When I woke up I thought about the orange on the mirror, and how I had tried to fit myself in the
mirror earlier last morning. A cold whistle hit me on the head from the wind, and I struggled to
remember what had happened yesterday. I could feel the weight of the wind upon my breasts.
Roses coloured the wallpaper in my room, light and worn-out they were; the red was very bright,
and the thorns were so clear, but they were all dying like the pale rose sitting next my mirror. I had
then buttoned up my clothes, the wind lightly expanded under my shirt – coming from the open
window outside. When I was finished, I had opened the curtains; the outside reminded me of a
garden that I would make up in my head, I would visit there sometimes and it would give me a sense
of nostalgia, it was full of lilies and roses.
The mirror.
I do not know why, but I had decided to put on make-up unlike other mornings; I lightly hid my face,
my lips were covered by a very bright red lipstick. I would have to wash it out later, but it would
protect me early in the morning. When I finished trying to fit my body in the mirror, I turned a
minute and opened the door before I had left my room. I then had left my house, and I was left
alone by myself for a while.
The winter had taken over the trees, the leaves fell and died, corpses upon the ground, to be broken
by my walking feet. I saw that the leaves looked lifeless upon the trees, dead upon the ground as
they screamed as they had cracked. I noticed how white I was upon a crisp sun and morning, my legs
were hurt from a fall yesterday, hiding from my shadow and the cold, bleeding and bruised - my
white legs were cracked. The distant wind had forced upon me through the fog, and I thought about
how I shouldn’t have been wearing the clothes I wore that day. A distant smell of blood lingered
through the morning, I could see it in the blazing sun which had hidden itself away. I felt warm under
my skin, pulling my clothes together. I then felt sick and blurry, as I slowly was reminded of myself. I
was tired, so I had tried to sit down and get rid of that hazy morning and forget myself. The leaves
completely surrounded me as I had sat down, they were red.
I had remembered how I was afraid of being crushed by my own body, I felt sicker every day, as I
would worry every day about death – I was pulled down by my weakness. I did not feel a single
change from yesterday, just pain, I did not wanted to say I did not like it, I was just tired. I tried to
tighten my skirt, while sighing heavily, and cross my legs. My head blurred and reddened in fire and
pain, being surrounded by the cold, being too weakened to get up, I had then tried to slowly get up
promising myself a hint of warmth and hope when I got there. The taste of beer on my throat had
reminded me of the question of what I wanted to be, I was reminded of that the whole day.
A cigarette in my hand had just managed to stay alight in the cold, however, there were people
looking at me. This was the first time I had worried about people looking at me while I was smoking,
or how people might have thought about the length of my skirt – a woman passed by to give me a
single look. An old man looks at me, I pass by a boy.
I had passed by three boys standing upon the shade of the leaves around the motorway, I looked at
them silently as they looked at me; I got districted by the greenery leaves and bushes upon the
motorway, a beautiful garden of trees and leaves resided by the side of noise that cracked as the
cars went by me. Somebody notices who I am; I went by him silently, feeling more annoyed than
anything else, I might have been afraid that I had felt a little flattered – I don’t know why - I have
never felt this when this had ever happened to me – I still hated it. My body disgusts me, I hate
being trapped into something that would crush me for my whole existence; it is me, it is who I am, I
disgust myself – I am disgusted by myself. Outside I know I look pretty, I was told that several times,
I care about my worth, but my body is hideous and I hate the way it works – I am trying to validate
myself, I hate my mind, but my mind is my body.
I stand by someone I know standing in the shade of the tress, I try to avoid it. I walk straight into the
bus, I walk up stairs staring out from the window I see him look up to see me. He walks out a bus
stop before. I started to question why, and why I was acting the way I was.
I hide myself from everybody as I walk out, I do not want to talk to anybody in shame. The thoughts I
was feeling dirtied myself and my body, it dirtied my soul – I doubt if I thought of myself as a good
person. I felt blurry and hazy as I walked, scared that anyone would see me in what state I was in. I
hate myself, and I hate everything I do. I regret who I am, who I have become as a person. I feel sick
about myself, I feel weak and horrified, I can’t escape that – I want to be someone else, anyone else
is better than me. People might see something in my face, I stayed away from others to see if they
couldn’t read my thoughts. I had wondered, what is wrong with me? While feeling weak, I talked to
some friends of mine, having a high opinion of me, as I was naked by my heart beat pumping
through my body; a thousand thoughts slurred through my mind, I was weak through the voice
when I had answered – they couldn’t have seemed to notice anything.
I thought I saw him again, walking through the lilies, near the shade by the sunlight of the trees; the
flowers and the school’s bushes, he waited in the garden in the light of the sun. I went straight
towards him, I wondered why, I wanted to talk to him because nothing that happened today made
sense – there was only a silence that lingered between us from yesterday, hitting upon me I looked
him into the eye opened my mouth – nothing came out.
Yesterday. What happened then? I walked down the street, I saw a child; I saw some trees, I saw a
bird, then I saw you. You talked to me. I may have felt alone then, the wind blew gently under my
skirt. I felt weak, very, very weak; you said that tomorrow it’ll happen, the glass was broken that day
– we kissed behind the trees. Tired, I was too tired for it, I whispered again and again. When the
youth of England died, we hid behind the darkness. We buried its soft naked corpse under the old
English soil, the waves of Britain receded.
I did not feel as if my hands were weak, my hands were cold. Harsh was the cry of the child, I was
sick all night. A blade thrusted inside of my gut, I bled until death. I lost, a dog cried. Fearing, I ran; so
I had dreamed the whole day, I was not what I wanted to be. I did not think the way I was supposed
to. I noticed that someone noticed the way I walked that day, I wanted to be left alone from you; I
hate you, I do not want to talk with you at all. Don’t look at me. I am only telling you this because I
need to, I don’t want you – I need you. I make myself feel sick, but it all your fault that day; your
hands are full of my blood, I said, my breasts were torn apart. I want to look at others in the eye, but
you, I hate you. All you need is me, I am sick of being alone –
I looked at the stupid figure in front of me, the shadowy coat; it stared at me, my eye, for ages.
Broken leaves, engulfed in puzzles. In the evening, desolate, hidden by thick fog, the silent face for
me; I then moved my mouth, pushed sound from my throat, and I said some words to him.
“I missed you”
I then went towards him and hugged him, we kissed under shade. We held hands.
“I feel a little tired today, I can’t walk any further. Normally I am fine during the mornings, but today
I feel weak.”
I grabbed his hands harder.
While grabbing his hands, and resting my head on his shoulder, I saw a girl distant in the trees. She
was long gone by the time I saw her, and she had only been a faint ghost to return and haunt us. Her
face was tired, her eyes dragged out, barely dressed and the look of her disgusted me and made me
turn away.
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When we was kids she would stay a long time after we went to bed late at-night drinking. Her room
is rotting, and I saw the wallpaper peel off and die the last time I went in there. She looked sick and
older then she really is, I think it might have something to do with her boyfriend. Her whole life has
been like this. When we was kids we were ignored by her, she couldn’t take care of us, we had to
find something else. I feel sorry for her now. She did not talk for a long time, last time she spoke to
me, I knew that she was disappointed with me. She had me young as well.
When we’s walked down towards the lake, that was yesterday, the snow filled the entire lake and
park. She called me a slag, she ain’t well, she said I have to take care of myself, but with the child
coming I just have to forgive her. She probably expected this of me. There is nothing I can do, I am
just the only one that has to take care of it. My sister went off and married a man, I don’t like him.
He always comes in this with the same black hood and jeans, he seems dodgy, he has strange
friends. Their house looks ruined, I have been there. They have a screaming child to take care of
now, he can’t take care of himself. I must have only seen her twice, once she married, I barely have
anyone else anymore apart for the man I am with. she doesn’t call me or anything
We are now alone together.
I myself don’t have any friends. I felt alone for a really long time, I haven’t talked to anyone since I
left school on leave. I speak to very few people now. I feel happy when I am by him, I feel better
about myself, I love him, though everybody else hates him. I spend most of my time with him, or by
myself, with him. My mum once said “I ain’t got no time to bother about your mistakes, you give
away your body however you want’, something like that, and she went on and on, she’s right. But he
still makes me feel better about myself.
My life feels like it’s going one way. I can’t escape that, the way I talk and the way I look ain’t helps.
Nobody pays attention to us because of the way we talk, I think I disgust a lot of people. I never had
a chance anyway, I never studied in school, I don’t know what to do – I will rely on him, his job pays
reasonably well.
 I had decided to keep him because I thought that I shouldn’t be ashamed of my own body, I didn’t
want to lose something that I only just had, something that, that will love me; I am grown up now, I
will be sixteen, I have to make the independent decision and stand firm in what I wanted, I know
that I can take care of him. I have spent some time buying: clothes, nappies, a wheelchair, toys and
such. We’ve been preparing. I realised that he will be someone that I can have and keep for myself,
to be by me, and I am not going to give him away. When I told him that I was gonna keep him, he
sounded a bit unsure about it, but he never left me…he never left me.
I want to raise my child properly. I once knew a kid who was always outside, even late at night, I
never bothered about him. I only saw him alone, then they came to take him away from his parent’s.
I worry about my child.
When we’s was very young, our father left and went missing. I was eight. He brang me up to the
same lake. I do not know why he left. His big hands were around my shoulder, those hands
protected me. His hands remind me of my dad’s. Looking back, I think I know where he was all going
towards, he looked so ill at the time. She had a boyfriend after that, I would rather not talk about
him. She used to work for long hours, she just lost her job. She can no longer work again.
She can’t take care of herself.
I am trying to make things better, life isn’t that bad, I feel happy most of the time. It’s strange, but I
really do. When we was together, looking at the swans. It was so simplistic. But the swans, with their
thin necks, and white bodies took us somewhere else. We go other places as well, we go places
where I can forget everything and stay with him.
The first time we slept with each other was when we had been together for months, I knew he
wanted more from me. I was walking home after school, then I saw him. I think we talked for some
time, though, we ended up going to his house. A very nice house. Inside we talked for a bit, he tidied
his house from the last time, I drank and one thing led to another. With his arms upon my breasts,
inside, I felt warm. He held me, we used each other, but he held me. The day was covered in sweat
and pain, but I was happy to get it over and done with. I felt happy this time. But the kiss, was warm
and out of reach, it was meant for me. In the passion he sucked what he could out of me. The kiss
lasted a while, it lasted longer, I felt excited, he was upon me, and them, it was finished. That was
our time together. We woke up lying against each other, and then I realised I had to leave.
I visited my sister once, I remembered. The house was sad, the trees were withered. The winter left
mist on the gloomy day. I looked through the windows, I could not see inside. I came by myself, I had
to get away from something that happened some time ago. I knocked on the door. I could hear the
screams of a child. My sister opened it, she looked surprised to see me. I said I wanted her and
needed only her at that moment.
We went inside, the wallpaper was coloured by flowers. The wallpaper was peeled off at the end of
the living room. The whole house was full of flowers. A dying rose sat at the end of window, red and
passionate at one side and violet at the other. She told me to sit down. She said that she wouldn’t
call my mother.
“Do you remember that time when we spent the day in the garden?”
“Yes, you picked up the violets and then I picked up the roses. The bees buzzed around them, I was
afraid of them so I kept calling for you. I remember crying when I crushed the roses under my foot
when I dropped them. You were ill that day, you couldn’t escape the bed the next day, I liked that
house – I am sad we never saw him again”
Then her husband came and saw me, I saw the look on his face. He asked me why I was here. She
explained it for him, I always hated him. I spent the day in that room, I was left alone a while when
they had to talk to each-other. I could hear exactly what they were talking about. When we sat down
again, his shadow reflected itself on the wall. I noticed that when we talked to each other. I noticed
the rose looked lonely by itself on the window.
“Yesterday. Oh, have you told her? I am trying to find a new job, after what happened, we cannot
come tomorrow”
That was not what he said.
“I can’t take him anymore, it’s this again. I lose so much for that child, I have felt so tired yesterday I
could not wake up”
That was not what she said. I didn’t hear a thing from either.
Then she went up, and that screaming child, through a tantrum, destroying the house was gone up
with her there and went. I don’t want my child to be like that. I spent the whole day listing to that.
We went home the next day, I spent the whole day in the house listening in silence.
I notice something about him. Sometimes he looks sad, even when he is just with me. I know he aint
perfect. Maybe he is just using me to get away from something. I don’t know much about his life, I
only know him. I only want to know him. Sometimes he tells me that he is frustrated, and I am sad
that I can’t help. But he has to take care of me, because he is the only one that can. We have to
spend so much time together by ourselves….
I know that I will suffer with my child, and that my life will lead to nothing, but at least I can think I
can take care of him.
I know I fell in love with the roses. The heat always fall down upon the sun. The grass was green this
morning, the pain from yesterday has gone. I do not know what to do with myself, when the lost day
is gone, the only time I can feel the glitter of paradise – is when I am with the hand of my one. I think
to myself over and over, I have something to tell to him. I love old fairy-tales. They have no relation
to reality, what happens and all is inside of me; that is all that I care about, damaged and red-pettled
away from the outside – lost in – paradise. What do I do to question myself, and the sick body I have?
What use is to spread this message, or only tell a fruitless, hated tale, of my hated world? Is it to
remember the one I love?
The day had settled from this morning, I remember the girl I saw in the morning. She sickens me. I
walk to him towards the end of the road, holding until I could remember every inch of the body that
I am tightened to. And I am lost in this fairy-tale, he comforts me until tomorrow, even though I
don’t need him. So we walk to the end of the road, painted into each other’s eyes, until I hold him
and we kiss each other good-bye. I saw the girl again, as white and as cheap as a ghost. People like
her disgust me, because I do not want to live in that world. Her face depresses me. I want to walk on
my own towards the rest of the journey. I try not to look at her,
I turn my head, people like this should not belong in the world, I always hated people below me.
That is all.
The End

The Passion of Sir Boyhood
Once, there was a marriage that stemmed from the rose; there bled wine, from the fatal red petals, and we all drank from it. Sir Boyhood lived in this river of the wine, just at the tip of the petal of the east, there the castle was situated among the hills and forests of the green country pastures – under the trembling skies of blue, rolling along the light clouds until sunset. There he lived, until, a velvet cloaked night filled the night with spirits and beasts; a howling mist beckoned him, and he gained courtship with a star.
In which lonely sections of this rumbling castle did he reside?
He was the prince, the heir to his farther; the eye of his mother, yet to find and inherit his father’s sword, he held his own up high, bestowed upon him by his mother, trying to capture a sacred light – he searched the marshes and the gloomy meadows for it. He ran up and down the castle’s halls, there he found the mirrors; he reflected upon them a while, then moved upon the next, without knowing what he was doing. Outside, he found the beasts of the forest; he found the owl, upon the darkness, its flaming eyes would stare upon him as he moved upon the trees into the thick black-land – it never spoke much, but when it did, its knowledge was more precious than eastern silk; the spirits would circle, and circle, each muttering and muttering upon the fading past with which they took to the tombs along themselves. He would pray to the lord, while the angel would play the lyre, watching him even by night. In those dreams he sailed upon islands far away, lost from the castle. The waters led him away to the morning star.
– Where is your father?  Upon a distant land?
He went to a holy crusade long ago, his mother stayed crying in her room; his sisters each stayed shrouded among their own company, and his older brother faded and was lost among the shadows, missing, gone, he ran away with a young mistress, no longer an eligible heir. So the castle fell to him, he comforted his mother from day till night, until the moon came out, she drank on his company.   And so, his mother possessed him and he could only look after her frail body in order to slow its disintegration. The simple touch of her skin would make him feel warmth, but a feeling lifelessness would overwhelm and dull him as her touch would wash in him as her hand would move away.   Her spirit was tied to him, and he felt that his soul was gradually suffocated in her decay. Her voice could be heard throughout the castle, and her cries would come and torment all those that resided during the night.
He felt a gloom in his mothers’ destruction, and pain as the pale face would soften after its eventual weakness. Fear and despair had spoken to him, but they were not as apocalyptic as a simple gloom. He was lost in a void of darkness, and yet he still dreamt about the angel every night. The moonlight would sing to him, but it was mute and silent. There was simply only an oppressive coldness, as a simple two-twee would greet him from the presence of an owl – who would stare at him before he went to sleep, for the day.
-	And then, yes, when did the passion first start?
   There then was a holy winter, where white would fall; the land was covered by the purity of the snow, there the land withered in cold and the distant light from the angel had gleamed - there he sat, holding the pleasures of paradise from mortal desire. There the heat from days distant would be overcome by the blizzard of the desolate snow – until the flakes would fall calmly on the winter floor. And a flower had bloomed, so when Boyhood noticed the nubile pink had coloured a rose which grew in Boyhood’s bedroom he had felt that a time had risen when what was before would be completely lost; and there was a scent of the newfound, and that newfound would consume him wherever he went – but it had still felt as if it were alluring, powerful and overwhelming that he delighted in its discovery.
And so the ball would take place, as it was a due every winter, his father was gone, his mother too sick to host, the children were left to take upon the ball. There the frail body had stayed, and in her room slept – the visitors would be held from the hostess’s face:
-	I miss you, how you were. I miss the times when I was loved, when I would feel someone’s hand grasping at mine and the warmth I would feel from their touch. I miss when I would be held by my family, to have their eyes upon me and their smile. You are here but I do not know you anymore, you are a stranger to me
-	I stay beside you every night, isn’t this enough?
-	And I miss when I would hold you, and when I would know your sweet heart, even when you did not know who I was. I would give you what you needed, my hands would lay upon you, and you would feel my warmth as I would play countless games with you….. spending away my hours
-	I love you.
-	I am a worthless woman, I am only here to die. I waste your time here, you would rather be somewhere else. You only here because you have to be, to be still held a favourite in my heart, I am waiting for my husband, your father, but I will die before he arrives. I cannot give anyone comfort, I deserve to have my burden lightened as soon as possible to support you - I have lost all  my worth
-	No, of course not.
-	I will tell you only the truth, and I will only be honest, I love you
-	Do you want me to stay a while longer?
-	Yes.
And Boyhood then stayed within the room, fulfilling in the darkness her commands, as the room faded away from his care; he then saw her face, pale and cold, and then bade the day good night in that room.
The next day the ball had been opened, the sisters disguised and covered the courtyard; knights, lords and kings would visit from the lands far upon the distance – all the kings that saw the angelic stars divine had come; the troubadours had played their lutes high upon a balcony outside, enticing the angels of winter divine to partake in the playing of the trumpets, and the music had played as to move the souls of all the visitors there. And Boyhood alone, passing by the dresses and the endless flying dance, of yellow, purple, green, and red.
 The colour at the distance, as she would fade and let flicker the red, and then velvet; but it was all a picture, and the shapes of gold that would tie from the bottom, and then the colour would shine bright – and the dress would darken and move. Then there was a white, and then a pink brush spread upon her face; and then the white would give him a sensation of touching something someone, and then the pink would reflect upon at every of movement and his would just be movement, moving along, at every reaction, and the movement would. He would feel touched now:
-	And the bell lulls on
And at every movement, she would control. At every flicker of her hand, she would move the spirit and it would fit ever so well and when she showed the blue her eyes, he fell into deep, deep, sleep, never to rest again from the fire that would overwhelm him; and so that colour would have control over him, and it was those eyes that would resound and resound, and their colour only mattered – because they were there at the right time when they took over him. So nothing else would ever matter, unless it was at a time when they would possess him straight away. And her dress was red.
When he would touch her hair, but when he would feel a desire to be close to whatever she was and her hair - ; - was of a slight gold, he would know her if he touched her, and be able to feel something so close to him – and so they would mean something and that would cause meaning. That figure was his, and the intimacy and closeness, while longing to possess; when he saw the ring around her hair, and one movement led to next and another – so it was just an image of movement – movement – movement. And that was it, at every shadow of time, and each colour she would show; whether it was the gold, pink, or the red – they would show a different meaning – he would possess. And when he indulged in one colour, one sensation it after a next, they would all move on, and on, so it all became as it was just one colour – pink, gold and red – so the dance would gain possession over him, and have an identity by itself. And finally yellow, purple and green took over.
And so he went upon her, and he had courted her. And thus freshly asked questions, had come from his lips, and so when the rose was crushed by his teeth he would come to ask and thus with power did the old birds tweet while he sweetly said:
-	It was only yesterday that I felt a change through me.
And thus they had talked, and it doesn’t matter what words they had said, because it would have been impossible for the reader to understand. So it was about moonlight dawn, and she would dance by the moonlight, when they had both felt each other – their emotions – their soul – heart. It didn’t matter what actually happened, because all the colours, there was only impression that something between those moments that existed – and that had lasted between both of them. And he would lie upon her, he would need her, to feel a desire – so it would only rest and end.  And so when, the end of those moments had come – he stole a crucifix from her, and he would keep it within his own heart.

-	When I felt that moment, it is what had mean to me when I felt so long ago that….
-	Oh how can I express, that moment when I have absolutely no words to ever describe it? Why shall I stand all day only to speak words to capture the absolute meaningless? Is it that what I just want? When shall I ever hear her voice? Will there be any meaning in what she would speak to me, all I need is to possess her – whatever she has. Is it mine? All around these moments, I feel a scent, armour, passion and a feeling that I will always associate with this moment – I can never describe it. When will we hold hands, how would she feel mine in hers? …. When shall we feel something that has meaning? As I dance over and over in the same moonlight waiting to possess whatever she has….
-	Oh when will I be felt? When I will be heard? Whoever hears me? When will I tweet like the wise old bird from the cage? Whoever sees me and my body….
-	The time when I was seen, when I was felt. When I had a hand held in mine, what would it feel like to touch my hands? This time, I have felt alone for so long, I have felt that someone will awake me from the deep dream I have felt for a long time. I close myself from this world, and when was the last time I was spoken to?  So when I feel that someone will save me, and my body is climbing in sickly desire that will never rest…oh but I am engaged!
-	I felt something within me for a long-time now, and I want it all to end – will it all end now?
When time has passed, and the castle sang with silence; Boyhood had spent his days waiting for his freedom, so as he held the little crucifix in his hand – he would dream about days often spent among an Angel. He would wait upon his room in darkness, and so all the demons would come by the window looking at him.  The chairs would feel old and rotten, his desk, the walls, the bed and they would all decay with neglect as he spent his time looking through the mirror at the crucifix; the darkness would drag the whole room down, wails from far away would be heard, and so his thoughts would carry him for days…waiting as a little light would drop into his room. And the little walls would have to crush upon him, his father would look at him from paintings on the ceiling – he would stare. And so when he had fallen to sleep in that room, all could he recall throughout the night was the face – and it would twist into eventual agony. When he grew old, he died, but his skin would slowly turn to dust – and so it would fade away. As he had woken up…the moaning stopped.
By the pass of time….so he went to check and look into his mother’s room. She looked at him, light was pouring unto her from the darkness; he saw her skin lightened, he heard her light breaths, he saw her quicker movements. She saw him, and had slowly smiled. He went up to the bed, felt and saw the pattern of the sheets; motioned the fabric, unto her hands – he had felt her skin. It had felt lighter, her hand was warmer, and she was less weak. When he looked at her eyes….
….she had looked back:
He did not say anything, he only touched her hands.
He could never express what he had felt in that moment, only a tinge of regret and love had persisted. She could hear, she only needed an even pair of eyes to perceive the darkness, she could hear, she did not see or understand – she was deaf.
-	Your hands do not shake anymore, you look far healthier… Do you feel better?.. I am going to move you by the side, do you feel comfortable?
What came next was hurried along, by confusion and by excitement.
First a crusader sent a message of his fathers’ growing illness, then weeks had went by without any growing news..
When night had come, the sound of the raven had screeched through the chapel. Boyhood had often waited, the doors were all shut; he could not ignore the knock on the door, resounding and breaking in. They had opened the door
When Boyhood felt himself outside, in the snow and fog, the dead smell of the air. His father’s coffin was being lain down into dust, his face was never saw again for it would bite him with horror only to think about peering into his closed shut eyes.  The crucifix, straight ahead, the sound of priest’s voice, his mother whispering, laying in her bead and Emily right near – the scent of her, far ahead. And in each voice, and each word spoken, he felt dead, unspoken in what was deep inside. The dread of his face, to never see him again; anger and rage, never to have to see him again. His cold look, the way he would glare far away from him in fear. The words he spoke to him, meant nothing at all. The icy presence, the violent and drawing cage. He was dead, he could not be seen again.       He was dead.
-	And we must find, and all in his everlasting presence.
For we see all in a glass darkly, and when he saw the shadow walk by him – it stuck to him. He had never spoken to it…..fading away until after, when he had spoken words to a stranger. Her cousin, his as well, he had kept his crucifix tightly in his hand – feeling every single bump there was. And as time would pass, he did not care anymore, the useless words from his mouth, everything would disintegrate. He would be saved, now that he was finally dead. Shut down tight, under the ground, were he would sleep; as time went by, he would fall upon her body in time. Everything is now gone, he will start again – and rise, and love.
He had felt that it was that time in that night, and the clock had called, rang and hailed the sound that would set him free. The moon would burn, overwhelming and bewildering; singing, naked, upon the candle on its cheek. The wind outside the window, powering, and how it would pulse through, lifting Boyhood from his feet. A song had shuttered from her, and a beautiful fairy had laid down upon the floor. Her hair was blonde, her eyes green, her skin pale, crying forever and again upon the red-tip of her breasts; she shined throughout the night, the glimmers of a harp had hit and strung him. The smell of the air, how it would flitter and shutter with petals and liquor. Boyhood would listen quietly, to the crystals and the precious jewels that would be sung amidst the night. He would feel the cool stone, and the smooth grass upon the floor. And when he drank from the lake of the castle’s motte, he felt a taste of bitter-sweetness; and then he resolved to leave his home, and went by the moonlight shuttered and flouted by the fairy.
 The fairy had led him to the forests, large and dense, he had followed the light within the darkness; the trees had brushed and pushed themselves, side by side, covering and blowing him away. And in him, the moon burned and the forest was set alight; a blaze had poured throughout the night, so only the burning light would consume him as he set down on his journey. Thither hire, thither there, the harsh and screaming winds and blown on and forced on his body; the fairy had continued waver her light throughout, and her body had the pale blaze growing throughout – and it had burnt through her eyes. The trees would all cower and lower, rise, and fall, being pushed by the majestic wind; seizing control of the forest, and controlling it – enslaving it – destroying it – seizing it – overpowering it – ruling it – enflaming it with a passion, so that all the trees would dance within the forest. And he saw many lakes within the forest, as it would tide-rumble and control within; splashing upon the nymphs, their bodies crawling on the grass – desiring purely the caress of the lakes, which they had once possessed. And the fire of blood, as the flames would burn on in the fuel of the blood; something snapped, and all around him was a fiery conjunction of red – red – red – red – red – red – Red.  Their body’s capsules of love, and destruction, pale and wet by the lakes – they had hailed moans of pleasure as he walked by. Grabbing by the feat. Tearing away his ankles. Clasping for his heart. As those sirens sang out of sea, crashing those ships, consuming the flesh of those sailors; controlling and desiring as he pleased, they tore and yearned for him. Their bodies only pale reflections, reflected by the moon, and the shadows ahead.  Fire and liquor had consumed the night of the dancing forest.
And in the darkness and shadows he had found the light prancing through in vigour.
And he had found himself lightly, through the sweet, divine, and pure light of the fairy, to the silent and withered old cottage at the end of the woods. The young body of Lady Emily waiting for him, upon the bed inside in the cottage. He had touched upon her hand, and gently caressed. He bent over, he had kissed her upon the lips, he sang a light and hope of morning upon her ear; she had slowly opened her eyes. And in drunken gaze, and in muddled memory he could not have remembered what had just happened before that moment. He cleaned the blood coming from the side of her waist, he put white and clean bandages to cover the wound.
-	You had just saved me from my castle.
She just whispered this to him, simply.

And so then days had passed by, and in silence and dance Boyhood had lived in paradise for each day.  Upon the nearby church, they had married and were bounded by God himself so that at all moments all the angels in God’s kingdom had rejoiced at such a union. And the final tender touch that he had given to her hand, warmth and pleasure – the kiss of two doves, flying straight to the chapel towards the greenery at the lake near the old cottage – far other there – watching.
Those days, that went by, in the cold. All that he could feel and I could express would be cold, and fire, warmth and love, death and hatred, all handled by the numerous kisses and regrets that they had kept within the warmth in the cottage. By the days, they would have walked amongst the harrowing snow, and the disguised trees in bridal white, went by all the small lakes and ponds, with the little flakes whitening them, at the very end of those talks, sweetened by love and voices, talking they would reach the lake; they would see the hazel leafs cracking by the depth of the cold lakes, and she would fall upon him as both of their legs would be buried by the white purity of the snow. And when in the cottage, they would dream by daylight; so their whole days alone in the cottage would be filled with lilies, roses, poppies as they would crush the purple lavenders that had grown outside by the weight of their hands.  At the end of the days, as darkness would fall upon the lonely cottage in the woods; red and engulfing flames would burn under the weight of love, destruction and the heavy weight of swinging liquor would overwhelm them as they would sink deeper upon each other.
The days had went by, in light and shadow and death and earth in the hazy sickness – moving around in a fever. The rooms decayed, and the shadows grew further in the cottage. Every night, Boyhood could listen to faint moans and screams in the distance, just very far away from him – he could not touch, nor see, where the screams had been coming from. Then, slowly, then heavily a strong wind and storm had struck the cottage the whole night. Whispering through door. A face had appeared through the door, Boyhood found his sister behind it; Mary, yellow eyed staring at him, an owl had twii-twood under a nearly broken branch of a withered tree.
-	Mother is sick, Mother is worse; she is dying, and all she wishes to see is your face again before she dies. It is all that she asks.
-	I vowed to never see her ever again. I left for good, all I want to do is to spend my life further into dreams. Leave me alone, I can no longer stand to see anyone’s face.
-	Can’t you accompany your dying mother? It is all she wants, after all these years, it is all she wants to be….
-	Can’t you?
-	I mean nothing to her…
-	So she does not deserve me.
And he closed the door, she had never came back ever again.
Then sickness had overcame Emily, the cottage had grown old, and her face had become pale thin; by the days, she became weaker and weaker, until finally she was chained to the bed. The days after were lost in a haze, moving from time in when the house started to deteriorate. She struggled, her arms weakened, her body shrank; she had lost all the life towards the throat, and she was strangled by her own body.
Lost in dreams, he clutched her. A spirit tapped on the door, whispering desires of control and love. – A flower lies at the heart of the forest, it can heal any soul, save any life, power pulses through its’ leaves. Its tip is red, thou shalt drink the blood inside of it if thou wants to live. But it can only be used before the final hour of death. The spirit stood there, and then went; riddled in blood, her precious white skin glowed only with truth. Clutching her flesh harder, like the old doll in the castle, he whispered a promise that he would save her – which she did not hear.
He walked through the misty forest, it flowed with a soft white; the fog lost in the distance, blindly he moved towards the centre. Darkness, and light, pushed him by, only Satan knew what glory he held in his heart. A desire that would never end, the only thing that could be achieved. Beckoned by the howl of wolves, the screams of the night, and death; marching towards a final rest, his joy of happiness, power over what had lived in his heart for a long time. The cold forest grew thicker, it trapped him, stumbling and breathing what bit of air he could; the distant whisper of the spirit brought him further, his body possessed under the skin of Emily. He saw the red rosy bud of flower extend, with its stems, long, with vigour and wine flowering under the darkened twilight of the mist and the forest. A beautiful and old woman, one could see the age in her eyes, with a young body had clutched the rose in her hands; it bleed through her breasts to her thighs, but her pure white robe still glowed stainless and innocent.
-	I am Venus, I am Aphrodite. I take hold of all love, I take hold of all happiness; the fire and dark, and the wine of God taken during the night belongs all to me. Some may say I belong to Satan, yet I say to you that I belong to myself – wondering into God’s own light whenever I wish. I rebel with my body, as frail and warm is it may be; yet my skin is cold, so that man may truly never touch it. Look into my eyes, do you see hate burn on and on? Do you see desire, and jealousy? Do you see yourself? I control you, all that belongs to you is mine. You are mine. I love you, I desire you, and I need you. Speak to me. I know you want the flower. I will never give it to you, kill me if you want it. You may never escape my spell, sleep past my dreams; death shall take you, better to die in my arms and sleep. You hate me? Why don’t you see what you’ve become, it is your demon that hides behind that innocent face; sickening and waning, it’s you that feasts over everything.    Emily is dead, she is free from you
He thrust his sword into her, and she died. Innocent, and unguarded in white. He walked to the cottage alone, trapped by the days and weeks before he had finally reached back. He saw the glow and glitter of the solitary cabin, he was called inside all the while the calming lake had rippled, while it was glowing, silently near the cabin.
He saw Emily, pure in white while her dress was stained in blood. She was dying, nothing could free her from the fate. Her unclothed her body, seeing only a pale nude figure; her breasts, her body, was cold and lifeless. Her nude figure haunted him. The night grew darker and darker, and he was more entrapped in the shadows – then he saw only a flash of red. Knowing that this was her final hour, knowing that she was in pain; knowing that there was nothing in her eyes, that he could not speak to her anymore, knowing that he was only lost within his own dreams, not knowing hers, he killed her. His sword dripped with her blood.
An owl pecked upon the window, he opened it and it had told him that his mother was dying. She was nearly at her last hour, then it flew away.
Out in the mist he saw the horse that he saved Emily with, it was lost for years. He saddled the horse, and rode on to the castle. He went on to see his mothers’ death bed.
Mary was no longer there; she was locked in her room, and she lost her speech after her engagement with a local lord. She was the only one who had taken care of his mother while he was away…
Again, the room was covered in darkness. He was the only one in the room, every one of his other sisters was locked outside. His mother was in her final hour, she rested for a few of her final minutes with her son. She looked at him.
-	Mary’s last favour was fulfilled, she was the one who sent the owl.
-
-	Will you take care of the castle for me after I die?
-	Yes.
A silence grew among the shadows of the castle, coldness grew among their conversation – suddenly his mother spoke.
-	I forgive you, I love you. I am sorry.
She then died, before he had begged for her forgiveness over her own body. He was alone when he cried.
While he left the room, he had whispered that her death had come.
All hail Boyhood! Great lord of the castle! Doomed to spend his life alone! In the shadows he know lives. Thirsting for love he married a countess, youthful and beautiful – he saw Emily within her eyes, she had looked strangely similar to her. They rarely spoke, though, but every night is filled with haze.  He had worn a deep and reflective blue cloak, while usually wearing a red doublet (which had replaced the pink clothing that he previously wore); she had worn a red cloak, and a blue dress. Outside in the courtyard, during the night; he first met her hidden in black, he saw her face then the times had went by.
His room was covered in shadows, and he would only have a little light during the night under the moon. The days went by slowly, he spoke to people less and hid himself in his own castle. Eventually his children were born, but as the time had gone, they went. He withered into old-age, still stuck in the castle that he was born in. He would look at the castle sometimes, look upon the lake and the woods; and wonder where the spirits went, as the mist had poured away from the lands. He would look into his wife’s face, and see a woman who he had barely known but had been sent to suffer the same fate as he had. Now he was old, sitting on his lonely throne; he thought about his life, filling it with every worth he had. The shadows crept up to his face, he recognised that he was blind, he never left it – he never will. He still hated himself, and felt that even God did not love him. He thought about the shadows, and realised that they were the only thing that he belonged to – until he dies .