You are my mind attacking and the blood on my hands

                       


       "I don't know where to start." He was staring out of the window, as he had been for the past weeks in his flat. He was jaded, as he had been for the past weeks. There was rain was streaming down the window reflecting his state of mind.
Damn, it was cold.
He glimpsed at the woman sitting in front of him. She didn't seem to be cold at all.
She had long brown hair and surprisingly fair hazel eyes. Her voice was gentle, deep for a woman but not raspy. She didn't sound like she had a sore throat like some deep-voiced-women do. She seemed nice and he actually wanted to co-operate.
Dr Mills smiled. "Why don't you start from the beginning?"




      Young woman sitting at the bar counter looked like someone not accustomed to dresses. She was shifting in her seat awkwardly and spinning wine in a glass. Her long, dark hair had an artificial blue glow to it. It didn't look bad. An aura of deep thought and silence surrounded her.
This is how she caught Ciaran's eye: a member of a loud group of college students tried to chat her up, she lifted her gaze, looking slightly stunned as if they'd woken her up. One of the boys kept talking and she kept quiet. After a few sentence's he gave up and went back to his friends forgetting her as soon as he saw another girl.
The scene made Ciaran smile to himself. He was out having a drink with a couple of friends from work. They were debating some new technology. Ciaran wasn't listening. Those two were always arguing. He was almost certain they were sleeping together and kept bickering about this and that to keep up appearances of being "just" friends and colleagues.
He felt like an outsider. They were good people, just a little bit.. ..well, excluding.
Ciaran muttered an "Excuse me" and left his friends. He walked to the counter not really trying to get the bartenders attention but holding an empty pint as an excuse in case that beautiful girl wasn't interested.
He was just pondering between a line and a simple 'Hello' when she spoke. "Hi. My name is Molly," she said. Ciaran was surprised, not sure if she was talking to him. She was looking away, talking more to a splash of dried whatever on the counter. A slight blush rose to her cheeks, though, giving her away.
"Ciaran" Ciaran replied. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare.."
She didn't let him finish what he was going to say. Lifting her observant gaze to his eyes, she said: "You could save me from a disappointment of a no-show blind date. ...If you wanted, I mean." Her voice turned small by the end and she turned to look at the stain again. The spur of courage was gone.
Ciaran smiled again. "Well, you don't meet a proper damsel in distress every day..." he said and to his delight, Molly let out a little laughter. She still wasn't looking directly at him. He leant a bit closer and said: "I think shyness is really cute". Molly laughed again. A nervous giggle, but it was sweet.
It was getting loud and stuffy at the small pub they were in as more and more people got more and more drunk. Ciaran saw his friends leave. There was a moment of silence as they both spied each other from the corners of their eyes.
"So," Ciaran said before it got uncomfortable. "A blind date? That's, um, brave."
"My sister set me up," Molly said. "She thinks I'm unable to talk to people without her help." She paused to take a deep breath. "We're twins. Maisie and I. But really we're more like mirrors." Her voice faded again. "I'm sorry, I'm not good at the whole chitchat thing.."
"It's okay," Ciaran said, smiling. "Why don't we go out?" He suggested. "It's a clear night and the street is less crowded."
Molly nodded and they left.

They walked aimlessly and talked a bit. Ciaran told her about his work as a crime scene investigator and Molly told him about her passion for cooking. She was waiting tables and 'making herself useful' at a part cafe part pastry shop.
After a while, Ciaran stopped her under a particularly pleasant streetlamp next to a rose bush in full bloom, wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her. Molly hesitated for a heartbeat, then raised her hands to his neck and kissed him back.
In the end, it was Molly who suggested they went to her place.
Afterwards, they lay on the bed, not looking each other in the eye. There was really nothing to say, so neither said it.
There, surrounded by a cloud of her scent Ciaran fell asleep faster than he had since he was a little boy.


In the back of her mind, Molly could hear herself screaming. She woke up just in time to stop it from coming out. Ciaran was holding her tight and Molly wasn't sure if she could remember how breathing works. She knew exactly what Maisie would do.
Laying like this, Ciaran's chest to her back, his arm across her waist, bedcovers kicked who knows where, Maisie would stretch like a cat, enjoying herself a bit too much. Maisie would press her back tighter against his warm body and slowly, careful not to wake him up, take his hand and lead it between her legs as if he'd done it himself in his sleep. Then she'd make sure he woke up. All the men Maisie picked would start to fiddle with her, turning her on again for another round of 'Let's bring the bed through the floor'. And Maisie would tell everything to Molly, down to the last detail regardless of whether Molly wanted to hear it or not.
Molly tried to think. Ciaran buried his face into her hair, his lips touching her neck lightly, in a manner of a seductive kiss had they been awake. He moved his hand, so he held hers and suddenly it hit her. It was more than a mere feeling, it was the truth: she was safe. She couldn't explain it but she was sure this man would never hurt her.
Ciaran muttered something in a language only sleep knows and Molly closed her eyed again.


Annoying 'bleep' of Ciaran's work phone woke him up when Molly was again in deep sleep. A message said: "To everyone: urgent," and an address.
He decided not to wake Molly up, got dressed and scribbled her a note. "Had to leave early. " It said. "I had a great time and I hope you did too. Call me?" and his number. He left the note on the bedside table leaning on a lamp, gave one more kiss to Molly's hair and left as quietly as he could.

Ciaran arrived at the scene tired, sipping hot, strong coffee. His head was buzzing from the sudden waking up. The long abandoned building was already filled with people packing body parts and looking for evidence.
"Hey!" John Garner's friendly voice pierced through the foggy mess in his brain. "Better put that away, C" Garner pointed at the coffee. "Hope you're not hung over". Ciaran said something that resembled a no and finished to coffee. Garner looked at him closely but didn't say a word. He sometimes worried for Ciaran for not sleeping enough and for sleeping alone too much. "Paul's already in." Paul Simons, the third man in their trio from last night.
 Ciaran switched to work mode and got ready to dive in.

By the time Ciaran got to know him, Paul was well out of the closet. He wasn't obviously gay, as some are as if they were pretending to be caricatures of themselves, and the whole business of preferences was settled in one, brief conversation. Paul was fun to be around and fiercely loyal to those he choose to be friends with. He had a keen eye for colours and he saw beauty in dark places. Ciaran often wondered why Paul had chosen such a gruesome career but then decided it wasn't his business.
"Oh, Ciaran!" Paul said soon as he saw his friend. "You know, that isn't really your colour..." He pointed Ciaran to a more or less reflective surface and held out a napkin. Ciaran saw it straight away, there were still smears of Molly's bright red lipstick around his mouth. He wiped it quickly and turned back to his smirking friends.
"Didn't we have some work to do?" he asked, wanting to move on.
"We got the short straw," Garner warned. "This way." He led them to a grim scenery in what could once have been a motel room.
The room was surprisingly spacious, even with the three men and  a corpse in it.
The body of a man in his thirties itself was like from a bad slasher film. Something sharp and small had been stabbed through his vocal chords. Four of his severed fingers were stuffed in his mouth. The eyes had been poked out with his own middle fingers.
"Now, there's a message," Ciaran said, as the coroner's office finally took the body away.
For once, they worked in silence.



"Do you think I should call him?" Molly asked trying to focus on mascara.
"I don't know. Do you want to?" Maisie answered. "You said he was really nice, so why not?"
"Oh, he was... But what do I say!?"
Maisie laughed. "How the hell should I know?"
"Hey, don't swear," Molly said annoyed. "You know I don't like it. And you always know what to say. Maybe I should text him... It would give me more time to think."
"Sounds like a plan, Mole. But you'll be late if you don't hurry the fu... hurry up" Maisie swallowed another cursing to keep Molly in that good mood.


And so it happened. Two broken people found the comfort they needed in each other's arms.
Ciaran started to enjoy going home at the end of the day, knowing Molly was in the world. He managed to sleep better, to smile more and filter out part of the job.
Molly became less and less anxious. She didn't get startled by the doorbell anymore. She even began to like the company of others.
Some nights she woke up screaming, though, but never explained her nightmares. When Ciaran asked about it, she claimed that she couldn't remember. He didn't quite believe it but didn't want to pressure her.


More dead and disfigured men popped up in long forgotten buildings around the city. And there were plenty of those, the market crash had hit the city hard, leaving loads buildings abandoned. Some of the men were missing fingers and others.. ..other parts
Ciaran, John and Paul worked side by side collecting evidence, taking pictures of the sickening scenes and getting more frustrated about the case.
It wasn't for the lack of evidence, but the lack of comparison.
"It's no use having fingerprints if you can't match them, you see," Ciaran explained his frustration to Molly. "It's no use having anything."
Molly held him tight and let him talk. It seemed to calm him, even if she really didn't want to hear of such bloodiness. She stroke his hair, his neck and his chest until he was relaxed again. Until he was hers again.
Today it took longer than usual.
"Ciaran, darling." Molly tried to think of something to say. Something to distract him from his distress. "If you hate your job that much.."
 "I don't." Ciaran interrupted. "It's not quite what I had in mind when I took up photography as a 15-year-old, but I'm making a difference. It's important."
Molly understood and they lay in silence.
"What did you have in mind?" She asked after a while. A curious and a bit teasing tone crept into her voice.
"Victoria's secret" Ciaran admitted embarrassed.
Molly giggled. "What a shock!" and started to tickle him.
They rolled around until tickling turned into fondles and the rest of the world disappeared.





"Ciaran?" Molly's voice was a desirable interruption. Ciaran was struggling with a report of the motel room murder. He turned around and saw her standing by the door. "You forgot your keys."
"Ah, my saving angel!"  Ciaran said and went over to hug her.
She was wearing a long coffee-brown coat, black nylon stockings, and high heels. Under the coat, Ciaran knew, was a white buttoned up shirt and a black skirt, her work clothes.
"You didn't have to come all the way here," Ciaran said. "Not that I'm complaining!" he added fast realising how much he'd wanted to see her.
"Can we have a minute?" Molly asked taking his hand and leaning a bit closer.
"Sure," Ciaran answered in a whisper. "Come with me." And a bit louder " I'll walk you out" to the office in general.
He led her by the hand away from the curious eyes and ears of his co-workers to the hallway and to a large, unisex toilet. Somewhere along the way Molly had taken off her coat.
"I know this isn't ideal..." Ciaran started to say but Molly quieted him with a passionate kiss. It was a kind of kiss that made him ram her against the wall and make sure the door locked properly. A kind of kiss he wouldn't say no to.
They tried to muffle out the moans in kisses. But when her grip on him tightened and she gasped for breath, a deep groan grew in his chest.
He felt a bit weak after their moment of passion. Molly leant on the wall, shaking, out of breath. Ciaran pulled her into his arms, holding her tight so she wouldn't fall.
They fixed their clothes both feeling a bit guilty, as two ladies from another floor walked in chatting loudly. Ciaran pressed his finger on Molly's lips. Molly looked him in the eye boldly, a flirty little smile playing tricks on her lips. So much had changed since they first met. She was still shy around other people but to Ciaran, she could reveal the passions and all the desire she'd learned to hide so well.
By the door to the office building, they shared one more sweet kiss before Ciaran returned to his work.


Molly hadn't responded to Ciaran all day. Last night she had disappeared from his flat when he was sleeping. No notes, no phone calls nor texts. No nothing.
Ciaran was worried sick.
He decided to go see her.
He knocked on the door and soon it was opened. "Molly, where did you go?" Ciaran asked and took a step closer to give her a hug.
But she raised her hand to stop him. Something was wrong.
Something was different about her. She wasn't smiling, her eyes were cold and all of her presence screamed suspicion and strength. She looked like she would rather fight than run, should she have to choose. She wasn't Molly. She wasn't Molly at all.
"What do you want?" She asked. Her voice was sharp with no hint of Molly's gentleness
"To see Molly," Ciaran answered, baffled by this all.
"Molly is sick. I'm Maisie, her sister. You must be the lovely Ciaran I've heard so much about." She faked a smile and sent chills down Ciaran's spine.
"Well, can I see her?" he asked. "Just briefly.."
"No," Maisie said. "She'd never forgive herself if she got you ill as well." Something that resembled fondness crept to her voice. "I'm sorry, I have to go now. I'm making soup."
And she closed the door before Ciaran could say another word.
Later Molly sent a text message to Ciaran, explaining and apologising. She had the stomach flu and would rather keep her distance. That Maisie was troubled. That they both were sorry for alarming him.




Another moment alone. They had cooked and eaten a good dinner and were now idly slouching as a tangle of arms and legs on Ciaran's coach like a pair of lions after a hunt.
Ciaran reached for something.
"Look," he said showing a framed photo of two beautiful little girls. "This is Laurel," he pointed at the older one, she had blond hair with a hint of ginger, strange shade of blue eyes and freckles. She was laughing and hugging another girl. "And this is Heather." The younger girl had green eyes and dark, a bit curly, brown hair. Dimples made her smile look even more joyous. "My nieces," Ciaran finished, smiling.
Molly took the picture and looked at it closely. "Did you take it?"
"Yeah, I did,"  Ciaran replied. "It was Rosie's birthday, last summer. Rosie is my sister, their Mother."
He was quiet for a while, breathing deep as if thinking of them was pushing the air out of his chest.
"Haven't seen them in a while," he sighed. "I miss them.
You know, my first clear memory is  when Rosie was born. I was 5 years old then. Dad was holding her and he looked so happy and proud and amazed and so loving all at the same time." Ciaran rarely talked about his family, they lived far away and he missed them more than he had words to say.
Molly understood without him saying it: He wanted a family of his own. Children.
The thought of that filled her with curiousness and horror. There was so much bad in the world to shield a child from. So many monsters.
"My parents died," Molly said quietly. She finally had the courage to talk about them. "It was a car accident. I had just turned 18." She took long pauses and looked away from him on purpose. There was no way she could handle the pity in his eyes. Or whatever she read as pity.
They both stayed silent for a long time, curdled in their grief.
"We could do that, couldn't we? Be parents," he said quietly.
Molly reached over him to put the photo back on the table behind the sofa. She was silent, thinking.
"Eventually, perhaps," she said. "Let me think about it."

News got around the office quickly: John Garner has been hurt.
Paul was a mess whenever no one was watching. He couldn't bring himself to go to the hospital alone so he kept busy, going through archives and muttering about the miss filings.
Ciaran took him by the arm and took him to lunch at Molly's workplace. Paul barely nibbled at the muffin they brought him. They were both given a couple of days off, Paul for 'personal reasons' and Ciaran to look after him, by their boss. The boss was a fair and reasonable man in his fifties who secretly rooted for any and all romances. His own marriage failed, but he never stopped loving his wife and their son.
"He went there alone," Paul told them. "He shouldn't... He's an idiot!" Pauls' voice broke. He leant his head to his arms. "I love that idiot," he muttered.
Ciaran looked at Molly, trying to find an answer. Molly held Pauls' hand and shook her head. 'Let him talk', she was trying to tell Ciaran. 'Don't say a word.'
Ciaran took a breath, ready to say something encouraging. Molly lifted her other hand and pressed a finger to his lips, looking him in the eye, as Paul was clenching to the other one as if he was drowning. "He has a sister about your age, dear" Paul looked at Molly and stroke her cheek. His eyes were reddened by tears held back. "We were going to have drinks tonight. The rest of them don't approve, but she promised to give it a try". Paul stared into the nothingness beyond human perception. To the human perception, it seemed to be somewhere around the muffin crust.
Together the three of them went to the hospital to sit by the bed of unconscious John.
His doctor was a weary-looking, sharp lady, who took her work seriously.
Garner had been hit on the head. Hard.
The doctor was hesitant to tell them anything, they weren't family after all.
"Look, he's as good as family to John!" Ciaran told her vigorously. And then: "Paul just wants to know if John will wake up," in  more benevolent tone.
And the doctor told them.
John had gone to check something out on his own on one of the horrendous murder scenes and got attacked, presumably by the serial killer. She said she heard the police assumed they'd returned to the scene and found him there. They'd all know more once John woke.
The attacker had knocked John out and there was severe swelling in his brain. His skull was fractured, but he was likely to wake up in some time. They just had to wait.
Paul stayed by his side, holding his hand and whispering words of devotion.

That night Ciaran took solace in Molly, bathing her with kisses murmuring promises of eternity, dedication and love. He held Molly long after she was asleep, slowly caressing her soft body, watching her sleep and breathe, listening to her heart beating in her chest reassuringly, and finally slumbering in the early hours of the day.
Once he fell asleep, he slept dreamlessly well towards midday.
Molly woke early, but had no heart to get up in case it'd wake him up, so she hugged him tight, held him protectively, wishing to erase all the pain he was feeling.
A few days stubble scratched Mollys neck, as Ciaran begun to move around as a sign of waking up.

In the aftermath of Johns attack, all of the CSI:s were commissioned self-defense and firearm to anyone who passed the training for those.
Ciaran was one of them. He wasn't sure about taking the class, but Molly begged him to. She didn't want to lose him.
So from there on in, he hesitantly carried a gun. He felt it was too heavy, too freezing and too close to his heart, spreading the cold harshness into his very core, staining his emotions.



Something was bugging Ciaran. John had woken a few days ago and told the police he there had been a woman. He  was unsure where exactly, but he was certain he'd smelled a ladies' perfume. 'Like midsummer roses' Garner had said.
Then again, he also said he'd seen an angel of vengeance, clad in black spandex and with huge wings made of darkness.
Garner told Ciaran he found something. The big problem was, he couldn't remember what it was. Ciaran worked late, re-running and cross-referencing everything Garner had found about the case.
He wasn't sure what he was looking for, he just knew he'd recognise it soon as he saw it.
And he did.
A village on the other side of the country had had a lair of a monster in human skin. Several female DNA:s had been found there. At least six remains were found scattered around, dismembered in smallish pieces all around the perimeter.
A man was found in the cellar of a house, a nail file stabbed through his eye, all the way to the brain, lobotomizing him. He was still alive, completely unaware of the world, a drooling mess, unable to dress himself.
One set of DNA matched the case they had been working on so hard.
The small town had just updated their system, so it hadn't shown earlier.
Ciaran wanted to check the old motel room again. He figured, since he'd been so lucky before, maybe he'll find something new.
He tried calling Molly to tell her it might take him long, but she didn't pick up.

Ciaran parked his car in front of the run-down motel. Outside was just as it had been months before, only with a few more graffiti.
He walked in and climbed the stairs to the third floor.
Blood splatter had dried disgustingly brown on the walls and ceiling. They had established that the victim had also died here, unlike the other ones found around the city. The others had been brought elsewhere.
He looked around the room, trying to figure out what they'd missed.
Ciaran was just hunching over something he wasn't sure he'd seen before, facing away from the door when something hit him. For a second he had a silly thought that a meteor fell on his head, then it hit again and the world turned black in his eyes.

Ciaran opened his eyes. The back of his head was throbbing and his limbs were too heavy to move. He saw a pair of shoes, heavy, black boots. 'Cold. Ground' he thought. Forming a full idea was too difficult.
Something made the shoes turn. 'Legs'. Ciaran's mind was struggling.
"Oh, hello," a voice from somewhere above him said. "You're back with us then. Good. Thought I hit you too hard for a moment."
"Molly?" Ciaran was sure he was dreaming. Well, nightmaring.
"Guess again"
This voice was cold and full of loathing. There was no warmth or adorable shyness or love there. Ciaran knew her eyes would be the same. Cold, vigilant, frightening.
"Maisie"
Maisie laughed without any trace of joy. "Nice to meet you again."
Ciaran felt her pulling him up to sit his back against the wall. Her face hovered before him. "Though, we have met more often than you think," Maisie said and kissed him, just like Molly. "You're not planning to go anywhere, are you?" Ciaran couldn't do anything. He'd gone completely numb. Realisation hit him harder than Maisie ever could. "Was she even real?"
"Molly? Of course, she was real. Still is, actually. She's just sleeping." Maisie sat on the floor in front of him. Her black clothes looked wet and her hands were covered  in blood. "I can do that, you see. She knows nothing of my little... ...hobby"
"Why?" Ciaran asked. "Why are you doing this?"
"I might as well tell you," Maisie said. "You're not going to be able to tell anyone...
About 18 months ago she was in a place a little bit like this, our dear little Molly. He would strangle her. Rape her over and over again. She cried with all her strength but no one came. She cried for help, for God, even for Mommy and Daddy knowing well they were quite dead." Maisie paused for a moment. It seemed to Ciaran that the memory hurt her too. "She couldn't take it anymore. She didn't want to wake up the next time he'd make it all go black. That's when I woke. I told her to sleep. That I'd take care of everything. I'd keep her safe. And I did. I got us out of there. And here we are. Alive and kicking. He's not."
Tears burned behind Ciaran's eyes. What horror his sweet Molly had suffered. "Oh, Molly" he whispered.
"Yeah. So, we came here, to the big city where everyone is a bit broken." Maisie continued mercilessly. "Obviously, Molly wasn't too keen on touching another man again. Even less to let one touch her. After meeting you we made a deal. She'd have your mind and I'd have your body. Or as she said, she'd love you and I'd make love to you.  You never even noticed, did you?" Ciaran shook his head. He had no words left in him. "Well, except for that one time... I was very surprised." Another pause. Another joyless laughter. "She did love you. She really did. Does." Maisie ended her story.
"I wanted to marry her" Ciaran managed to say. And a moment later: "Are you going to kill me?"
"I was always going to kill you," Maisie said and got up. "But you'll die fast. There'll be no pain for you. You never hurt her."
Maisie conjured a gun up from somewhere and pointed it at Ciaran's head. "Where did you get that?" Ciaran asked unnecessarily.
"Does it matter?" Maisie replied. "Maybe I stole it from that friend of yours. Maybe someone left it here."
Ciaran's survival instinct started to wake, making his arms and legs tingle.
"Please, Maisie," he pleaded. Maisie looked away, keeping the gun still pointed and steady. "For Molly's sake, don't kill me. I'll get you the help you need, I promise. I'll never leave her. You won't have to protect her anymore, you said it yourself I never hurt her, I'll never hurt her..." He was playing time and he knew Maisie noticed it. One loud thought was hammering in his head: 'Get out!'
Ciaran remembered the gun he'd taken. It was there, all cold and heavy. He knew it was loaded. If he could just harm Maisie enough to disarm her. He knew that in doing that he'd be hurting Molly as well, but maybe, just maybe they could both live through this. He was amazed Maisie didn't know about it. Maybe Molly could hide things from her also.
Quickly he stood up, grabbed the weapon and pointed it at Maisie.
What happened next was too fast for his senses. Two guns fired almost simultaneously, "Maisie, no!" a voice cried. Molly's voice. A sharp pain tore at his shoulder and something fell. Something heavy.
The bullet from his gun had hit Molly in the head. She was dead before she hit the ground. Ciaran knelt down to her and picked her up despite the pain. The warmth of life had already faded in her eyes but she was still beautiful.
If Molly hadn't moved, it had hit her in the arm. Painfully but not life threatening.

That's how the police found them. Ciaran was holding Molly's lifeless body and crying. It had only been a few moments but to Ciaran, it felt like an eternity. They took her from him and someone rushed him into an ambulance. Ciaran couldn't even feel the pain anymore.
They removed the bullet from his shoulder in an operation and as soon as he woke up he resigned.


"I shot her, Dr Mills," Ciaran said in a hushed voice. "I loved her, but I shot her dead."
Dr Mills listened quietly. She saw there was still something on his mind.
"She was pregnant," Ciaran said after a long silence. "They found it out in the autopsy. She never even told me."

A black and white picture of Mollys' eyelids appeared on the paper. There was already one of her smiling lips drying, out of the magical liquid that developed photos.
Ciaran had forgotten he took these.
He felt hollow. Like his soul had been sucked out.
The photos gave him some solace.
The thought of Molly smiling brought back an echo of warmth. Right now, an echo was better than nothing.

He remembered the first time he was in here, in this corridor, on the way to her bed. This is where he'd kissed her neck while she rummaged her handbag for the keys. And that lift he'd just stepped out of, that lift was where Molly's lips, the smell of her skin and the way she ran her hands over his body was once more intoxicating than any alcohol.
Ciaran put a bouquet of flowers against Molly's old door and left.

.

To the boy, I was too afraid to get close
And to the girl who didn't realise.
And the loud one who helps shyness be left behind.

To the one who held me tight, from whom I wanted so much more but the timing was catastrophic.
 I wish to see you again. One day.

To the one who saw the invisible, told it  she was beautiful  and set her free

To him I could had loved. Fly. Flow.

To a tall girl who suddenly was a friend.

To her who held a wreck of a human that didn't want to cry.

To the lover of a deathwish-zombie. I'm sorry. I don't know what happened.

Forgive me. Forget, if must.
You will always have a place in my heart.

Yellow paint

Yellow paint!?
Not here in the adult world, no.
Maybe in the children's ward.
You can buy it only for your child.
Who'd want yellow anyway, when there's grey?
Here we have granite grey and concrete grey.
Grey as a thunderstorm or grey as fog.
Grey as a wolf and a grizzly.
Warm grey and cold grey.
Dustmite or perhaps the spiders web grey is more your shade.
Grey of depression and grey as everyday life.
Soft grey 
Harsh grey
Grey deep as  dreamless sleep
Gentle like a feather.
No need for such extremities.

Yellow.

Shadowmaker

The pain tore my scalp as the shadow man slashed it.
Infuriated wasps stung my arms.
Electric currency ran through my torso, arching my back painfully.
My sides run with hot blood where he'd cut me.
I didn't know why he tortured me,
I told him, screamed, begged him to stop.


Have I died and gone to Hell?
He laughed.

He is gone for now, but he will come back. Some day soon I'll give in, tell him everything. I don't know what he wants so I'll confess to it all. Every lie, every ill deed. Maybe he'll go away then.
Now I can fall into a sleep that isn't quite sleeping. It doesn't quite do what sleep is supposed to.
In the morning I wake up, look into a mirror: a pale, ghostlike shadow of youth looks back and tries to smile. There are no scars, no bruises, no sting marks, no fresh wounds and yet I still feel his clutches on me.

Two Part 2: Lords and Children

     The little boy running around the marketplace wasn't older than four years old. His hair was blond and curly, his skin the colour of rich cream toffee and his eyes were ablaze with the joy of running. His laughter echoed from the walls and made everyone he passed, smile. An out-of-breath guard run after him, not quite catching the wild creature. He was  just glancing over his shoulder at the guard when strong arms lifted him up, high, high in the air.
"Hello, Ray," a deep, warm, fatherly voice said but the boys terror, for those weren't his father's eyes, took over. His laughter died and exhaustion took over.
Ray had been born unexpectedly early, the man knew, on the road home from Night. He was named after the first gleam of sunlight that had felt sudden to his parents after the thick fog of the forest faded.
"You're not Daddy", he whispered in a state of shock, eyes widening in realising how high off ground he really was.
"No, I'm not your Father. But we're on our way to visit him." The pale lord recognised the young prince from the letters his father had written him, with long descriptions of the boy, his movements, studies and spirit. The lords beautifully crafted chains caught the curious boys attention and he started fiddling with the thin silvery plates shaped like orchids.
"My.... Lord...I'm... I'm sorry!" huffed and puffed the guard who'd been trying to catch the boy. He tried to stand and salute but he could hardly stand anymore. It had been a long and extremely hot afternoon.
"At ease, soldier." Nightern lord hurried to say and then to his own guard: "Do get him some water!"
Quickly a flagon was given to the red-faced guard and he drank with long, grateful gulps.
"Will you be fine?" asked the young guard who had given him the beverage. Before he could answer, though, his funny looking colleague took his shoulder and muttered loudly: "I know your struggle. We have a princess."
There was a chuckle all around them, one that the lord and his lady determinedly did not hear. The little prince was seated on the lord's horse, behind a rather shy-looking girl, Sunshine, and the princes guard joined the train of men, women and horses all the way up to the grand library/ the city of Days' lord's palace.

"You're early!" bellowed a man, surprisingly young for a lord, before the herald could announce the lord and lady of Night had arrived. The lord of Day was a large man, strong as a bull and even in his strange paleness, was a shade of burnt sugar. His hair was as golden and as wildly curly as his sons and his eyes were light brown with a hint of yellow, like shards of amber.
"Well, I caught your little rascal" replied the other, with an overly serious look on his face. They stared at each other for a moment, before breaking into laughter.
"Oh, brother. I've missed you.You know I would have come visit you if it weren't the worry for my wife's health. The midwife says she carries twins," the Lord of Day said.
A deep shadow of concern was clearly visible on his face now. Not too many years ago his Mother had died giving birth to twins. His Father had soon faded away leaving the city in the hands of a grieving boy. Since then, he had prayed good fortune and health for every woman, treated the business of having children with seriousness rare for such a young man and respected the lady he was now married to in a new fashion.
 For a long time he thought he would not be capable of love, so he decided to make an alliance out of a marriage. Yet soon he found, to his surprise, his broken heart to be healing when the girl, chosen by his counsellors, slowly and patiently showed him the beauty of the world and taught him to laugh again, to love again.
"Lord of Night!" a soft, gentle and noticeably weary woman's voice called from the doorway to the entrance hall. "Perhaps you can knock some sense to my husband, he hardly sleeps when this would be the time for that. There's plenty of  wakened nights ahead." The Lady of Day waddled to greet the guests.
She was beautiful. She seemed to have been dipped into honey, so soft were her colours. But it was her eyes that truly mesmerised. They were the purest shade of blue you could find."The sky beyond the mountaintops is out-blued by them" had the golden lord once written to his brother-in-office in a spur of poetic enchantment.
Saphira, a name she had chosen, was more than fitting.

Days flew by, as old friendships were renewed around the city.
The shy princess soon forgot her weariness and run around the garden, playing hide-and-seek, or catch, or a strange combination of those they invented themselves, with Ray and his closest friend, his guard's son, Hunter. They were all more or less the same age, but she was taller, as Nighteners often were, and run faster than the boys.

During a long and restless hours, the Lady Saphira gave birth to twin girls. One had flaming red, thick hair, so bright was the colour it seemed unreal at first. She was named Ruby.
Her sister, Amber, had the most unusually coloured eyes, light brown, just like her father, with shards of yellow embedded with the brown, like tiny sharp blades.
All three were fine, and the Lord could hardly stop crying from relief, holding Ruby, while Amber was sleeping in Saphira's arms.
The prince peeked in.
"Come, meet your sisters, Ray" Saphira whispered and he sneaked in, quiet and careful.
"They are very small," Ray pointed out stroking Ambers soft cheek gently, the way Mother showed him. "How soon can we play?"
"It will take a while before they can run," Saphira laughed.

Two Part 1: Introduction

        Two cities stood on opposite mountainsides. A dale shrouded in thick, dark forest separated the mountains. Like eternal, faithful lovers they gazed upon each other across the woods.
      One city bathed in light. Even the nights seemed somehow more luminous than elsewhere.
It's citizens were blond, bold and strong. They had wrinkles around their bright eyes from an early age from squinting against the sun, so it looked like they were always smiling.
The city had no name of its own, it was just another half of a pair. It was only Day.
Days twin, Night, was covered in fog that arose from the forest by day. The light there wasn't much from none. At nighttime, the Moon shone to the city and allowed its people to work in light that was as pale as their skin. They had large, dark eyes, long limbs and nifty fingers. To an outsider, they all looked the same and many thought there was something stretched about them. As if they had been run through a mangle. Not surprisingly, their biggest import were candles, for they were known all around the world for their fine handicrafts. If a great king needed jewelry, he called upon jewellers from Night and if his queen needed the finest gown, a nightern dressmaker was summoned.
Exports from Day included all kinds of fruits alongside with wine and liqueur made of those fruits. The most famous of them was Sunshine in a Bottle, an apricot liquer that could bring out the hero in any, and every, coward, reviwe the warmth in the worst case of frostbite and lighten even the grimmest kind of spirit. Some claimed that it could even wake up the dead, but that was probably just an old-wives-tale. If you asked about it visiting Day, though, you'd get a nogde, a wink and a smile but no real answer, one way or another.
   

I live among you well disguised

            The town had been slowly suffocating for years. That was even before they came. These days people saw anyone walking alone as prey and anyone -everyone- a hunter. No one talked to each other. No one sauntered, strolled or took little walks, nevermind how you want to say it. Maybe summer will be different.
   I watched a group of women hurry below my window. They didn't seem to even know each other, just looked for security in numbers. And well, when I say my window... ...it's not, strictly speaking, true. This was once a theater, but since no one went there anymore it was closed down. It wasn't much but it was close enough to call home.
    It wasn't quite 8 p.m. yet, but it was dark. Heavy clouds had hung over the landscape making everything look too small and too grey. Bless the dark for hiding them. Snow was falling in big splats and the road looked slippery.

    Hidden behind a thick curtain, I watched a young woman in black, walk to the bus stop across the road. 'Hello', I thought to myself. 'You're different.'
    She was pale and the cold had turned her dry lips bright red. I couldn't see her hair under the big hooded scarf but all that was enough to make me think of Snow White.
   She was swaying slowly to the sound of music no one else heard, swinging her hips and tapping her feet as if she really wanted to be dancing, not standing in the snowfall. Maybe she was just chasing away the cold, but I'd rather think she was dancing in a world of her own. One where there were people and music and soft lights.
      She was beautiful. But something in her made me know she'd never see herself that way.
      She smiled and it made me see the deeply hidden, profound sadness in her eyes.
      Her loneliness echoed mine.

     I wanted to go to her, say something. But everything I could think of sounded cheesy. And suddenly, she waved at the bus, jumped in and disappeared from my life forever. Could it be she would had been like me? What would she had thought if I told her how she looked to me?