TALES FROM THE BOOK OF RAMBLINGS
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Segment 1
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A man looked down at his watch.
It said the world was warm, growing with the ever-distant light of the sun. It spoke this truth by indicating the coldest part of the night was set to end with the arrival of dawn, the sun preparing its intrepid climb over that thin horizon line to clamber back up into the sky and bake the arid soil in its heat. The chill of darkness would be forgotten in the warmth that would soon follow.
Until then, it was a matter of waiting silently for the quarry he so diligently pursued to arrive. They would each come from different directions, with one arriving very soon, and the other arriving…Hopefully before it became light enough to see this stranger standing on the neon-plastered roof to Fifty’s, in the only portion which failed to be illuminated.
His thoughts raced back to his reasons for being here - the man he was pursuing. Society deemed him as the bane of all men and reputable in every capacity - even this man felt disgusted at the concept of such a character existing. But there was one burning, all-encompassing question he needed the answer to:
Was he Ghid’s son?
This man, Winger, knew that deep down in his being was an inescapable hole of darkness, slowly growing and drawing everything else down inside - and it had only one cure. Nothing would compare to the letdown, however, of this dark horror and source of all evil actually being his real, genuine father.
But that was it, wasn’t it? It was impossible to know such a thing. Winger couldn’t acquire such knowledge without consulting the source himself - hunting down and interrogating the dark monster. This Monopoly was his only lead so far; he lived in the dark wall and seemed to be able to get in and out without any sort of difficulty. More importantly, he seemed to have some connection to Ghid on the inside - he had never worn an Akaku, and anyone living inside the dark wall would need a very good excuse to go without one under Ghid’s reign.
But what if Ghid was somehow actually his father? What excuse would he have for such absurd treatment? Abandonment from before he could ever recall, a heartless lack of love and compassion - he never even sent a card to say hello. His quest to identify his father had lead to completely inconclusive results, until the thought of his father being physically incapable to interact entered his mind.
But why would Ghid not immediately reach out in an attempt to contact him if he was his father? If he had such a lackey under him, why would his first thought not be to get in contact with his son?
If he cared at all-
Winger’s mind stopped its racing, rambling thoughts. Deep down, in his being, he knew that question was all that needed to be asked. Did Ghid care at all? Did his father care? Would he still be a father to him… If he ever really was?
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A small boy looked down at his watch.
It said he was cold.
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