2

He came full circle, seated back in that empty-enough space, looking amongst the perfectly sculpted foliage—those that reclaimed lost ground. Pinholes in the tree leaves left perfect rings of light to dance and warp across the floor, the sun high and mighty, the brightest it would be.

As Xevla sat in this tranquility, the universe bustled around him. White noise in a sea of green, just as valuable as silence—he didn’t feel so much alienated as he did absorbed and washed away, the caws and cries of children and birds deafening to all. It was a normalcy unchanging, never faltering—he hadn’t found his place in it, despite the decades.

On top of that, he didn’t want to be the man known for butchering rabbits. Sure, he was good at it—doesn’t mean he enjoyed it much. There were plenty of others just as capable, no?

That odd, likely false—though enticing—glow had faltered from that center piece, though interest remained. Xevla couldn’t help but consider what, and why—the lack of information, the interest it promoted. There was no harm in speculating, he consoled himself through that thought—he wasn’t hurting anyone. Though in this moment of transfixion, he sat puzzled, waiting for something. Xevla knew rather well what he wanted to do, in this moment. There was nothing more interesting than pulling back the curtain of foliage, and seeing what was within those domestic ruins. Yet, something was off. Nothing was quite right.

“You’re here again?” a familiar voice cawed.

“Are you surprised?”

“Just disappointed, really,” she spoke, towering over him as she approached, that Zolta. She was a leggy one, “I thought you’d eventually find something better to do, than sit on your ass.”

Eyes rolled—such a hyper girl, he thought, wouldn’t understand his needs or wants. When people don’t wear shoes, it’s hard to imagine what it’s like, being in someone else’s. “I like the quiet,” he began, “The way the light sits on the stones, and sorta…bounces, it’s relaxing.”

“You’ve done nothing but relax!”

“Piss off.”

“Is that any way to address a lady?” hands on her hips, bit of a scoff.

“What business do you have with me now? More rabbits? Some easy to perform service?”

Something in his tone was a bit off. He barked somewhere between exhaustion and frustration—a pattern of habit that he’d become aware of, dissatisfied with. There wasn’t a world where Xevla’s voice would be considered polite correspondence, though he wasn’t dry enough to be mean either. It held the girl aback, hesitation in response, “Ma’ wanted to invite you for evening meal,” a pause, more consideration carefully put out, “But if you’re going to be a dick, might not want to bother.”

“Sure.”

It didn’t usually end that way, harsh inflections. Somewhere else, Xevla’s mind was occupied—who’d want to speak with someone who wasn’t there to begin with?

She left, no goodbyes. Enough was said, there was an unwelcome farewell in the very way he annunciated that response. Something wasn’t quite right.