Seventeen year old Edogawa Conan angrily kicked his soccer ball against the back wall of an abandoned warehouse. It rebounded with a thump that was no where near being satisfying. Some part of him wished that he still wore enhanced shoes like the ones Professor Agasa had once made him. Then maybe the soccer ball wouldn't rebound. Maybe it would run straight through the wall, leaving a hole that no one would bother to fix.
Twenty-seven year old Kudo Shinichi wondered if just maybe he should go talk to someone about this.
Conan snorted at the idea before kicking the ball towards the wall once again. The physical exertion helped a bit, at least enough that he might fall asleep that night. If he was lucky he would fall asleep quickly, with no thoughts, and especially no nightmares, to bother him.
Shinichi sighed and shook his head, wondering for the millionth time just why everything had gone so wrong. Or, to be more precise, why everything had gone nowhere. Everything that had been done, everything that had been tried, and when it came down to it, nothing accomplished. Ten years was a long time in which to accomplish nothing.
Conan hit the ball harder, eyeing the wall carefully, trying to calculate how many times he would have to hit one spot before the brick gave in.
There were good days and there were bad. The good were never good enough and the only thing to be done about the bad was to block them out with the familiar rhythm. "There is no moving forward anymore. Only staying moving."
The voice of the lone occupant of the room echoed slightly before fading out.