"When the world sings, you have to listen. But when you sing, it slides you off a fall." A quote that echoed within…someone.
A travesty of a morning began at a cottage on the outskirts of a town. Everything was going according to his plan!
A wanderer, who owns the said cottage, was sitting on his bed awake. A miracle nothing less is what that was. The said wanderer never woke up on time during daytime, but today he was awake and well before the time he chose last night.
The wanderer looked outside.
For a split second, what he visualized rattled his soul. A bloodied horizon, towering flames. Then the memory vanished swiftly as it came.
The morning had just broken through the horizon, a weird direction of a horizon given it was south-west. A piece of knowledge that wasn't weird for him, but was for a few scriptures he had read in his short life.
But he didn't question why the direction was called south-west? And why not 'morning's horizon'?
His way of soothing his scars left by that awful soul-rattling memory.
The wanderer turned back while adjusting the four colored rings on his right hand. He began walking to a lavatory.
A few paces away from his lavatory stood a furnace, not a kitchen, but for cooking. Embers still danced in its embrace.
The wanderer stood in his designated lavatory area, muttering to himself, "I guess today's the day."
He picked out a chewing stick from the cup on the sink. This sink would not have qualified to be even considered a basic amenity, it was beyond barebones.
His mind whispered, 'Willfall'. Time stopped for him for a split, and resumed as he exhaled a breath. Unwilling to remember it for a few weeks, 'No, stay on the plan!'
And thus the wanderer recovered his thoughts on the sink. This was something he could get from the town with all his savings he brought from previous city-state. Albeit, that city-state was now part of this kingdom he was in.
In front of him, he placed a small metal pipe next to the cup from behind the cup. The pipe's open mouth faced him. Its shape was as slim as the chewing stick he held in the other hand.
He traced a small circle on the pipe's surface, and then another next to it. He tapped once with the index and middle fingers right above the middle space between the two finger traced imaginary circles.
Water flowed out of the metal pipe, no source whatsoever. He washed the chewing stick with the water. The water felt cool. So he washed his face as well first. He put the chewing stick's slant end in his mouth. This was the only way someone could cleanse their mouth thoroughly, at least as known through this world.
As he chewed on the stick, he proceeded to wash his arms, use the cup to drown his legs in water. The light from the embers washing his back, slowly died as the morning light poured in better from the open window.
He was done with chewing the stick so he went to the furnace and picked up a stone knife, water still falling on the sink draining out of the cottage. He cut the chewing stick's chewed end, another slant end was made. He washed this one and put it in the cup.
The wanderer then took off his clothes, standing naked in his small cottage all alone. Morning light bathing him, and the water flowing from the dead end pipe echoed its sourceless nature. He stood in the washing area once more, this time lifting the small metal pipe above his head.
His morning routine over; his clothes waiting on the bed for him to return.
Such a travesty.
The wanderer now standing in the middle of the local town, its name he never asked.
He looked around while the morning crowd gave glances to him and their work they were on to this early.
The wanderer pulling on his brown overcoat, walked onward. He is searching. Searching what he knew, what he could recognize. And he found it.
A tavern.
Entering it he didn't look around, he had seen people getting killed over for something as simple as that.
He walked towards the tavern counter, it was standing in his peripheral but that was alright. It was still within his vision. So no untoward reaction to him ever came.
The tavern's keeper asked him, "what will you like brat? Water or scraps?"
The wanderer replied, "I can pay, so a glass of water, and whatever 1 Beret coin can buy me."
Tavern's keeper had a fleeting smile, but he subdued it, "I see, but that coin had been discontinued."
The wanderer was confused, "what? That wasn't listed on the town guild's outer board last night?"
Tavern's keeper shook his head in contempt, "boy, you still have a lot to learn. Don't go for what you decided when you entered this kingdom."
Tavern keeper polished another cup, "Stay and work here." A breath he didn't know he held escaped as concern for the boy.
The wanderer's mouth was a bit open, "th-th-thank you, but I woke up on time, so I'll leave. And about that Beret coin-"
"Don't state that fact in a questioning manner", said an old man who was also sitting on the same long bench around the semi-circle tavern counter. "Be confident, not pushy."
The wanderer glanced at the old man. He had grey hair with a few green strands here and there.
Tavern's keeper spoke out, "he is right and wrong. Know that brat. You will need to be pushy when the moment pushes against you. As for the Beret coin, no, it's not discontinued."
It was a travesty that the coin wasn't discontinued. A terrifying coin considering the history it had for the wanderer and its destroyers.
The wanderer left the tavern after his breakfast. For in exchange of a Beret coin, he got new minted currency coins, aptly named after the kingdom of Riga.
The word Riga ignited hatred capable of ravaging the world. 'No, keep it together, until Cleaving. Cleaving, remember.'
He pulled over his brown overcoat, once again as he walked around the corner. The morning had passed only letting remain a little less than a quarter from an hour.
The wanderer, adjusting his four colored rings, walked away. And kept walking.
He stopped once outside the town guild building. He didn't question why it was called 'town guild' and not 'town's guild'. He scanned the legible declarations and requests on outer board as well as inner board, just to make sure so he did enter the building. Charting his course, in his mind for the day.
He breathed in that air of Kingdom of Riga. One of the three largest kingdoms on the only continent of this world. And he walked out of the town, leaving no trace of him except memories in the townsfolk. Neither his cottage nor that Beret coin will ever be found, for the cottage is gone and the Beret coin melted.