Monochrome Hopes

Tabrin was always seen as a cool and attractive guy. He wore his hair combed back, with only one lock of hair still hanging down. His eyes were narrow and a bright green, his hair dyed a contrasting bright blue. The fact he was smart really helped his reputation and his popularity with girls. His personality, most would say, was his problem.

He could never seem to straight up complement anyone, it'd always be passive-aggressive or an insult. Most people got sick of it and left his side, but somehow there were a few people who still stuck by him.

Malark, on the other hand, was fairly average. He wasn't even a particularly smart guy or attractive guy. His hair was blond, and it'd always be long and parted in the middle. His eyes a fitting gold. Despite how everyone around him viewed him as a good guy, not many were close to him.

He was always someone who people would come to and talk to about their problems, and he'd give them his thoughts. He would typically smile, but even so, he still had no one he considered a best friend, and he was always honest - perhaps brutally so - about this fact.

Tabrin, though always a quiet guy, was dead silent that day and covered in bruises. His classmates, Malark included, noticed this, and started to whisper, even near him. He didn't respond to them, so they almost acted as if he couldn't hear them.

The rumor was that his friends finally got sick and tired of his attitude, and they got into a fight. Despite how Tabrin always was, Malark almost expected him to come to him so they could talk it out and sort the problem out. But it never came.

Instead, Malark watched Tabrin sit there, his face swollen, his glasses somehow intact. It was like this for a few days, until Tabrin suddenly stood up and left. Even the teacher was confused, but nobody tried to stop him. He simply left the room without a single word.

Except one person did do something.

Malark, shortly after, stood up himself. He turned the teacher and asked if he may be excused. Everyone knew Malark enough to know what he was doing, so the teacher allowed him leave.
Tabrin was sitting on the stairs going up to the next floor, crying. Malark walked over, and put a hand on his shoulder. Tabrin threw it off his shoulder, growling.

"Leave me alone!"

Malark didn't say anything, but moved his hand to Tabrin's shoulder again. But before it could land, Tabrin slapped it away.

"Piss off! You're annoying." Tabrin looked up. Though his injured and puffed up face almost gave him a funny look, it was still frightening. And frightened.

Malark was grim. his eyes glaring back into Tabrin's, but instead of fear and anger, it was determination that burned in his eyes.

"I know you're not this weak. You're stronger than this."

Tabrin felt a tinge of guilt shoot through his heart. Malark was right. But what did it matter? What did it matter to him?

"What do you care?" Tabrin snapped back at him.

"I don't know," Malark gave an honest shrug. "But, monochrome hopes are blank and there's no need to pretend you have them. So reach out and grab onto your dreams."

Tabrin looked confused, cocking his head to the side. "What the hell does that mean?"
Malark laughed softly, "Whatever you want it to!"

An awkward exchange it may have been, but in Tabrin's heart, it meant a lot. From that day, they became friends. Sometimes Tabrin felt that one day Malark may turn around and stab his back like all of is other friends had. But it never happened. Malark was always honest and stuck to him.

And yet, all of the time, Tabrin would insult his friend. But it seemed like Malark understood what he meant, or perhaps that Tabrin wasn't mad - he was just being himself. It was on one night that Malark was gone, that one of his friends turned to Tabrin.

"You're always so mean and angry around Malark, but you still stick around him. Why is that?"

Tabrin laughed under his breath. "Yeah, I'm kind of an asshole to him, and he's pretty stupid. But," he sighed, "he's like nobody else that's ever been in my life. He's genuinely a great guy that means well."

Perhaps Malark would never learn what Tabrin said, but it wouldn't matter. Years after being best friends, it ended the only way true friendship ever could. In death.

Tabrin was shaking as he held onto Malark. Tears started to pool up in his eyes, and he wanted to say something, but seeing his friend in his arms, covered in wounds and blood made something get caught up in his throat. Tabrin's heart was screaming to say something, anything, but nothing came.

Malark chuckled painfully, "Please, don't cry. Just.. remember, that there's no need to have monochrome hopes. They're useless - they'll just get in your way."

Tabrin smiled softly.

And softly, Malark continued, "or.. at least remember to chase your dreams. Okay?" and his breath stopped.

For Tabrin, everything went silent.

The following days stayed like this. Tabrin barely spoke a word, unless he absolutely had to, and even then only with a hollow voice. Malark's funeral was coming soon. His friend's parents came to him and asked if he had anything to say to commemorate his friend. He said he did, and they let him go on his day.

He never figured out what he was going to say, even as he was sitting there at the funeral. He tried to remember what to say, and he racked his memories like he had never before. He remembered so many good and bad times with his friend, but no matter what happened, nothing came to him.

When he heard his name called, he responded to standing up silently and going to the podium. He stood up there for a few moments, the room falling dead silent. He sighed, and then spoke.

"I didn't know him until my senior year of high school, and it's been years since then. My mind is not certain what I or he wants to say, but i think my heart does;

Monochrome hopes are blank, there's no need to pretend you have any. so you must reach out and grab a hold of your dreams.

I've wondered what he meant this entire time, and I'm still not certain this is what it meant, but I think he'd be satisfied. There's not much point in to hold a copy and pasted dream that everyone else holds just because you don't want to stick out." Tabrin bit his bottom lip, his eyes pooling up with tears for the first time in days. "You should be who you are," the tears fell hard, and he pushed even harder to let his words out. "you should embrace your own ambitions and brace yourself for impact as you fight for what you feel is right!"

Everyone clapped, and through his tears, he could've almost sworn he saw Malark in the crowd, clapping with them as if to tell Tabrin one more thing - thank you.

Hiroaki - The Living Bot

A long time ago, when I was a first year high schooler, I dated one of the nicest young men I had ever met. Hiroaki - that was his name - was generally seen as a being a somewhat quiet boy who was willing to go out of his way to respect both his underclassmen, overclassmen and elders, and I suppose it was easy to see why.

When Hiroaki was born, his mother was very sick. She could barely do anything, but while she was alive, she would always hold him close. His father was busy often, but nevertheless visited whenever he could. Supposedly, he would occasionally bring his work to them and continue, playing with his growing son. Unfortunately, before Hiroaki was old enough to remember his mother, her sickness had overtaken her. She had died alongside her beloved husband and child.

Hiroaki started to hang around his father more. Hiroaki didn't really get out much during this time, and instead he spent most of his time watching his father work hard on his robotic inventions. He started to work alongside him, and they grew closer and closer. Despite how much Hiroaki loved robots, he rarely expressed it unless he was alone with those he trusted. I met him when we were in our fourth year of middle school. When I started to fall for him and spend more time with him, I'd see the proud gleam in his eyes whenever he'd look upon a robot his father had invented.

He'd exclaim how much he admired the blood, sweat, tears and heart that went into everything him and his father did. I feel deeper in love with him. We started to date right before the start of our first year at high school. Him and I weren't meant to last. Or at least not in this capacity.

One day I rushed to his home, and he lay there in bed, pale and sickly. He would give a weak smile every time he'd see me. It was so sweet, but when he was asleep his father and I talked. Apparently he came down with the same thing his mother had. His dad did whatever he could to pretend to be tough, like his son didn't have much time to live, but whenever he was out of his son's sight, he'd cry and cry. He loved his son just as much as he did his wife, but he cried ever harder knowing that he'd lose his son before his son lost him.

He wanted to be beside Hiroaki up until his death - not until Hiroaki's. But in this reality, he would have no such luck. The days before he passed away, his business was shut down, and on his funeral, many from school - including our own classmates, underclassmen, overclassmen, teachers and the head master, and from work, and from around the neighborhood came.

His few surviving family and far larger friend count quietly visited his corpse, saying their prayers and final words. His dad acted like he had no more tears left, but like me, he simply felt his throat tighten in sorrow.

One might think this story ends here, but it doesn't.

His father begun to strive to make the greatest robot there ever would be; he wished to resurrect his son again, but he knew this was impossible. Instead, he strove to make a robot that would look and act as closely to his son as possible. It didn't happen until the year 2020, 40 years after his son's death.

By then, I had married a man and had kids. I was a happy woman, and I think I could've stayed like this for the rest of my life. It was one evening that I heard a familiar voice. My husband had been away working, and my children at school, that was when I heard a voice I hadn't heard in a long time, when I peeked out, i saw Hiroaki. He looked a bit off though. His eyes were screens, and his ears attennae sticking out from the back, making him resemble something of an elf, but otherwise his mannerisms were exactly the same. I came out, and announced my presence.

People thought it was odd for an almost 60 year old woman to do this, but I was confused. Why was he back? I told him who I was, and somehow the robot - no, Hirokaki believed me. That was when I learned what happened. Hiroaki wasn't sad, particularly. he didn't know the Hiroaki from 40 years ago, despite also remembering the same things as he had. His father knew a lot about his son, but there were some details his father skipped out, or perhaps hadn't unlocked in his son's memories for one reason or another.

I told him how the Hiroaki of 40 years ago died, and how I admired him, and how i hadn't thought of him in many years. I knew I had to move on; the dead do not come back. And yet here was one such being, or at least something close to it. He could remember me, just barely, but just enough that we could be friends. I had changed a lot, yes, but I was still very much me.

We became best friends before he really needed my help again.

It was on a day that his 87 year old father lay sick in bed. He could barely move anymore, everything hurt and he would cough whenever he'd push himself even slightest bit. His father still dearly loved Hiroaki, and a part of him felt guilty that he would leave like this. He still viewed him as his beloved son, despite knowing the truth, but before he passed away, he remembered something that he wanted Hiroaki to see.

In his bed, he handed Hiroaki a diary. The diary was written by his wife - Hiroaki's mother. He told him the stories behind each entree, they laughed and cried together. It was hard for his father, but still, he was the happiest he had been. It was one night Hiroaki was simply sitting in his room. A soft alarm went off. The alarm told Hiroaki something, but he couldn't quite believe he. He got up and ran to his father's room. And saw his father laying there still.

A robot he may have been, but he had never felt hollow until that day. He knew his father was ready, but when it came to people he looked up to, he never imagined or went deep into thinking about what it his world would be like if they were gone. And here he was facing such a reality. The person he most admired and was most close with left this world.

He came to the next closest person; me. He knew that I had lost my parents a few years before he was created. He consulted me for advice, and I told him that it was okay to cry, but ti was okay to remember that his father was as ready as he could ever be. He was gone, and maybe the boy he was created after could meet and speak to his father. They must have had a lot to catch up with.

We hugged. He was not living, but still I could feel a warmth to his touch. I knew this whole time, but never again did I feel it so strongly. But maybe, Hiroaki was back. Maybe Hiroaki wasn't literally, but his heart and soul was still with his dad and me to the very end. Human or robot, I could still feel a genuine heart beating.

Drawn by "Zephyr", Colored by "Eksevis"

If Continued:

After his father died, they would find the blueprints to Hiroaki. They are given the chance to whether release it, keep it or destroy it.

Publicizing it could greatly enhance robotics engineering, and allow some people to "bring back" their loves ones.

Keeping it could allow Hiroaki to study it and improve it, later and further improving robotics himself.

And destroying it could stop people form weakening and trivializing the dead.

Probably to most people and Hiroaki and his best friend (and ex girlfriend) decide it'd be best to destroy it. It is unlikely any other robot like Hiroaki will ever be created again.

Eventually, even though Hiroaki could live as long as he wants to, he decides to allow himself to fall into disrepair. The story would then end with Hiroaki, the living bot losing power and forever shutting off, leaving behind his old friend.

Of course she would be sad, but as impressive and heartfelt as Hiroaki was, such a power and tech is best left forgotten and destroyed. With him gone, only stories remained, and only one old woman held them close.

Once her boyfriend 40 years ago, and her best friend later in her life, he would long be remembered for who he was; a genuinely good person who held his friends and family close, who may have never known his mother, but still could admire his father's stories of her. He didn't need to be a hero to all; just a hero to those close to him.

TEST

TEST