Saturday morning taste like scrambled eggs with tomatoes and red onions. It crunches deliciously in your mouth and brings a smile full of content to your lips. Whole house smells like family breakfast. Whole house smells like love.
Saturday afternoons are bright and dim at the same time. The mood is set together with the dawning sun. The sounds surrounding the house all echo nature. Peace fills every minute of this day. Tranquility is almost palpable.
A long time ago, before I had breasts, sense and sensibility, I dreamed I would go to a fantasy land and become fairy princess. I never imagined life as a dire space filled with hurt and ugliness. Reality struck few times, even though I still fight for rainbows and unicorns. That’s what keeps me going. Finding tiny colour specs in mountains of mud.
I opened the door to our apartment and what did I see first? Flowers, flower petals to be precise. Roses. Strewn on the floor. Seriously? Rose petals on the floor? Can he be any more cliche? What next, one knee on the floor and shining diamond in his hand?
Diamond… Oh no! I hope he is not trying to be the idiot, hopelessly in love fool and try to propose to me tonight… Nah, can’t be. Or can it?
A historians daughter. Maybe a historian herself.
She is a shy girl, innocent and pure.
She devoted her life to books and knowledge. And her father, a sole parent, a center of the universe for her.
She feels lost when he suddenly abandons. However determined, the girl decides to embark on a journey to salvage her relationship with father and to discover the true meaning behind the life of vampires and count Dracula…
To speak is very meak when you do it with a tick that sits in your slick wick of a hair.
It is incredibly icky to pick insightful inglorious and tricky images of mockery and pity.
The path seems soft, intangible even. Darkness sticks to my face as I walk down the empty hallway.
The road seems endless, corrosive, barren and dead. It clamps down on my legs, slowing me down, impeding my moves.
I cannot go back nor can I move forward quickly enough. I stumble on this road down the abyss of darkness. I yearn for sun.
There is no retribution.
Only the empty pit of his heart.
The first person I loved reminds me of the deep blue colour, the smell of lily of the valley, the sound of a deep, husky voice, and the taste of novelty and broken inhibitions.
Winter morning is always stark bright. The clouds can never covet the light completely so it is reflected on the pristine white snow.
The silent capes of snow cover the mountains and welcome the wind howling merrily among them. In the ice cave all glitters and sets still in silence.
Nothing can break the obstinate presence of winter.
The season have only begun.
She crouches stealthily in silence of rose bushes. She is lurking behind every corner, crane and niche of the vast, ancient manor.
She is sticky with cold sweat, preparing to lurch at you. She moves swiftly and sweeps everything in her way.
She plays the game and always wins.
No stake is too high for her. She is trained and her aim never miss.
You won’t see her coming. The disease of the 21st century.