[Gift] A brisk stroll

On a brisk autumn morning, in Sagware Park, where the first rays of sunlight break through the foliage above, and you get that tingle in the back of your mind. A whisper of a memory or a dream of a place that feels both warmingly familiar and entirely unknown. Larry found himself exactly in that swath of land so drenched in sun, so lush, it's like walking through the very heart of a fantasy.

Here, autumn is not just a season; it's a living, breathing entity, pulsating with life, from the buzzing of bees Larry had to swat away to the lazy drift of clouds across an impossibly yellow sky. Larry's heart swelled being out here... The apocolyptic world hasn't just taken a backseat; it's not even on the map. Here, the immeasurable stretches of dirt wind through stories untold, every hillside basks under a golden light, and the air, the air is crisp, laced with the earthy scent of fallen leaves, and a spirited breeze.

With a gristly leash in hand, Larry walked beside his feline companion, David, a spunky ginger cat who seemed to savor every moment of their morning routine. David, equipped with his own sense of adventure, sniffed at the ground, his vent tail high and twitching as he reveled in the sights and sounds of the awakening neighborhood.

As they meandered down the leaf-strewn path, the landscape transformed into a vibrant palette of reds, oranges, and yellows, each step crunching underfoot. Larry couldn’t help but smile as he watched David chase the swirling leaves that danced in the wind, his playful flicks and pounces bringing a sense of joy to the chill of the morning. It was a simple yet profound moment, a reminder of the beauty of uncomplicated joy.

His train of thought took a sharp turnout when he remembered that night when he was grieving over his grandfather, with the horrid illusion that he had no meaning left for him, and when David sprung up and peppered him with uncharacteristic sincerity, it reminded him that there's still something to live for. His onyx gaze flickers back to David, who would would gaze up at him with big, trusting goggle eyes as he trots. He would wonder where he went if he ever disappeared, unaware of why he didn't return home one day, he'd be thrown in the same murky waters as Larry.

Live for him.

They paused for a moment, enjoying the serenity. The park is loud with the cheer of children and the distant call of something wild, adding a untethered charm to the land. Larry's gaze fell upon a local stand,  "Color's little shop", proudly displaying an array of pumpkins, where their vivid oranges and forest green stems painted against the backdrop of the golden afternoon sun. Strangely, it seemed there was nobody tending to the stand. Curiosity piqued, and Larry approached the display, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Where is the vendor?
When he peered over the edge of the table, to his surprise, a giant, polychrome isobot greeted him. It was made with a mesmerizing mosaic of colors, each segment flowing in a rainbow down to its hispid, glittery tail. With a peculiar cordial attitude, the isobot crawled up the wooden pillar, its mechanical joints moving fluidly, as if dancing to a tune only it could hear. Upon reaching the table's surface, its wispy antenna flicker in delight as it showcased the array of objects it had gathered for display with pride. Each item sparkled with a unique charm: intricately designed trinkets, whimsical gadgets, and curious relics that whispered stories of far-off places. It beckoned Larry closer with eyes as big and yellow as the moon.

He pondered over the offerings, unable to help but feel a sense of camaraderie with this charming little machine. The item with most allure, however, was a pile of sea glass. It shimmered rainbows when the light pass through it, coarse yet smooth, sandled by the tides, torn by their wisdom. Copping out the nessacary amount of spare parts, he gently set them on the table and pocketed the sea glass. Larry decided that David should get a pick too, and would buy the item he pawed at.

He ended up slapping a cup of dirt.

"Really, you want dirt?  What are you gonna even do with that..." he huffed, and tossed the isobot some more spare parts for the dirt,  (and impulsively bought tiny seeds. Maybe he could make a little farm, who knows...)

"Thank ya kindly," he gives a nod to the isobot, and it waves its stubby leg farewell. With a handful of seaglass sparkling like miniature jewels and a cup filled with dirt that cradles a promising array of seeds, he feels a strange blend of pride and absurdity. The vibrant colors of the seaglass remind him of the waves crashing against the shore, each piece a fragment of stories untold, collected during many solitary strolls by the ocean's edge. Meanwhile, the dirt in his cup represents potential—each seed, a whisper of future growth, silently urging him to plant them in the hope that something beautiful might emerge.

Purpose is glorious