“Declan!” Kevlin’s arms wrapped his friend in a hug. Kevlin squeezed, his smile stretching. “Haven’t seen you in eons!”
“It’s been two weeks,” Declan said.
Kevlin laughed. Declan realized Kevlin could hear his thoughts about being unable to breathe. “So what’s the occasion?” Kevlin asked.
Declan shrugged. “Gykosas. They’re celebrating.”
“And you’re not there because…?”
“Hirauko’s going to be there. And while he’s lovely, I don’t want to be reminded.”
“Reminded?” Kevlin blinked. “Of wha—? Oh.”
Declan had moved to escape the memories, not to let them suffocate his thoughts.
He moved so he wouldn’t outlive his friends anymore.
“Cut your hair,” Mimitra said. She wove Diliss’s hair into a braid.
“I don’t know about you, but I enjoy long hair.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why do you have it like that?”
Mimitra glanced to the hair that fell over her shoulders in a cascade of ribbons and curlicues.
She remembered her mother’s warm hands holding a brush that had been passed down. And while it disgusted her, the thought of a shared brush, it wore oily fingerprints and the memories of Gykosas past.
“My hair,” Mimitra said while braiding, “is more important to me than I’d like to admit.”
you can feel the sickness culminate in my body
a throat gone raw
a nose gone stuffed
coalescing into that putrid thing you call existence
Diliss popped another ball fruit into her mouth as she walked. Her heels clacked, hair bounced. Couples danced around her in a flurry of dresses and hair, which alarmed her every two seconds as particularly long hair brushed against her bare arms.
Frouvians need to pull up their hairstyles if they’re going to dance in wide arcs, she thought.
Her path to the food table was a difficult journey, filled with amiable guests and cheerful Frouvians eager to enlist her into the Conversation Army.
She arrived, nonetheless, to a table filled with delicacies and tea.
Anything was better than dancing.
Rye laughed, looking up to see Sterling with a flustered face. “I didn’t think you’d actually believe that,” Rye said.
“Wipe that grin off your face,” Sterling snapped. He closed his eyes, listening to details. Rustling fabric. Unnecessary breathing. A lack of Hirauko’s voice.
Sterling opened his eyes, seeing Rye toss a crackling ball of flame up and down. “Tell me the truth,” Sterling said.
“What truth? I’m just teasing.” Rye grinned. “It’s not everyday I get to tease you about Hira.”
“Hirauko. It’s Hirauko.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Rye said. “You get to say the special name.”
His own circumstances led him to the library. The family collection. Of books, of pamphlets. Riddled with dust and dead skin cells from the worn-down pages and worn-down fingers.
Something led him down there, day after day. He ran his fingers over the spines, swiping up dust and letting it linger in the air.
Gykosas used to walk into the library. With hushed whispers they learned new things about the universe, dreaming of exploring the galaxies.
Someday, they dreamed.
Those imaginings he never had. They were stories to him. They all ended.
Those Gykosas—their stories ended, too.
All too soon.
I’m gonna try and write some drabbles now. In order to practice the characters for Type B.
Camp NaNo Summary for April 2013!
Starting a new series—a trilogy, to be exact! Here’s a summary of the first book, Type B.
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Book 1 of the Gykosa Trilogy (also known as Gykosa Shenanigans):
Heriru Gykosa lives a sheltered life within the confines of the family mansion. He lives with his cousins, and only steps foot outside when a prestigious Royal life requires him to. He knows his life is secluded, protected, and biased, but Heriru has no overwhelming problem against it—that is, until he discovers a clue about the massacre that killed his parents more than a decade ago.
The life of a Gykosa in the current generation is not a happy one, but every Gykosa finds themselves content. Incidents plagued their childhood, from murder to treason to an isolation they’ve been hard-wired not to notice.
Heriru is one of many Gykosa orphans, but he’s one of the happiest and the proudest. He has his cousins, he has his extroverted interest, and he has his optimism. But a clue about his parents’s murder cracks at that happiness. He meets people by chance that make him miss being outside. And his older cousins keep secrets hidden, secrets that no one has ever known.
Or so he believes. Heriru knows minds can be manipulated, and memories can always be tampered with. And he knows one clue will lead to another so long as he follows the train. Heriru’s not one to pry, but when he realizes his life is in danger, prying may be the only chance he has.
