p r e f a c e
people dream of happy endings, endings that last.
…
there's no such thing …---
Balcony doors were left wide open, curtains of sheer snow flapping gently as it rode on the waves of imperceptible fingers of the wind, sashaying opulently on a breath-capped zephyr. The fragrance of ocean breeze swayed in wispy vapors, misted by invisibility. The blinding sun was half blanketed by a lit horizon. Cloudy tufts of colours – pink, purple, and orange – encircled the atmosphere, millions of tiny stars ready to peek out of day's grasp and follow through with night's release.
An agéd dove soared on Heaven's breath, settling on a branch of a dancing peach tree as it waited for Death to claim an old life.
She stood there underneath the death of tranquility. Instead of what might have been the sweet air doused with a peachy scent, it was fogged up with the metallic-like odor of blood. Wine-bleached eyes stared on at the lifeless body with lost senses as fervent emotions held her, drowned her in its long hold, paralyzing her in place. Finally, with what seemed like eternity, she dropped on her knees and reached out, bringing his head to rest on her lap.
Her blood-spattered face stared into his, childish innocence etched into his manly features. His red bandana had come loose and was now encircling his neck. Russet tendrils fell over his closed lids and for a moment, as the wind's endless whispers danced with his hair, she thought he breathed.
And yet it seemed impossible.
Where do I go from here?
