Sol's preferences of how one should exist often left a vile taste on the tip of Estrella's tongue. Though her visitations did not come with the intent, their time together would usually end with her spitting harsh words that attempted to claimed what was left his pride and dignity.

It was not for the sake of contentment, she didn't find pride in shouting at his disinterested self, but rather to rid the distressed mind she had. His obsession of listening to music in vacant rooms compelled Estrella to retain a state of fear for his overall wellbeing. Her spiteful words were said in an attempt to manipulate him into a condition many would deem acceptable by society. They were to no avail, and Estrella would always feel regretful about saying them when she found herself drinking a beer on the front step of her house later that same day. 

Estrella would arrive in the afternoon, right after work, on Saturday. When she first entered the apartment he lived in, she would hear a song comprised of melancholy that seeks to caress the mind into numbness. The song that plays when entering is always different, like how many of us would choose not to listen song repetitively, but all hold a similarity in which a piano is played in minor.

After passing the front entrance, Estrella would typically find Sol's body spread on the center of the white tile floor of his empty living room. There was no furniture, not even curtains to block the stunning sunlight from the sunset that dipped his frail pale body in colors that artists would wish to collect in mason jars to later use in paintings depicting the world in flames. The only inanimate object in Sol's living room was his phone, the one that played the sorrowful songs.

There was one time when Estrella didn't raise her voice or say words that held harmful connotations. On that particular day, she entered his apartment and saw that Sol had his eyes shut.

"Go away." He grumbled, not opening his eyes to see who it was. (Though he had an idea of who it could be, after all, only two other people held the key.)

"I have cake."

Sol opened his amber eyes and looked towards Estrella, only seeing her black boots and long lean legs accompanied by a suitcase.

"Good cake?" He asked as he rolled onto his stomach. His hands moved underneath the dark unshaven stubble on his chin as he stared at a blank wall.

"All cake is good cake, my dear brother."

Sol smirked but made no movement towards her; instead, he closed his eyes once more.

Estrella bit her wine red lips. "Don't you want cake?"

"Maybe later."

"Okay."

She disappeared into a doorway that led into the kitchen. The store bought cake in her hand was safe by a clear flimsy plastic dome containing it. She placed it on the counter and got out a knife from the second drawer. The knife hovered above the creamy icing of the cake, however, she only stared at the cake then placed the knife back into the drawer that she got it from.

She glanced around the kitchen. There were few objects in the room. There were an odd assortment of mugs, cutlery, plates and bowls drying on the side of the sink. A crumpled tea stained towel was on the floor and last year's calendar was hung on the white fridge that noisily hummed to the faint sound of music from the other room.

A magnetic fridge notepad caught her eye. In large letters it read VISIT RUSSELL SOON with two thick black lines drawn through the heart of the sentence, suggesting that the event had already passed. The note had been there ever since she first visited Sol in his apartment, which was five months ago. Sol never mentioned there being a Russell in his life, she never cared to ask. 

Without hesitation, she walked over and tore two pages off the notepad. She crumpled the page with writing and tossed to the counter. A pen was sat on top of the fridge, which she used to write two simple words. She stuck the paper to the inside of the lid, the words facing inwards, and placed the lid back onto the container

When she entered the living room again, he was still in the same position.

"Do you want to go somewhere?"

"Where would we go?" He replied as he kicked his legs back and forth in the air.

"Coffee? Maybe the museum?" She stopped walking when she reached her suitcase and thought to herself for a moment. "Mom wants to see you too."

"She can come here if she wants to."

"I mean... you did missed Christmas."

"I've been bit busy. And it's a long drive from here."

She took a deep breath. "Her birthday is next month, at least try to visit her then."

"Maybe."

"Do it."

"I'll try."

"You're such a..." Estrella groaned and ran her long nails through her short brown hair. "You know what, who cares."

Sol sat up. His light brown hair was set on fire as his light brown hair caught the sun's light. Estrella frowned when she noticed the dull look in his dark eyes.

"Let's go eat the cake now."

"I'm good."

She stared at Sol. "Come on, Sol. You never do anything with me these days."

"I'm tired."

"Come cut the cake with me."

Sol didn't respond.

"Come on, Sol. This isn't normal."

"Being normal is a social construct."

She sighed. "Everything is a social construct when you think of it in the grand scale of things. Yet we still commit to them."

"Whatever."

"Are you going to eat the cake when I'm not here?"

"Yeah, yeah."

"Sol."

He didn't answer; instead, he traced his fingers along the wooden floor that held his weight; its cold smooth surface cooled the tips. From the corner of his eye, he could see that she was beginning to become frustrated with his attitude towards her.

"Just go to India." Sol muttered. "I'll be fine."

"You won't be fine. You're never fine and I always have to take care of you because you're a shut in."

"I'm not-"

"You haven't been outside in weeks, you don't buy furniture, plus you have thoughts about things that don't matter. And like- I just don't-" She stumbled with her words before giving up.

"Well, aren't we a ray of frigging sunshine."

"Why can't you be normal, Sol?" She asked quietly, her hands loosening their grip on the suitcase's handle.

This was not her first time telling Sol this phrase, however, this was particular time was not spoken with anger. She really was curious to know why he didn't buy furniture or left the house.

She often asked herself if it was depression? Then told herself no, Sol has always been like this for as long as she could remember. He rarely attached himself to objects, and even people. There was once a time when she thought otherwise, but those days have past. A mistake on her behalf.

Sol hugged his knees. "Actually, I am quite normal. I haven't killed someone and many consider that to be ordinary. Plus, I listen to some pretty good music. Of course, that is a matter of opinion -mine being the best."

He was never going to change.

She tightened her grip once more. "Don't forget to eat the bloody cake."

And with that, she was gone.

☾☾☾ ☼ ☽☽☽

Sol was prone to think about leg hair. Not in a way as one would fetishise it but rather that it was the thought of your leg hair was the same color as your pubic hair and as your arm. He didn't usually think about the hair on the head, mostly because you could dye it numerous hues of colors and the countless hairstyles an individual could have were far too great for him to remember.

However a week after his sister left, Sol had the realisation that a person could bleach their pubic hair, as well as their leg and arm hair. Somehow that part was what made Sol slightly uncomfortable. It was not due to ones ability to dye their pubic hair but that it hadn't been a possibility he thought of beforehand.

It occurred to him one morning. He had just gotten out of bed but assumed that it was only eight am when it was almost eleven o'clock. This was due to him catching a glance at the clock at eight am and staying in bed for three hours doing nothing but attempt to go asleep again and thinking about life in the quiet hours of the morning.

A bouquet of aromas bloomed underneath Sol's nose as he poured piping hot water into a faded mug decorated with evergreen candytufts. The teabag soiled the water amber red and steam evaporated into the air.

While he waited for the tea to brew, he went on his phone and looked through his local paper's website. There were articles of fundraiser scams, of high school graduates pointing out the flaws in the education system, and of numerous protests for the leaders of the country to do something about climate change. There was a small article on elderly abuse that caught his eye. He didn't click on the link. Instead he skimmed through an article on how to efficiently save money.

After a few minutes, he decided to take the teabag out of the mug. However, as he made his journey to the bin, he accidentally dropped a teabag on the ground. When he bent down to pick it up, he found himself staring at his legs and had thoughts as mention before; leg hair.

He then proceeded to question everything in his life, as many ordinary people do when they drop their teabag. He thought about how people may never realised a truth about things they were assured about. Was it ignorance to blame? Or could it be that we choose not to follow the path of enlightenment? He never imagined himself to be a person who would willing decide to remain uninformed.

He used to be quite fond of the word 'realization'. He liked the way it rolled off his tongue and the concept of becoming truly aware of something. That was when he was a child, though. Now grown up, he views it to be something basic. A realisation didn't hold much value due to his awareness of most things about the world. The only realizations he had were small ones; such as a person having the characteristic of bleached blonde leg hair mismatching their curly mousey pubic hair.

Sol questioned if it was normal for people to crouch in their kitchen and get lost in thoughts after dropping a teabag, realized that normality was a social construct, and stood up again (but little straighter).

He quickly discovered that the water in his mug had vanquished the heat, but decided that he wasn't fond of that tea brand anyway. He tipped the liquid into the sink and poured the leftover water from the kettle into the mug.

He glanced at the clock on the wall as he sipped his water and frowned. It told him that it was eleven twenty (on the dot). Nothing wrong with the time but to him it meant he was on the floor for four hours. Of course in actuality, he only spent twenty minutes wallowing in thoughts on the kitchen floor. Not that twenty minutes was a more typical number of hours for a person to spend on the action of thinking about life.

It occurred to Sol that perhaps his assumption about him thinking about insignificant things for four hours was false; however, he didn't ponder on the thought long enough to become concern.

Ever since his sister left, Sol had lost his sense of time. He didn't feel particularly fearful over it, only slightly concerned when he became aware of it. He didn't find it unpleasant when he got lost in thoughts and was emerged in a soundless world where he couldn't comprehend what was happening around him for he was fixated on his thoughts. Though he'd hesitate to say he relished it, no, perhaps he was indifferent to it all.

Sol opened the fridge for something to eat for a late breakfast, or perhaps you could call it brunch. His dark eyes caught sight of a cake slotted in front of the wine casket. He shoved it in there in the evening after his sister left, and he never bothered to eat it. The cake was plucked from its place and brought it to the counter after he closed the fridge door with his foot.

He lifted the plastic cover and noticed a note was taped to the top inside of the cover with carefully written words.

visit mom.

Sol put the cake back in the fridge, this time making sure it was tucked behind the wine casket.