I won't give up
In the corralled Island of Miraakh, ahead the eyes could see where glittering stars shine proudly. Such mesmerizing pallete of the midnight sky.
This night, the sky revealed the faint art of it's veracious colours—a little lot more faithfully.
On the blossoming meadow of wildflowers lay little Neva and Ishmael. Dreaming with eyes unveiled, swimming in the stars.
Gleaming elfin fireflies flying, dancing around gracefully. Orthopteras within the greens, harmonizing with the tranquiled wind.
Mid of July, has such fantastical scenes to hold.
Today's a very balmy night, they found it hard to sleep in their little cottage. They had snuck out of their house, leaving behind their old grandpa alone in the rude cottage.
The daring hearts, on this lone Island, accompanied by the twinkling stars, the diverse blush of wildflowers, the mellow breeze, breathtaking fireflies.
Saccharine melody of crickets and the soft hands that held each other's comfortingly.
Ishmael peers down at the girl resting beside him, she's shimmering, her eyes beautiful and dazzling, writing their names on the vibrant, velvet sky.
They were in peace, the sun hid out of heat. The cool relaxed wind freshening the two little forms.
"Ishmael?" Neva's sweet voice queries, earning a tiny, "Hmm?" from the boy in love. "How old are the stars?" She tears her rigid gaze from the sky, threading eyes with him.
"Grandpa said they're really old." Ishmael replies, large round eyes staring at Neva's curious ones.
"How many years?" She moves her body, and lays on her side, facing Ishmael.
"Older than grandpa?" Neva asks, without sparing him a breath to answer her wonders. "Yes." Ishmael says. Neva agapes her mouth, greatly amused. These young bright stars are as aged as their old grandpa.
"Grandpa changed so much, but the stars did not. Why Ishmael?" She cutely asks again. Ishmael creases his brows, deep in thought for a way to create an answer.
"They're like the the tall pine trees in the valley, through our window, they're far and always seem the same. But they do change, grow and get old." He explains, as Neva protrudes her orbs, smiling.
They could observe their grandfather near, whereas the stars are never in her arms reach.
"Do they move freely?" She asks, he nods. "Stars are free." A smile decorating beautifully, she looks up at the midnight sky in mystical shades of neon, laying on her back. He mirrors the light of her eyes—looking up.
"I want to touch them." She says, raising her hand, fingers pretending to graze the galaxy. Tracing the art with the tips. "You'll get burned." He returns, Neva makes a moue of her lips.
He smiles, "But I can touch them." He clears, having her hopeful eyes tangle with his gleeful ones.
"How?" She almost squeals in ecstasy.
The joyful boy chuckles lightly, "It's a secret." Neva pouts, "Tell me Ishmael!" He reveals his secret with no bother, "Stars appear in the lake, I can touch them."
Neva's smile fades away, discouraged she peers up. "I hope to see the stars even during the day." She lays out a desire once more.
"I can look at them anytime, even during the day." Ishmael says, his smile widening. Neva glances at him, "How?"
"Your eyes, pretty stars float in them, there I can admire the night sky." He mischievously declares. Neva pouts once again, furious at him.
"You wild naughty children!" A startling elderly man's huffing voice has them shiver in fright, his hair white and grey—sliver under the shining moon. Salty sweat oozes out his wrinkled tawny skin.
He breathes heavily, his hand clutching the rusty back, catching his life. The said wild children jolts up, aware of their grandfather's rage.
"I've been searching for you everywhere!" He scolds, standing up straight, his back curved a little still. Both of them, on their feet lowers their head.
Neva's hands in the fore, intertwined, her tiny fingers fidgets among themselves, as Ishmael's own stay on either side of his little frame, motionlessly.
They've got to explain a ream for causing their aged grandpa to almost lose his soul, running, searching round for them in tears.
---
(Swallow Mountain)
Ishmael slowly opens his eyes, he just had a long, vivid dream. A reminiscence of the long gone serinity, playing alike a film. Oh how badly he desires to have the authority over the arrogant fate.
His dizzy eyes gazes around, he's in a familiar room.
A ventilator over his mouth and nose, assisting him to breathe. He lay on a hospital bed, in an elevated head position. A monitor screen, that helps to keep note of the patient's heart rate, breathing, level of pressure and intracranical pressure.
"He's awake! Inform the doctor!" A voice echoes around the large room. The shrill sound piercing his aching head.
Another voice is heard, he comes rushing over to him as early as Zev's voice blared up, slicing through the rather hushed atmosphere. "How do you feel Boss?"
Ishmael glances at him with squinted eyes, Manager Cha bends forward standing by his bed, his gaze relieved—yet worried.
Ishmael raises his hand, he removes the oxygen mask.
"What happened?" Ishmael inquires, his voice low and groggy. Zev now stands beside Manager Cha, scrutinizing his condition.
He holds his head in pain, and finds it bandaged. He arches his brows in confusion—endeavouring to recall of the bits and pieces he could possibly remember.
Before they could reply, the doctor appears through the door, accompanied by a nurse. The guard behind, whom Zev ordered to get them back, as they had just left Ishmael's room after a checkup, and were exchanging words on the hallway.
They hurry to Ishmael, astonished, perceiving him wide awake he orders the female nurse. "Check his vitals."
Dr. Gray, Ishmael'a privately hired doctor, does his job, aiding him, checking his airway, maintaining circulation and breathing. Ishmael had been taken care of in his own mansion.
His condition being stable, they leave soon after, having been told to give them privacy.
Ishmael sighs exhaustedly. "So what happened?" He asks once more.
"Raka we had been ambushed after our return trip from Nagoya. You went missing for three days. When we found you, you were unconscious bleeding all over, leaning on the tree our car crashed just before you went missing." Zev lengthily describes all the happenings.
He had bruises on his face, his broken hand supported by an arm sling pouch.
Ishmael had been in a coma for more than three weeks. And now, he doesn't seem to remember anything that had befelled. He sucks in a breath, dizzy after he attempted to unravel his brain, failing to surge through any answers.
"Who attacked, any information?" He asks, hoping to have loads on his shoulder lightened up a little.
"We're still looking. The crazy thing was, a single man managed to wreck us. Five of our men were killed in the scene." He clarifies, ironically causing Ishmael to get confused deeper instead. Ishmael sighs in annoyance, this few months his force were destroyed resembling ants, such disgrace.
"What about Neva?" And the probing concerning her never ends. He knows the similar sorry gaze of Manager Cha.
The lowered, and shake of Manager Cha's head has Ishmael's chest tighten in sorrow. Nevertheless, he has a vow sealed with his soul.
'I won't give up on her, never.'