The Path

Spender

PG

Angst/Drama

Post Truth

WilliamFic, no shippyness.

Silver rain drops fall on the path of our wicked journey, and broken hearts shatter on the silent rose of cold dreams. The violet drapes on my beige walls will come down and the shelves will be emptied before i can even spare a glance to the rest of my life. Little is known about my son, and little is given to the chance of finding him. After nearly 16 years, i feel as though it is time to continue my sad journey. The invasion never happend, my love could not care less of his well being, and my feet are cool and bare when the rain reaches them. Before i leave to the scratched sky, and wolloping willows of the night, i must see his tender face once more. It used to fill with love and happieness, but is now pail and unfaithful to my touch. His closed eyes are a sign of stirring peace, as it has been long sense sleep has overcome his lingering soul. Why is it he turned out this way? Why must his flame go dim upon our reading of hrearts and life? I have no will to stay any longer. The pondering and curious beat in my steps turn ever so wanting, as i near the dak door. I step out, and the early dawn light brushs over my clear face. It is time i find my son, before my son finds the truth.

The grass is wismadic and herendus at my tearing touches of walking. The bag over my shoulder and shal upon my chest is what keeps me broad in thoughts. The simplicity of not knowing what is before my holds much more than what can be explained with one word, one gasp. My destination in anywhere the sun leads me, and no where behind. The moon is still out, beckgrounding the pink and orange dust of clouds, and silver outline of the treetops. The stars are slowly disapeering like the wishful thoughts in my weakingly tired brain. How i wish i could have fallen for a nap beofre i set off... but then he would have awoken before I and i would have to waint much more hours before fleeing. It was time, i could wait no longer. My classy silk he had given me for no love was nothing more to me than the pearls dimonds or gold he practicly feeds me through a tube... i needed real love... real touches... no more fake fraudency of despair and sighs of unhappieness. The candle he light between the two of us was now damp with death like a dead rose... the same rose the broken hearts shattered upon. I am finally free of his tragic grasp over my wrist. My mind is clear and concience is in order... this is the beggining for me. Me and my son.