Opening his eyes, he found himself looking out to a twilight horizon. A warm, soft breeze blew through his hair, sweeping away all his fears and worries.
“Do you still play guitar?”
He turned to find Sylus step up beside him.
“Haven’t since you left,” he sighed.
Sylus shrugged, “You should pick it up again.”
Jeron scoffed, “And do what?”
“Because. Your heart needs to express itself.”
“We all have something we do to express ourselves. Something we create from the fabric of our soul. Daniel? He draws. Saari? She makes those sculptures. You? You make music.”
“These are trying times, Sy. Can’t exactly be fucking around with extracurricular activities.”
“All the more reason to do it. It’s in these trying times that it is so very important that we continue to create. So we don’t lose ourselves to the chaos.”
“What about you, Sy? What do you create?”
Sylus turned to him. Their eyes locked.
Jeron’s brow furrowed.
“I don’t create anything,” he looked back out over the horizon, “Only destroy.”
“That’s not true, Sy…”
“You’re right,” he turned to him again, eyes black and devoid of life. “I create dispair.”