The Universe's Mixer

Preston was starting to get used to the idea of living out the rest of his days here, but he wasn't finished exploring and he wasn't keen to drop old routines and fall out of practice. He spent the early hours of the morning on running and gun work before donning on the black clothes he wasn't ready to get rid of just yet and going out to map out another part of the town.

He seemed to be purposefully trying to get himself lost, taking turns down side streets and small alleyways, but somehow he weaved his way through to the park and that was when he was truly lost.

All the greenery was regarded with a small (healthy) dose of suspicion, and he took one glove off to rest his hand against the coarse surface of an old tree, feeling the cool, rough, crackled bark underneath his warm fingers. The dried leaves shattered as he crushed them beneath the weight behind his shoes and twigs snapped everywhere he walked.

He seemed rather taken by it all but the house he came up to held his attention the longest. This free-standing unit with vibrant, colourful flowers on the lawn was something out of a book or a work of art. Seeing and feeling the embodiment of imagination dabbed onto an oil painting gave him some pause as he circled the cottage.

Eventually he tore his eyes away from the structure and started heading deeper into the park.