quic-kly closed, and the blinds followed. He gently reached for the side of the window's frame and then untangled the blinds and then it went down at the very bottom of the window's frame, and the light coming from the outside of the sun's eyes had diminished, and then the room went a little darker than it was, and Micael started to remove his towel wrapped around his clean waist but he had no assurance that the inn's door was locked very unlikely. But he had never winced and went on into wearing his clothes with such speeds. He then loosened his towel wrapped around his waist, and the towel started to lie above the wooden floor.
He was butt-naked, but he never bothered.
He went on into wearing the black underpants of which he saw resting above the pillow, and then he quickly wore it from one leg into another with such care, forgetting that one of his heels had heeled completely upon itself.
And soon, his crotch was hidden behind his underpants, and he had removed the worries resting inside his head and then went on into grabbing the socks with his hands, and he rested his butt above the side of the bed's mattress and he reached for his feet, and he wore the socks into his feet until his heels were hidden right below the fabric, and the socks were hugging the whole. He then stood up quickly with his feet and then grabbed the short-sleeved dark blue dress shirt, a very plain one and with an indistinguishable logo at the right side of the shirt, right above the square pocket, and then looked at the very front of the mirror at the face of the bed's feet, placing the hung dress shirt afront of his chest, and it seemed to match perfectly, and he started to unbutton the shirt from one button into another until there was no buttoned button at all, and there he wore it while looking at the very front of the mirror, seeing his hair of from the very mirror while some strands were lying very gracefully afront of his forehead, and one off his arms started to go through the armhole of the shirt.
One after another.
And his eyes went back on the mirror when his shoulders started to feel the light weight of the dress shirt, and there he could see himself looking good about afront, and their he looked satisfied as he was smiling.
"Aedri, hope you're looking good as mine," his voice followed his eyes as he was looking at the mirror with his eyes straight from his face, and then as quick as the wind blows, he then buttoned the shirt, one by one, until there was no button at all to work with, and he could feel that the dress shirt had already hugged the whole of his body, and with his eyes looking at the mirror, he felt quite satis-fied. With naked legs, he stood above the wooden floor of the inn's room with his seemingly well soles, of which he had never given a lot of attention from the very beginning and then grabbed the black trousers lying above the bed sheet, and there. Micael went on into unzipping the jeans and then wearing them completely, one after another, and Micael stood straight from his neck down to the bottom of his spine, and with trousers he stood.
He then zipped the jeans up and buttoned the button right about the very top of the trousers and then wrapped his waist with a black belt that was pre-placed on the trousers' waist, tucking the blue-to-black short-sleeved dress shirt. He then looked again afront of the mirror with his eyes, though blurred and looked foggy from his stand, and his eyes were none the worse. With blurred eyes, he could still see the figure of his against the mirror. With tucked dress shirt, belted black trousers and plain black socks hugging the envelope of his feet, he then rested his butt right above of the bed's sides and then his back started to arch and then he leaned towards his feet. With open hands, he grabbed for the dress shoes of which he could barely see right below of the bed's curtain, and his hands were reaching afar from what he could think of.
"Where is it?" he whispered unto himself as one of his hands were reaching right below the bed's frame. His fingers seemed to walk. Five of them, and the littlest of thuds could be heard by the ears of his palm. He could feel the presence of the dress shoes, but his fingers he knew they were still from afar. A mere inch, his fingers presumed, though their eyes could never see even with the brightest of daylight.
...