- peace in havok
- Power and anger have gone hand in hand for Hazel her entire life, as has trust and heart. Hazel is bright as the sun and delicate as a flower. But the sun burns hot, and roses grow thrones.
...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
017
— what could have been —
PAST THE CITY, THROUGH THE BACKROADS OF TEXAS AND INTO THE HILLS OF JACKSON WAS AN OLD FARMHOUSE. The house had undergone a subtle modern upgrade, prominently to fix the old foundation, yet it still retained its rustic charm. The pens and animal houses that dotted the property lay empty, the weather taking its toll on the old foundations.
Hazel and Gar had embraced the simple life, far enough from the towns no one would bother them for nine months. It was Hazel's gift to Gar on his twenty-third birthday.
The Titans had hit more than a rough patch. A web of concealed secrets and unaddressed problems threatened to unravel the group. Over the years, the accumulation of unspoken burdens had ultimately imploded. Amidst the battles, near-death experiences, and relentless encounters with psychopathic foes, the weight of their past had become too much to bear. And it was all too much to be fixed.
A life where the only arguments would be who would be cooking dinner was the most enticing thing either could dream of.
Their mornings would start earlier for Hazel. She would wake as the sun rose, taking a tea and a book out to the front porch. She would throw seeds out to the birds before settling onto the outside couch and reading for hours until Gar woke up. With a coffee in hand, he joined her, listening to her read until they finished their drinks. Later into the morning, they would work on fixing the broken animal houses and gardens.
When it reached midday they would race back to the house, whoever reached the house last would cook dinner. It usually ended in Hazel losing. Occasionally she would venture to town to get dinner food but normally the gardens held all they needed. In all fairness, Gar would finish making dinner as Hazel sat in the lavender fields, playing her hand-carved guitar.
Once every two weeks the town held a market and the two held a stall to sell the produce from their gardens and the guitars Hazel had carved herself. While the promise of solitude was welcoming, having small interactions with the townspeople kept them sane.
As the day wound down, the sun setting and the sky shifting to hold all sorts of colours, they retreated to their cozy farmhouse. Evenings were spent by the fireplace, where they recounted stories and dreams, sharing their hopes for the future. So far, the conversation had gone as far as what animals to have on their farmyard, but the conversation to expand their family was growing closer and closer.
On clear nights, they would lie on the grass, stargazing. Hazel would explain the constellations, recounting the myths and stories. She would point to the sky, bringing both their hands up as their fingers stayed intertwined.
