The Lovely Bones (Voltron Au)

Untitled Part 1

-4 years of age-

I remember. . . I remember being really small.

I played with my toys strewn about the floor. Everything from cars to animals. Soldiers fighting imaginary wars and dying imaginary deaths. Bugs would ramage around smashing cars and eating the fake soldiers. I turned my attention towards the table looming over me. My soldier's battle had been postponed.

. . . too small to see over the edge of a table.

I stood up. My brown hair tickled my ear. My blue pajamas rubbing against my skin. I walked over to the table to get a better look at the object sitting alone on top it. My pants, a little big for me, falling under my feet, keeping my heels from touching the carpet. I ignored the pull on my pants with every step. I wrapped my hands at the edge of the table, standing on my tippy toes, I placed my chin in between my hands.

There was a snowglobe. And a little penguin that lived inside it.

It was alone. Standing inside the glass globe. Its fins barely touching its sides. Its red scarf flowing in imaginary wind. Red earmuffs protecting its non-existent ears from the non-existent cold. But, I guess you could say it was imaginary. Just like my soldiers. Nevertheless, I felt bad for him. A male I dubbed it. It had no friends. No one else in there. Just himself. Even my soldiers had friends. (They were fighting a war, but at least they had their friends at their side) I wonder what it must've felt like to be so utterly alone.

I worried for him.

My father took notice of my gaze at the lone penguin. He must've seen how sad I was about how alone the penguin must feel. He couldn't help but lower his newspaper. I heard him stand up from the couch, and walk over to me. He kneeled down putting a comforting hand on my back. I liked his warm hand. Larger and rougher than mine, but it was not threatening. And the warmth was inviting. It was almost like a hug.

"Don't worry buddy," My father, his name Shiro, lifted the globe from the table. I watched with wonder in my eyes. "He has a nice life," He shook the globe, and hundreds of little pieces of fake snow went fluttering through the air. My mouth fell open, and I watched as some eager pieces of snow fellback down to ground around the penguins flippers. The others lingering in the air a bit longer. The ones at the bottom not so eager for change. The others wishing their freedom to last a tad longer. Now, the penguin looked happy. Like it hundreds of little friends to accompany him in his beautiful prison. "He's trapped in a perfect world." He paused watching the globe. "Look at that Lance-e-Lance." I nodded, a smile plastered onto my face. My father, too smiled. He placed the globe back on the table and walked away resuming his read on the couch. I stayed, and I watched the snow fall. My hands on the edge like it would help me get closer to the globe. And, for a moment, I wished to be in his world. To be with hundreds of little friends that fly in the wind. To have my perfect world.

My mother was very fond of reading. She would always read before bedtime. She had a pile of books on her bedside. Her favorites propped up on the bed stand, always by the lamp. Like they deserved to be shinned upon. They loomed over the others, that were in stacks on the floor. I would look at them often. The covers were never the same. Each one was something different. Different colour. Different design. Rarely ever the same author. I never really liked my mother's books when I was younger. They would always talk about cheesy romance stories. Those stories were always the same. The lady would fall head over heels for the man. Blah, blah, blah. They made me want to gag. I hoped not to fall in love like those women. Still, when I got into middle school I gave the books another little peek. (I ended up reading one of those cheesy novels and crying for about an hour, but we're not here to talk about that)