#the first path

[somorrow]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Update: Chapter 17 of The First Path: Love 

(Reader/Shisui) 18+

[lets-look-for-something-better]

The First Path

A man once spoke of a road divided And paths chosen in a yellow wood The final trail that was decided Of greener grass less steps provided A message we all have understood

I find myself here pondering now At the crossroads of which we were told I can’t help but look and scratch my brow; If his path was less traveled, then how Is it the first choice of young and old?

A blacked path, widened between trees, Greets my travelers gaze with a dread: The promise of finding what may be, Tales of adventure, of yourself free, Seem now to me that they may be dead.

Perhaps that choice made by one long passed No longer shows which path is best And choices once dismissed for the rest Are once again to be seen at last.

Diverged, two roads, in a yellow wood, The options before me I accept And take the first, with wisdom I’ve kept, The path reforged as far as I could

A new choice made, where the old once stood.

[veritableinkstorm]

The First Path, Prologue

There are few things more instinctually unsettling than a location once filled with people being empty of life. The example that most relates to the story being told is that of a derelict shopping mall. In this case, the mall manages both to be open for business and empty of businesses. Some few still remain, the nail salon and home goods stores defying all logic by making rent each month. One chain restaurant sold burgers and fries to the few patrons that walked through their doors. Otherwise the mall's fountain and the sound of the escalators were deafening against the silent storefronts. 

Only three types of people visited this relic of decades past. The first was the regulars, who had come to think of this place as part of themselves. The stores that made them return time after time in their younger days were long gone, but they found themselves coming back year after year to walk around and make a purchase out of a sense of obligation or pity. 

The second were the employees themselves, and of course their families. One particularly rambunctious member of this group was the young son of a nail artist. His running feet wore the tile more than any other did these days, and his soccer ball bouncing against the shuttered gates of the empty storefronts was the closest thing to business those rooms had seen in years.

The third are the most interesting or, from certain points of view, the most troubling. Much to the disapproval of various meddling parents unrelated to the teens in question this mall was a frequent rendezvous for small "gangs" of "vagrants" that took advantage of the seating in the upper floor, far from the eyes of employees and any rare customer traveling the halls. 

This third group is technically where our focus is drawn. Only in technicality, because none of the players on our stage had ever been among the gangs of aforementioned vagrants. However they were within the unfortunate bounds of the years known as the "teenage" and were, as such, indistinguishable from the others to the outside viewer. 

The first to arrive were the twins, Fall and Retanna. Their vehicle of choice was once their great-grandmother's, a small sedan they shared ownership of after the former owner's passing. Both the meeting place and the meeting itself was their idea.

--

They ducked out of the heat of their car and into the greater heat of the scorching pavement between them and the entrance of Tanglewood Shopping Center. Respite came as they stepped past the glass doors into the cool air of the entryway. Fall spoke. 

"You think anyone's here yet?"

"Didn't see their cars. The ones getting dropped off are the ones that would be late, so I doubt it."

"Yeah."

As they passed the dropped gates of the shoe store and dessert shop that once flanked the entrance Retanna stopped and turned back. 

"I can hear Ino's bike. You head up, I'll be right there."

Fall couldn't hear it yet, but there wasn't a chance she was wrong. The sound of a motorcycle's engine is distinct and travels much further than most would expect. His footfalls echoed slightly as he turned the corner and caught the first notes of the pop radio playing from the nail salon. Both the escalator and the fountain beside it were turned off today. Without the fountain's diffusion of thin chlorinated mist the musty smell of dust and disuse hit full force, causing Fall to grimace slightly before he walked up the unmoving escalator. 

The seating area was, unsurprisingly, empty. This was probably meant to be a food court at one point, but the involved parties neglected to take into account the relatively cramped space and the complete lack of interest that the average mall goers had for the three former restaurants that faced the swarm of tables. Whatever name those businesses once had was stripped away at the same time as the stoves, freezers, and other reusable implements. 

Fall moved some chairs into place, then sat. It was time to confront the truth. They were all going to die. It was his fault. He had no idea what they were going to do about it.