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“Son.” A fading voice cast over the washing waves of a distant flicker of a time long past. Flash white. Kiddell hangs his feet over the edge. His eyes linger on the afterimage of the waters slamming against the cold steel structure beams. The coldness, the bleakness of the misty dawn sky gave his hands a muggy, clammy feel, one that made his knuckles raw and sharp. He ran his fingers together under the morose gaze in his eyes. Son? The word was long lost to him. His father was dead, and left nothing and at the same time everything for him. I don’t understand, he sighed, sliding a hand over his steel gauntlets, which hummed in resonance to his touch. Looking up, there was the artificial skyline of his city, Misfortuna. One his father created, the colossal monsters atop the heads of these people, who seemed to never notice its gravity.
The buildings seemed taller than usual, but they don’t ever change. Never. He knew this too well. There was never change in that glorious cosmopolitan skyline until after he was gone. It was incomplete, yet stood as its own, a statement but left without its full meaning without the euphemisms and words to express a genuine imagination. A reminder of his father’s presence, one that welled up deep feelings of loneliness and silence that clenched into his soul without solid proof. And in his farlong, uncertain gaze, Kiddell missed much for those distant days, wishing he could return.
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Kiddell is my baby. I've had him for about 10 years and he's supposed to be like a princely character with a troubled past and still struggling to come to terms with tragic events. He's also very tough and cold and takes no shit when it comes to getting serious.
