50 Ashan, 724
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The sun had set long ago, and it gave way to the insurgence of the moon. If Kotton could, he would document the celestial shapes that transpired during the transition, but unfortunately, his vision and attentiveness wasn’t so keen and he was certain he was underestimating the time it would take to accomplish such a task. Rather, he witnessed the drop of the crimson red veil. In its place came the influx of a grey shade that anointed the well-calculated reign of the lunar tyrant.
Kotton dove out from the shadows of his home after making sure all curtains had been pulled closed and his door had been closed behind him. He wanted to witness the beauty of the moon without any interfering lights from his house. But he was too late. The crescent shape had already claimed its dominance in the sky. Blink and you miss it, he supposed. This was deeply disappointing. He wouldn't be able to see the moon in this exact state until a new cycle; this encounter did happen every other night.
The young man had always been terrible with time. Looking in the mirror, he could see his irises modify their shade with the donning of new tidings. But that alone wasn't an obvious enough sign of passing time. It didn’t matter the instant of day- he was either dozing, hyper-fixating on something or completely oblivious toward anything important (that didn't constitute work). He hated that part of himself.
But instead of dwelling on the issue- no, scratch that- he for some reason found it the best course of action for him to dwell. He threw himself against the couch, frustration frothing behind his lips. In the gleam of injustice, it just didn’t seem fair. If it wasn't 'down to basics' routine, it was ought to be forgotten or ignored. He had told himself time and time again that he would do better, but all he had become better at was making lists and bulleting the different parts of himself he wanted to work on rather than actually doing them.
His eyes were rimmed with tears. Black-or-white thinking took hold. He spiralled into disregarding all good parts of himself and immediately honing in on the bad ones. He wanted to be someone the immortals could rely on, and if he couldn’t even time the passing shapes of the moon correctly, then what good was he?
Was it a lack of discipline? Did he need to condition himself to routine? Kotton grimaced and threw his head to the side with disgust. His brain scanned the folders in his mental cabinets for a reason. It was the motivation, the impetus he needed to keep on task, to become more punctual, and thus align himself with the values of proper time management.
Maybe he should refer back to the notes he had taken one of the many days spent at the public library. He remembered learning about cue-craving-reward… and something else. Curse his terrible memory! But not all was lost, for he had also spent a few moments discovering additional information relating to habit formation.
A soft push on his ankle made him look to the floor. Imogen was meowing at him to be let out. The young man smiled and walked to the back. There, he opened the door into the backyard for Imogen. He watched her scamper out into the darkness, and tried not to glower under the haunting rays of the moon.
He was still lingering on the prospect of obtaining new habits. He quieted his mind with an audible “shh!” before taking off for his bedroom. Lying next to his headboard was his knapsack. He quickly took from it his journal and carelessly flipped to the most recently inscribed page, nearly avoiding a paper cut in the process. His index finger drew down the lines until they landed on a familiar word.
He read aloud, ‘Micro-habits are the best way to create long-lasting habits. Micro-habits are incremental adjustments that over time move you closer to your intended goal.’
He pondered whether he had any micro-habits in the works. He fed Imogen regularly. He made sure to lock his front door after he left for work in the morning. He always put out the fire before turning in for the night. Kotton's dark eyes lingered against the popcorn ceiling as he mulled over every action he proposed. He physically nodded his head each time he crossed off an element from his imaginary list. He began to extrapolate his activities, finding ways to build off what he already did with more habits. He could always put notes on his front door so he would see them before he left or when he returned. It was in plain sight, so it would be almost impossible to ignore.
That was a start.
Going back to his reading he saw another new term. ‘Temptation bundling helps those individuals who find it hard to do things that are almost insuperable. The technique involves taking a task you already enjoy and coupling it with a task you don’t.’
A smirk danced along his lips. He could easily try something like that. He often forgot to stock his ice box with beer so whenever he went to get one, it was always empty. Instead of getting frustrated with the void of alcohol in the container, he could replace the beer whenever he took one, so there would always be one chilling for the next impromptu night-cap. He could also bundle opening a piece of mail each time he went to take his daily herbal supplements. They were located in the same spot after all, so it shouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience.
Closing his journal, Kotton gave a contented sign. He placed his journal back inside his knapsack before making way towards the back door. He was just about to open it to let Imogen back in when something stopped him. The blood in his veins froze. Motionless, he remained, as he looked out into the expanse of his property. Imogen- cute, fluffy, small Imogen- was not so small anymore.
Panic set in as Kotton retracted his hand from the door handle. He did so with such speed someone could easily have wondered if he had been electrocuted. His mind was on fire; anxiety swilled over the edge like alcohol over the rim of a glass and Kotton wondered if he had had too much to drink after what he had just seen. And he hadn't had a drop to drink all day.
Okay, pause, he thought to himself, streaking his backside down alongside the glass door until his rear hit the floor. You’ve heard of this before, haven’t you?
Whilst his memory was acceptable on a normal day, Kotton had already almost made himself cry, become frustrated with his inability to tell time, and tried to recall what cue-response-reward… something was. That being said, it was not a normal day. Nonetheless, there was a fragment of a memory that lay just within reach. He pushed, prodded and finally grasped hold of it before pulling it close.
The young man had been able to interpret via the flick of the tongue, the occurrences of unnatural appearances from minor fractures. They have been anomalously appearing in random locations across Scalvoris over the course of the last trial. Creatures, he had read from a heavy-set woman, had begun changing in size- small becoming large and large becoming small. Had a fracture arbitrarily manifested in his very backyard? Was that why sweet ol’ Imogen was the size of a feckin’ dragon?
Kotton flicked his eyes around his empty house. Perhaps he was trying to find a bubble of air to which he could use to breathe and calm himself. He studied one of his dining room chairs, huffed three times, then whirled his head around to face the back door. He still wasn't ready to witness the otherworldly phenomenon a second time, but he forced himself to.
Imogen stood there, the size of a building, eyes as bright yellow as the sun, and all that gave him the heebie jeebies.
“Okay," he breathed steeling himself. This wouldn’t last forever. The heavy-set woman he had been lip-reading from had been speaking with a frail looking woman and she had said it wouldn't last forever. He was willing to hold true to those words like he clung to the accent pillows of his couch after a long, hard day at work.
“I-Imogen?” he called through the glass door.
A roaring purr returned his call. It vibrated the glass door- Kotton, too. He sighed and sent her a halfhearted, confused smile. “Okay, yea... okay.”
He bit the inside of his lip and decided to contemplate her measurements. She wouldn’t fit inside his house anymore, that was obvious. But he mathematically gauged her width and height against the nearby bridge- the one that connected the south side of town to the Sweetwine Woods. He knew using a ruler would be of no help, but wondered if using the dimensions of his house, as laid out in the floor plan he was given upon purchase, would offer any indication of her true size. Still, the bridge was a good idea. She would at least have shelter for the night if it decided to rain.
As his mind had sent itself into cursory overdrive, Kotton was undoubtedly unaware of the physical changes happening to his beloved companion. Her size gradually diminished. Ears the size of windows shrunk, paws the size of carriages condensed and whiskers the length of framework beams compressed. It took many, many minutes before a trepidatious cat owner noticed the change in his closest feline friend. His eyes glanced again toward the back door and nearly had a heart attack upon spying her transformation.
Imogen gave nothing more than a meow.
The young man closed his eyes and attempted to slow his heart beat whilst resolving any otherwise panic induced thoughts. Then he laughed, brushing off any residual fear, before opening the glass door for his cat. Imogen stepped inside, shook her hide of any grotesque abnormalities before rubbing herself against his leg.
“Thank the immowtals,” Kotton breathed. He fell back against the floor and therapeutically began scratching Imogen behind the ears for as long as it took his pulse to return to normal.
Kotton dove out from the shadows of his home after making sure all curtains had been pulled closed and his door had been closed behind him. He wanted to witness the beauty of the moon without any interfering lights from his house. But he was too late. The crescent shape had already claimed its dominance in the sky. Blink and you miss it, he supposed. This was deeply disappointing. He wouldn't be able to see the moon in this exact state until a new cycle; this encounter did happen every other night.
The young man had always been terrible with time. Looking in the mirror, he could see his irises modify their shade with the donning of new tidings. But that alone wasn't an obvious enough sign of passing time. It didn’t matter the instant of day- he was either dozing, hyper-fixating on something or completely oblivious toward anything important (that didn't constitute work). He hated that part of himself.
But instead of dwelling on the issue- no, scratch that- he for some reason found it the best course of action for him to dwell. He threw himself against the couch, frustration frothing behind his lips. In the gleam of injustice, it just didn’t seem fair. If it wasn't 'down to basics' routine, it was ought to be forgotten or ignored. He had told himself time and time again that he would do better, but all he had become better at was making lists and bulleting the different parts of himself he wanted to work on rather than actually doing them.
His eyes were rimmed with tears. Black-or-white thinking took hold. He spiralled into disregarding all good parts of himself and immediately honing in on the bad ones. He wanted to be someone the immortals could rely on, and if he couldn’t even time the passing shapes of the moon correctly, then what good was he?
Was it a lack of discipline? Did he need to condition himself to routine? Kotton grimaced and threw his head to the side with disgust. His brain scanned the folders in his mental cabinets for a reason. It was the motivation, the impetus he needed to keep on task, to become more punctual, and thus align himself with the values of proper time management.
Maybe he should refer back to the notes he had taken one of the many days spent at the public library. He remembered learning about cue-craving-reward… and something else. Curse his terrible memory! But not all was lost, for he had also spent a few moments discovering additional information relating to habit formation.
A soft push on his ankle made him look to the floor. Imogen was meowing at him to be let out. The young man smiled and walked to the back. There, he opened the door into the backyard for Imogen. He watched her scamper out into the darkness, and tried not to glower under the haunting rays of the moon.
He was still lingering on the prospect of obtaining new habits. He quieted his mind with an audible “shh!” before taking off for his bedroom. Lying next to his headboard was his knapsack. He quickly took from it his journal and carelessly flipped to the most recently inscribed page, nearly avoiding a paper cut in the process. His index finger drew down the lines until they landed on a familiar word.
He read aloud, ‘Micro-habits are the best way to create long-lasting habits. Micro-habits are incremental adjustments that over time move you closer to your intended goal.’
He pondered whether he had any micro-habits in the works. He fed Imogen regularly. He made sure to lock his front door after he left for work in the morning. He always put out the fire before turning in for the night. Kotton's dark eyes lingered against the popcorn ceiling as he mulled over every action he proposed. He physically nodded his head each time he crossed off an element from his imaginary list. He began to extrapolate his activities, finding ways to build off what he already did with more habits. He could always put notes on his front door so he would see them before he left or when he returned. It was in plain sight, so it would be almost impossible to ignore.
That was a start.
Going back to his reading he saw another new term. ‘Temptation bundling helps those individuals who find it hard to do things that are almost insuperable. The technique involves taking a task you already enjoy and coupling it with a task you don’t.’
A smirk danced along his lips. He could easily try something like that. He often forgot to stock his ice box with beer so whenever he went to get one, it was always empty. Instead of getting frustrated with the void of alcohol in the container, he could replace the beer whenever he took one, so there would always be one chilling for the next impromptu night-cap. He could also bundle opening a piece of mail each time he went to take his daily herbal supplements. They were located in the same spot after all, so it shouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience.
Closing his journal, Kotton gave a contented sign. He placed his journal back inside his knapsack before making way towards the back door. He was just about to open it to let Imogen back in when something stopped him. The blood in his veins froze. Motionless, he remained, as he looked out into the expanse of his property. Imogen- cute, fluffy, small Imogen- was not so small anymore.
Panic set in as Kotton retracted his hand from the door handle. He did so with such speed someone could easily have wondered if he had been electrocuted. His mind was on fire; anxiety swilled over the edge like alcohol over the rim of a glass and Kotton wondered if he had had too much to drink after what he had just seen. And he hadn't had a drop to drink all day.
Okay, pause, he thought to himself, streaking his backside down alongside the glass door until his rear hit the floor. You’ve heard of this before, haven’t you?
Whilst his memory was acceptable on a normal day, Kotton had already almost made himself cry, become frustrated with his inability to tell time, and tried to recall what cue-response-reward… something was. That being said, it was not a normal day. Nonetheless, there was a fragment of a memory that lay just within reach. He pushed, prodded and finally grasped hold of it before pulling it close.
The young man had been able to interpret via the flick of the tongue, the occurrences of unnatural appearances from minor fractures. They have been anomalously appearing in random locations across Scalvoris over the course of the last trial. Creatures, he had read from a heavy-set woman, had begun changing in size- small becoming large and large becoming small. Had a fracture arbitrarily manifested in his very backyard? Was that why sweet ol’ Imogen was the size of a feckin’ dragon?
Kotton flicked his eyes around his empty house. Perhaps he was trying to find a bubble of air to which he could use to breathe and calm himself. He studied one of his dining room chairs, huffed three times, then whirled his head around to face the back door. He still wasn't ready to witness the otherworldly phenomenon a second time, but he forced himself to.
Imogen stood there, the size of a building, eyes as bright yellow as the sun, and all that gave him the heebie jeebies.
“Okay," he breathed steeling himself. This wouldn’t last forever. The heavy-set woman he had been lip-reading from had been speaking with a frail looking woman and she had said it wouldn't last forever. He was willing to hold true to those words like he clung to the accent pillows of his couch after a long, hard day at work.
“I-Imogen?” he called through the glass door.
A roaring purr returned his call. It vibrated the glass door- Kotton, too. He sighed and sent her a halfhearted, confused smile. “Okay, yea... okay.”
He bit the inside of his lip and decided to contemplate her measurements. She wouldn’t fit inside his house anymore, that was obvious. But he mathematically gauged her width and height against the nearby bridge- the one that connected the south side of town to the Sweetwine Woods. He knew using a ruler would be of no help, but wondered if using the dimensions of his house, as laid out in the floor plan he was given upon purchase, would offer any indication of her true size. Still, the bridge was a good idea. She would at least have shelter for the night if it decided to rain.
As his mind had sent itself into cursory overdrive, Kotton was undoubtedly unaware of the physical changes happening to his beloved companion. Her size gradually diminished. Ears the size of windows shrunk, paws the size of carriages condensed and whiskers the length of framework beams compressed. It took many, many minutes before a trepidatious cat owner noticed the change in his closest feline friend. His eyes glanced again toward the back door and nearly had a heart attack upon spying her transformation.
Imogen gave nothing more than a meow.
The young man closed his eyes and attempted to slow his heart beat whilst resolving any otherwise panic induced thoughts. Then he laughed, brushing off any residual fear, before opening the glass door for his cat. Imogen stepped inside, shook her hide of any grotesque abnormalities before rubbing herself against his leg.
“Thank the immowtals,” Kotton breathed. He fell back against the floor and therapeutically began scratching Imogen behind the ears for as long as it took his pulse to return to normal.
