The day is Friday again, an ordinary Friday for me in early December. Around 4 months have passed since I had last seen the Vagabond girl. Summer had long come and gone and even the fall leaves left for the season. Snow now was falling instead, each individual snow flake, a unique design, a unique story, slowly hitting my face and body as I looked up into the sky as I lay on top of a haystack on a train going anywhere.
The first week after Dandelion disappeared from my life moved at a snail's pace. I returned to my small one bedroom apartment by train. I felt so lonely going back to my familiar home in Nothingtown 1. Didn't feel like home now, like Narnia. Still, if I stayed on the road, my funds would run low.
I felt during the first week back that perhaps I was a disillusioned man. Did a girl named Dandelion really exist in my life, or did I just dream her for my story's purpose? Of course, the Blue Suns' letter and the word document always reminded me otherwise. Not to mention the bike I had to recover somehow still left undiscovered lying on top of the hill where I had left it.
Every day I felt empty as I dredged on still writing the rest of my story. Multiple times I would check my complex's dumpster in hopes of a miracle. Multiple times I found nothing but rodents and rubbish. But still, I dredged on to finish my story. A story I had to finish writing, I had to finish writing to memorialize her. To immortalize the story of the beautiful girl who came into my life to eat my ramen noodles, and who left all too soon.
It was the only way I could feel less alone. After all, I still had to hide everything from my other relations. It was my burden and mine alone. But at least, if they read my story, see the emotions of characters, emotions that I felt myself; I would feel at least, a bit less alone.
When I submitted my final first draft to Mr. Tusin, a month still remained on my apartment's lease. But I had had enough. The days before I video called him I sold all my possessions; my bed, my table and chair, even my beloved bike. As for my books, I donated most of them to the local library carrying only my absolute favorites with me in my backpack. I then rented a hotel to trick Mr. Tusin.
"Are you still in the mountains Kane?"
"Yeah, it's nice here."
"Well, whatever you do Kane, I can't complain if it makes you write well."
"I take it you like the ending of my story then?"
A smile appeared on Mr. Tusin's face.
"It's the ending I wanted to read."
We discussed a bit further on an editing schedule and getting the book fully published within a month.
"Can I publish the book under a pseudo name Mr. Tusin?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"Strange request, but I suppose why not. You have a name in mind Kane?"
"Kino," I responded, "Kino Ren."
"Kino Ren," Mr. Tusin repeated, "I'll put the request to the company then."
When our conversation finished, I immediately turned off the lights of my hotel room. I planned to leave as early as possible the next day catching the first train out of Nothingtown 1 on a stack of hay. Despite selling my things, a large among of debt remained for me to pay. Oh well, if a young woman could live amongst the forest animals her whole life, so could I.
A beautiful young woman I longed to see. And all day and all night I searched for her going from Nothingtown to Nothingtown.
"Have you seen a 20 something year old small dark haired woman?" I would ask.
And of course almost everyone in the Nothingtowns had. And of course none of them were Dandelion.
What makes a person extraordinary? Does it mean being the fastest person alive? Well, I couldn't tell you as I have never been that in my life, though I have gotten in better shape recently after spending so many of my days doing nothing but walk around Nothingtowns. At times I'd even wander into the forests bringing with me a tent and living amongst the wild animals. Even so, I could not tell you if being the fastest man alive made you extraordinary.
Does it mean being the richest? I can't tell you that either, though my story The Vagabond earned me quite a bit of financial success. Mr. Tusin even informed me it was the bestselling book his publishing company ever published. He told me I could have all the fame and fortune imaginable if I pushed my brand making public appearances at conventions and fairs by being a speaker and doing signings.
Of course, I declined those offers and donated a lot of my earnings to charity and giving some to my parents. The only part of the money I took for myself was an amount enough to pay off my debt and a cut of royalties enough to cover my travelling costs. All the money and fame in the world mattered little to me, and if anything, would put me more in danger with the Blue Suns. So I couldn't tell you if being the richest person alive makes you extraordinary, though if it did, perhaps it didn't make you happy.
What makes a person extraordinary? Does it mean being the best at making ice sculptures? Well, I can't tell you that either as I have never in my life done anything as skillful as make an ice sculpture. Beautiful unique sculptures made by humans, like the snowflake patterns made by nature, snowflakes that fell gently on my face as I looked up at the cloudy sky. A story began to form in my mind, the story of a vagabond girl, and what she was up to on that very day.
Despite all the changes in my life, I am still just an ordinary man, living an ordinary life, on an ordinary train going to some other Nothingtown, on an ordinary cold December Friday. This isn't a story about me anyway; it's the story about an extraordinary girl.
*poooffff*
Breaking my daydream was the sound of something crash landing next to me.
"What the…"
My heart began to speed and my eyes widened. Landing next to me was a girl with long black hair and fair skin. And when she looked up at me, she stared straight into my soul. She stared with wide beautiful eyes and a smile on her face.
"Kane,"
"Yes Dandelion?"
A growl suddenly came from her stomach.
"I'm hungry."
The End