Somnus

[Honestly, I'm not sure what this yet myself. If anything, I guess it's the beginnings of a FF Versus XIII fanfic, with the importance of lights and the "King" and all. Yet something seems more...personal to me about this. I got most of my ideas for it after my grandpa passed, so this is in dedication to him. And I'm still working on Blood of the Cascade, but I just figured I need feedback on this. As of right now, I'll be finishing both Blood of the Cascade and this, so expect more on the horizon!]


Chapter One:


-temporarily down for fixes-

 

Update - Chapter Two

Note from Plums: Yeah, so I defs forgot about this story in lieu of Blood of the Cascade (which I need to finish the next chapter for). Will try to update this again whenever I can. Fair warning, this one is pretty small.



The sounds of the television paced along the walls of your room. You were lying on your bed, eyes fixated at the window. You could see the lights squirm around the clouds, blending in with the withering waves of blue above. You could hear cheerful claps bounce from the television screen. You didn’t even have to look over to tell what it was; news stations had broadcast your father’s speech last night every hour on the hour across the city-state. Although you heard it at least ten times today, you couldn’t remember the speech piece by piece. With a grunt, you turned yourself over, your eyes transfixed by the screen in front. You could see your father step onto the stage. He wore an all black suit; a piercing white flower lay strewn against his chest. His head was a desert, the sands of time weathering his hair to a mere gray strands laying flat against the scalp. When he held the microphone in front of him, his voice boomed so loud you felt as though you were in his presence.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I, King Siderum come before you once again to tell you a story. Once upon a time, a man lived in a small shack in the country, living comfortably with his wife and only son. For a long time, this man had worked the fields. It was his family’s belief that ‘sweat was well met’. If you worked until the very fibers of your back, you will achieve an equivalent amount of success. So this man worked, and for a long time, it appeared that he would achieve what he desired.†Your father began to pace around the stage, the faces of the audience mere ghosts before his presence. When he spoke again, his voice seemed to grow louder and more fervent.

“Then one day, his wife had taken ill and passed through the grainy gates of death. The man was devastated. His wife was his rock, an anchor that could be called upon without hesitation. She grounded him in the vast pit of space, keeping him in a place where he could find himself. When she died, he was set afloat, lost and confused. His son was nothing but a mere shadow of his wife; he was the monster beneath the bed that haunted him in the night. Yet, this man remembered his family’s mantra; that his sweat and his tears would be well met. With generations of determination, the man slowly built up his way through life, reducing all that got in his way to worms. And this man stands before you here and now. I, a man of hard work and infinite determination, require you, the voters, to aid me in my journey to further Symphora’s progress along this golden age trail bursting across the horizons. With our might, no other nation in the world can conquer us. We are the pinnacle of creation, and as such, it is our job to defend those less fortunate from the early hands of death!†Cheers erupted from the audience as your father threw his hand into the air, a single finger pointing to the sky. The picture froze like a snapshot, as a reporter walked onto the screen clapping.

“And that folks was another great speech by our King Siderum! The polls show that his favor is just as high, if not higher, as it has been in previous years. With no competition in his way, as if anyone could even put up a good competition, our favorite ruler will be in office once again! Yet, some of you may be wondering at this point; what of his son, the young Aristopoles? With his eighteenth birthday approaching closer day-by-day, surely his father will rub off on him? Many questions, slowly uncovering answers. This is Hora Hora Tremolo, bringing you news every hour, on the ho—â€

Your fingers stabbed the off button on the remote. The television died within seconds, drawing in its last static breath. You rose out of your bed. A breeze flew through your room, brushing through your toes. You walked over to your dresser, pulling out a pair of socks. As you slipped the second sock upon your foot, your door burst open. You felt a hand slap you in the back.

“Hey bro! Whatchu still doing sitting here like a bum?†You were slapped in the back once more, looking up at your assailant. A boy stood in front of you, smiling. His blond hair was like strands on a mop; they seemed to stretch over his eyes in an attempt to clean some enigmatic filth. A blue, single strap book bag was slung over his shoulder. His blue eyes were inviting, seeming to reach for you to respond.

“Well, when you just wake up in the morning...â€

“Yeah, well, wake up, bro. You knew today was important.†You rose off the edge of your bed, yawning. The boy walked over to your closet, flicking through the hanging clothes as if they were an expansive jungle terrain. He stopped for a moment, and then threw a black shirt behind him, smacking you in the face. As you struggled to pull it on, a pair of jeans, black boots and a gray jacket flew at your body. The boy kept his back towards you as you fully dressed yourself.

“Come on, come on, come on, come on.â€

“Done.†The boy turned around, his smile a flash of white and yellow teeth.

“It’s about time, kid.â€

“Excuse me? If anyone’s not a kid, it’s me. At least I can brush my teeth.â€

“Hey. Hey. You know that that’s just this one tooth. And it’s gold, bro. Get it right or lose this fight.â€

“Whatever you say. Do you know if the others are coming?â€

“Lexi and John will be there. Heck, those two lovebirds would use any excuse to get their PDA on. As for Simon, I’m not sure. You already know how he is with showing up to friend events.â€

“PDA?â€

“Public displays of affection. Keep up with the times, man.†The boy put his arm around your neck, rubbing his hand back and forth through your hair. You smirked, knocking him away.

“Anyway, we should get going. Even though I’m not all for Shakespearean ‘Theatrical Readings’, any excuse to hang out with my bros is a good one. Well, can’t exactly say Lexi’s a bro, but she’s close enough to one as far as I’m concerned.â€

“I was about to say. Don’t tell me you’ve got the hots for John’s girl?â€

“Ha, please. I keep my feelings inside, hugging the corners of the stone chamber of my heart. When the moment presents itself, I will break through any stones of doubt with a bullet of unwavering, manly determination!â€

“You were always one for hyperbolic speeches, Wheeler.â

“But you’ve got to admit they’re pretty badass, if I do say so myself.†Wheeler began to laugh as you both stepped out of the door.

 

Note from Plums: This isn't much. It's only around the third of the size as the last update. I don't know, I've been stuck as far as writing since I did the last Blood of the Cascade chapter. This updates really slow anyway, so I guess I'll have crossed this bridge the next time I post in this.


The beach was a golden bathtub. The sky splashed against the edges, gently rippling against the soapy white clouds. The concession stands were a myriad of Lego blocks. The colors seemed to add up to an endless rainbow. The sandy paths were a crudely constructed bubble construction, seashells bobbing up onto the top of the sand. In the distance, a stage hung over the beach like a faucet. Music poured from the beats of the instruments onto the ground. People swayed in this watery rhythm, their arms and legs moving unrestrained in the air. You and Wheeler walked between the dancers like lost children. Wheeler had filled his book bag with popcorn on the way to the beach. His hand came out of the bag, covered in fluffy yellow kernels and buttery blood.

“Do you see them yet?†He tossed the kernels into his mouth. You said you couldn’t see them yet as you looked at the faces in the crowd. You couldn’t help but think of how they were all painted differently; how each of them seemed to be drawn to their own rhythm. It was as though humanity was a backing track, each swinging to their own tunes that melded with each other to create a single, ever evolving symphony.

“Aris, bro! Over there, past the whale chick!†You could see Wheeler’s finger pointing at an obese woman, her bikini line lynching her flabby skin. As vomit started to gather at the cake of your throat, you could see a boy and a girl running around. The boy wore only swing shorts, his red hair a bloodstain on his head. The girl wore jean shorts and a green tank top. Wheeler shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth and ran towards them.