Truyện đăng tự vã ngày Cá tháng Tư ạ, mong mn đừng để ý

꧁ ❀ ꧂

Oddball would be a word too accurate to describe Haitani Rindou, a young boy with long platinum hair secured in a loose ponytail currently sitting on the weathered park bench after school hours. On his lap is a much too heavy leather-bounded book, with torn, yellowish pages scribbled with smudge handwritten cursive. It is a wonder that a child his age can manage to make sense of the words written in it, much less understood them, for the book holds knowledge far beyond what most primary teachers taught at school. His concentration on the book is so fierce, hands skimming each page with an extraordinary reverence unfit for an 8 years-old.

Around him, the sound of screaming and laughing of children echoed throughout the crisp salty air of autumn, almost threatening to drown out the sound of crunching leaves scattering all over the cobblestone paths whenever someone stepped on them. The rustling gale whispered forbidden secrets into the ears of dazed college students and weary businessmen taking a stroll, dodging the occasional children who ran past them like it's a normal occurrence. No one took notice of the lonesome child beneath the willow's shade, an unseemly piece of the puzzle out of a peaceful yet radiance painting of society.

Rindou doesn't make friends easily, the other kids like to stay away from him due to his strange attraction to books, from scientific to refined literary, but especially the occult. While they were out playing, he prefers the quiet company of parchments and articles, long written notes on a particular subject that recently baffled the stillborn minds of Massachusetts' intellectuals. The human mind is fragile, after all, but like a sponge, they absorbed as much hidden knowledge as it can, and Rindou is a living testament to that.

But this arrangement suited him just fine, in fact, he simply contented with being by himself, where he could pursue this profession of his, for he regarded this not as a mere hobby, but all his body and soul.

So it took him a while to register that a person had sat down next to him on the bench, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He chanced a glance at this intrusive individual, only to find out that it was not his fellow young peers, quite the opposite, for it seems that it was a man in his 20s. Rindou couldn't make out his face due to it being obscured by a black fedora, a thick, fur-padded black coat to battle against the harsh chilly cold and a gray, tailored-fit one-piece suit underneath. The flash of silver caught his eyes as he gazed, almost hypnotized by the transparent foreign material covered his sophisticated walking cane as it glimmered under the setting sun.

"What are you reading?"

A heavily accented voice rang out next to him, rough and casual, unlike the clothes the man adorned himself. He must be from a distant land- a foreign country perhaps, or his lineage traced back down to mid or southern parts of America. It wouldn't hurt to humor this eccentric man, until he got bored of this conversation and went on his way.

"The Short Stories of H.P Lovecraft."

The man merely nod, a subtle incline of his head, otherwise offer no more words, and that action made Rindou felt a pang of disappointment he never felt before. Is his loneliness finally taken a toll on him? Nonetheless, he turned back to his book and tried to pick up where he left off, but to no avail. 

"You know... I think he's a pitiful man."

Rindou glanced up in surprise; and faced with the most beautiful eyes he ever had the grace of seeing. An alluring violet color, with specks of turquoise as deep as the abyss shimmering in the crystal-like irises. The stranger smiled, and he felt his face heated up. His pale, almost angelic face reminded Rindou of the perfectly sculpted marble statues he usually saw in the local Church, which his parents were adamant they attend every Sunday. 

"Repulsed by the thought of leaving his hometown and mingled among the immigrants, plagued by nightmarish visions in every waking moment and dream, to the point of being afraid of everything, even the smallest of ants. That is such a sad life, no?"

The stranger continued to look farther ahead, his dazzling eyes almost clouded, as if lost in thought- or perhaps pity for the miserable author. Even so, his smile did not waver in the slightest.

"Humans think they can conquer anything, once they put their mind to it. To reach the unknown and come out unharmed, is a marvelous idea; on paper, mind you, but not in reality. One thing I think he got it right, is to beware of the faraway cosmos, for we never know what lurks beneath that veil of security."

Almost to himself, the man laughed, his hair felt out from beneath his fedora; a golden not unlike his own, with streaks of black sprinkling here and there, all of them made a lovely canvas of wheat and soil, dissonance but complimented each other. This evidence further Rindou's conviction of the man belonged to a foreign country, or perhaps a wandering individual observing the arts. Critics and artists alike are eccentric like that.

"Something's better left unknown and undiscovered, don't you agree?"

Violet sought his eyes once again, lured him in by the otherworldly beauty of it. Then the man chuckled embarrassedly, almost as if he forgot something of utmost importance.

"Forgive me, it's terribly rude of me not to introduce myself. My name is Ran, an artist searching for inspiration in a bustling city such as Boston here. A pleasure to make your acquaintance!"

So this man is an artist, perhaps an amateur if he were to wager a guess, but not every amateur artist dressed as finely as him; they were too busy wallowing in debts and alcohol to mind what they wore around in the city. And no adults would go around introducing themselves to an insignificant child such as Rindou, so he chalked it up to the weird mindset that all artists possessed.

"Rindou, Haitani Rindou."

"A fine name for a bright kid such as yourself, if not a little foreign on the tongue. Almost as if we were destined to meet, for you see I'm of foreign blood myself, all the way from Japan if you so believe."

"My mother is from Japan too..."

"Then we are alike then, Rindou. Are you familiar with your mother-tongue?"

"My mother taught me bits and pieces but otherwise not much."

"Worry not, you're still young after all, you'll have a lifetime to learn it."

Conversing with this stranger- Ran, Rindou told himself- is strange in and of itself, but he found that he did not mind. He felt a surge of giddiness, a thirst for a taste of the outside world, a world hidden beyond the concrete walls and buildings of suffocating Boston. He wished to know more about this man, a desire for companionship unlike what he felt towards his family and peers. 

"My works are being displayed in an art museum near here, so if you have the time, perhaps you would like to visit? I would be overjoyed to receive such a kindred spirit such as yourself, and to chat more of course, for I apologize but I shall have to be on my way then, it is such a wonderous thing to meet you, Rindou."

The man took something out of his coat pocket- a thin strip of paper- and handed it to him. It was an entrance ticket. Ran stood up, dusted his clothes, bid him farewell with a small wave, and walked away. Rindou's eyes followed his captivating form until it was lost among the crowds of pedestrians, the ticket tucked close to his chest, and his heart never seemed to stop pounding.