OF FISH AND FALCONS: THE TALE OF OBSIDIAN GRACE

Repsychus

When Gods and Demons roamed the earth, such creatures sprouting from the soil, where old bones of what All-God first created made fertilizer for the mayhem to come, there was turmoil. Beasts of all kinds, Human-like and shapeless in variety, were a thing of everyday strife and struggle. Yet, through these, this fatal upbringing was born half-breeds, chimeras of every type, to bring yet more misbalance to this world. Though in chaos, as some say, comes the true order of things. What was once wrong makes room for right, replacing everything in its correct order by means of disorder; defined only as a revolution, perhaps this discord could bring peace back to an already rife-wrought world . . . or spell doom for us all.

This is such a tale, a story forged from the love of two completely differently worlds, both alike in the fact that their torment, made from their half-breed hands, brought them to the point of sorrow. It was such a sorrow that, in the midst of it, the only comfort they could find was within one another, opening a door for a whole new adventure . . . One that would bend the ties of two races.

This is a story of obsidian grace.

My heart feels heavy in my chest, powerless and like lead against what I cannot understand. Is this the pain of heartache? Truly, loneliness did not feel so dowsing with its sorrow, for it feels so much more like boredom to me. Yet, then again, it probably is boredom; boredom with life, with love, with hateful spite of shapeless form and matter! I despise it as I despise Hell and the demons within it, demons that mirror the ones within my own heart. How could such a pain be heartache, for, after all, do you not have to love to have thy heart be broken? Tell me! For I can no longer stand such heaviness within me. . .

I don't want to feel.

Not now, not ever do I want to feel the emotion that clamors clumsily within my breast. I have not the patience for it, not the mind for it, and certainly my heart has been stomped about enough thanks to such misshapen, deformed and warped feelings. You see, with one simple touch, lighter than a feather, gentle and tender against the skin, I can see what others do not. Your hate, your spite, your anger and malice are all within my reach, dare I to take hold of them! And yet I did not ask for such a power, something more destructive to me than to any other.

Would it have been so much to ask of All-God to take back such a horrible ability? Would it have been too much to simply make me what everyone else is? Certainly, there is magic in my world, perhaps more so than any other existing, but I did not want this kind of magic. Perhaps he could have blessed me with the power of light, bright and searing within its golden hues. Or maybe the power of darkness would have been better, to easily match my gloomy, loathsome moods. Then again, I always did like fire, red and beautiful as the sun itself, or water, cool and flowing with tranquility abound, or earth, as sturdy as any strength, with more iron will than I do hold now, but, alas, I have neither of these.

What All-God, the great master of all that is me, of all that will be, has set me forth with is a deformity. And why, do you ask? For never will I be able to know the sweet touch of my mother and father, the love that can come from a lover's hands, the child that would have been mine, but no longer, for I can not touch anyone. And no one would touch me. After all, would you really want to let such abhorrent secrets out to a complete stranger? Would you give me your worst anger? Your spite? Though I know little of the world, having seen so little myself, I can imagine the thought of having someone intrude upon such testy, touchy feelings would be quite uncomfortable.

And, for this reason and this reason alone, I live away from all existing people. I avoid them as I would the plague, wearing long, dark cloaks to cover my skin from their chill, gloves of the thickest leather, saving me from their contagious rage. Were you to see me on the streets, you no doubt would have to glance twice, wondering why such a strange, slight boy would be wearing winter garb in midst of summer. Yet I do, and live with the strange stares and sometimes evil glances. What did I do to deserve this, All-God? Do you get a laugh out of this? Perhaps your jest is funny? Well, it is no jest to me!

I curse you and your merriment, for you no doubt are laughing at me from your place at the pearly gates! I curse your kingdom, so bright and beautiful that it should be too perfect for your tastes, that you shall bore of its splendor! I curse your servants, may the Astrals themselves (my father included) be drunk with corruption and leave you alone and wilted, a summer flower in a wintry world! I curse your life, may it be swift and painful! I curse your immortality as well, for it prevents such curses from taking effect. . . Damn.

Thus I sit at my usually empty table, in my always empty house, which is always away from my parents and siblings, and sigh with a heavy heart of lead. I ask myself "why" again and again, pondering for one good reason behind this disability of mine, but, in finding none, simply end up staring out a window as the day recedes. Now late morning, I finally stand from my crooked, squeaking chair and put away the dishes that I had used to eat breakfast. The room around me is dusty as I wash the dish within a basin of water, so dusty in fact that I should probably clean it today. Sighing, I put the dish back in the cupboard, worrying over the daunting task of scrubbing the floors. Yet again, why me?

Pulling up my long, heavy black sleeves, I tie my equally long, dark hair back against my neck and set forth to lugging the large, wooden bucket to the nearby lake. Somehow I was glad there was water close enough that it wasn't too much of a bother to walk down the green path to its coast, for I, nor my family, who had provided a home away from civilization for me (a home away from them so that they couldn't be reminded of their defective son. . .), felt like drilling a well into the earth. As it was, just finishing the small, three roomed cabin took quite the effort, yet I remember it vaguely for I was only a small child then; I have been living and striving in this cabin for a little over eleven years. I am now twenty one, of the age when I should be going out to build a family, but am left alone beside a lake of tears, my tears.

I cursed myself once more, as well as the bucket that tore at my arms as I dragged it through the wood, stumbling once or twice so that I could curse anew. When I did finally reach the shoreline, I stared out through the mist that was receding in the face of the afternoon sun. The waters sparkled like gold and sapphire, an azure puddle of glistening glory. The fish, rising ever once in a while, proved testament to its rich waters, as the sun beamed down through the trees, catching the dash of a king fisher and his fresh kill of a croaking, lake frog. Standing in the mouth of the path, I sighed contentedly as I stared out over the lively, engaging body of water that was my only form of civilization.

Since animals knew no rage or pain or spite, they became my only friends as well. The lake was a metropolis for me, filled with marvels and ever-moving community life, and, despite my loneliness, I agreed that these small shores were all I needed for contentment. After finishing my admiration of my own little slice of paradise, I threw off my shoes and long socks, testing the water with my feet; it was icy and cold! I shivered in the early afternoon light, the rays of the orange star beating down on my neck and the skin of my forearms; it burned pleasantly against my already tanned flesh.

I held the bucket before me, letting it dip languidly into the frigid waters, as clear as the very crystals that were formed by the very mountain that overlooked the lake. Clear liquid filled the bucket, making it heavy with its precariously wet cargo, but I lugged it back to the land nonetheless. Only when I looked back at the lake, its serenity reaching down to the very heart of me, the cool, welcoming peace melting my bones into wonderful submission, I could not let such an opportunity pass. With a sigh and a somewhat tugging feeling of guilt within my heart, mostly pertaining to the still dusty floors of my three roomed cabin, I quickly pulled off my constraining, black clothing.

Being in nothing but my loincloth, a small strap of white linen that wrapped from my frontal area to my buttocks, and was tied with a strap of leather, I could feel the chill of the air making gooseflesh against my skin. Shivering visibly, I slinked into the water, only to meet more cold shock. How arctic the lake was! My soul and body nearly immobile within its freezing depths!

I could feel sparks up and down my spine as little waves of shivers assaulted me, causing me to wrap my arms about my naked shoulders and chest. God's blood! What kind of merciless attack is this? Quickly, the thought of swiftly running for the shore flashed through my mind, but I suppressed it. After all, running to the shore meant lugging the bucket back to the camp, and lugging that bucket back to the camp meant a four hour session of scrubbing and dusting and cleaning. . . Personally, I think I was beginning to enjoy the cold.

Letting my body become somewhat accustomed to the frigid temperature, I began to move out further, to the very heart of the lake. By now the sun was fully visible over the trees, late morning abating in the face of afternoon's shining splendor. I felt the heat of the sun against my now bare skin, dancing over my cheeks and lips as gently as a lover's kiss. Breathless, I basked in the glow of the lake and light, letting my hair fall from its stiff knot at my neck and flow down my shoulders.

It tickled my spine, spilling over the hardened muscles of work and labor from eleven years of solitude and complete loneliness. Also, were the scars that marred my skin here and there, one being a testament of falling out of a tree, another from a bout against the rocks of this very lake's shore, and still more from various cuts and scratches along the way, some self inflicted. Most, of which, I never even remembered receiving, for, after all, there were so many things that could have contributed to it. Though, honestly, I cared not what injuries I had, even if they were fatal, for I could wish for nothing more than to die.

Sweet death, seemingly so close and yet so far, was a stranger to me, and yet the only solace in these darkened years of my pitiful existence. I had not yet known its cold, draining touch, but wished for it with all my heart. To feel the life drain out of me, to take with it all the things I had seen in my life, all the worthlessness I felt for it, would be bliss in all shapes and forms. Yes, I realize I am probably being a fool to think of such suicide and bereavement, but I wish it nonetheless. It is like that darkened thought, that obsidian grace, which hides behind closed minds, opening only to the knock of sorrow and regret. And yet, though closed behind the doors of false contentment, it still lingers within you, speaks to you in whispering tongues of hated, heartless and meaningless woes.

Such a thing is death that it would sharpen the blade of your doubt, so much so that you might actually pick up the deadly dagger and make your body its sheath. Then, yet again, you may contemplate the dagger, staring in wonder at the silver blade that is seemingly the only friend you have in your heartache, but never touch it to your breast. In the end, death is in us all, the suicidal thoughts of a desperate man in the pool of sorrow that he, himself, first creates. The only difference between the truly suicidal and the morbid fool is weather or not you actually attempted to press that cutting edge to your skin, to mark it with your body, with the hatred you feel for your heart; Such marks I have made all too many times.

Diving down into the unfeeling, murky depths of the lake, I tried to drown out my thoughts as I lay in the silent, watery world that encompassed my being. Down here it was not so loud, not so noisy, but gloomy and quiet and peaceful. In such a place I could find an inner sanctuary, free from my bubbling and bursting thoughts; they being mostly of anguish and self-pity, which I tried to avoid as much as I could, or as much as my own mind would let me. Yet, still, in the lake bottom, where there were only shafts of light, spurts of bubbles, and the silver glint of fish to cut through my tranquil being, I had no enemies, not even myself. Thus, I closed my mind and stank deeper, my dark hair fluttering about me, my nearly ebony eyes staring up at the disappearing surface; for a moment I wondered what it would be like if I drowned here, free from all this contemptible rage.

Sighing mentally within me, I let the darkness take hold and watched as glistening rays of light sparkled on through the surface. The beams swirled with the waters slow, hypnotizing current, making me dizzy with its sleepy, almost dream-like dance; but, then again, that could always be from the lack of oxygen to my lungs. I could feel the emptiness as it strangled my brain, making me slowly give in to the shadows all around me. Was I drowning? I really didn't care. . . What would it matter if I died here? If I gave up on everything around me and just let sweet death take me? Certainly, I would not be missed, for my mother and father and sister and brother hated me. And, most certainly, I would be free of my curse that had caused me such grief ever since I was born. So why not?

Letting myself fall even deeper, I determined to let All-God decide. After all, wasn't it he who decided whether or not I was to be involved in his "master plan?" Surely if I were that important he would, by his great power and grace, make a miracle to save me, because I felt to no urge to return to the surface. I wanted to die. I desired to feel my body drain away with death's cold touch, and there was nothing he could do to stop me, unless he dare come and take me from this lake himself! Thus, I fell even deeper, shutting my eyes to the growing panic that fed upon my very soul.

Why is it that people fight so hard to live? Is there an inner essence that keeps them striving blindly forwards, trying at a goal that is just out of their reach? It always seems that even the oldest of us, lame and crippled from their toils in life, wrinkled from memories good and evil, wish to hang onto something in the end. Yet, when faced with the choice of taking one's own life, even when sorrow and anger and pain dull your senses, you still feel that pang of frantic need to live. How can this be so? For it seems a mystery to me. . . One that I thankfully won't be around to contemplate, for. . .for. . .th. . .I'm losing. . .

I could no longer think, no longer breathe. I could hear my heart slowing in my breast, the steady thump of its palpitating beats coming to a standstill. It was by now that my lungs had made their last breath, and I was continuing to fall, letting myself die with the fading light that was the surface. . . that and a flash of silver. Wait. Silver? Not even having the energy to care, I waited for the fish to come and start eating at my flesh, as though I were dead already (though, truthfully, I couldn't tell if I was or wasn't, for how could I even see a fish if I was dead? Or how could I feel this cold, have my heart cease beating, let my lungs collapse on me and still live?).

Yet. . . there was no flesh nibbling. There was no painful chewing. There was no tearing at the sinew of my body, ripping chunks of meat from my bones, piece by piece, or blood-stained waters. I was not dead, being eaten by small crustaceans on the bottom of the deep, or by fish swimming placidly in their schools. As a matter of fact, I could see the pale light of the surface already, shining brightly as though they were the gates of heaven. Yes, that must be it! I've died, left my body, that hollow shell that never felt a thing, and am floating to bliss. . . but should I not be going the other way? And. . .what was this feeling? This tenderness all around me? I felt as though I was being touched by a cushion. . .but the strength of that which held me was much harder, as though it were a stone of flesh, covered in soft skin.

If I had had the energy to whip open my eyes, I would have, for never, EVER, had I been held in the arms of another!

Yet. . .Oh! It was such a wondrous feeling. In protection's grace, I faltered to move, only climbing closer to a hard chest. A woman? No, for I have not yet known a woman with such a flat. . .firm. . .and utterly soothing chest. Though, I haven't known many women either, so that could always throw a wrench into my hypothesis. Nevertheless, not really caring whether the entity was man or woman, I felt happiness fill me for once as the cold faded with this warm touch. All the questions that plagued my mind constantly, the result of common sense no doubt, disintegrated in the blink of an eye as two large, rough hands clasped me tighter, holding me close as we broke through the surface.

Water trickled from my face, blurring my eyes and filling my mouth with a bitter taste. The serene sound of waves, the sporadic tide of the azure shores, was distant as the mulling of my own heartbeat erupted around me. I was still floating, still suspended and carried, as though the lake itself was gliding beneath me. Currents below my frail, floating body slowly drifted me to the edge of land, the feel of soft grass and even softer grains of earth upon my hide. Was I in Heaven? Was I in Hell? Surely, I must be dead. . . I must be. . .

But, yet again, the feel of a soothing touch, so yielding against my skin that it could be no rougher than the nuzzle of a lamb, lingered on my body; the memory of a sole embrace harkening to my soul that, indeed, I was among the living. . .though I had previously tried to remedy said fact. Sputtering water, my eyes fluttering endlessly, I tried to remove the cloud that hung over them, even if only to see my savior for just once. Yet, when my eyes finally opened, like the pale morning and it's fresh dew on the leaf-tops, he. . .or she. . .was gone. Perhaps a part of me wept for that, for I at least wanted to thank the person, whoever they may be. Nonetheless, I managed to stand, my lungs coughing and hacking to get rid of the fluid in my chest. Ugh! How my lungs hurt to breathe!

And, though my chest was burning, perhaps from emotion and that hellish cough, all I could desperately think of was finding this enigma that had saved my life, perhaps even my soul, from damnation. Standing as best I could, not really even noticing that I was only in a loin cloth (A notion that would usually make me turn bright red, despite my tan skin, in thinking that anyone saw me as such. . .) I cried out to the shallow waters, to the profound depths, to the very heart and body and soul of the lake. I was searching. . .searching with my eyes and my ears for one sign that this was not a dream. That All-God REALLY hadn't intervened, for the thought plainly scared me. . .

Yet my voice, the streaming echo of my pleas, so dire and desperate as a fawn to its doe, met nothing. "Please! ! ! For what honor there be, I should wish to thank mine savior, mine angel, that has helped me so! Will you not come out and face me? Will you hide from me as such? Please! I only wish to THANK thee for thy kindness! That is all I wish! Will you not grant me as much?" I called out to the abyss; there was nothing. Not even the trees, with their soft breath of whispering leaves, would answer my call, leaving me much troubled and sour. Feeling scared and sad at the same time, I conceded to the will of this strange being to remain unknown, but was not at all glad of it.

Picking up my discarded clothes, I held onto them for dear life, ebony eyes mournfully scanning the lake one last time, before my feet took me up the path, large bucket in hand, urging me onward to finish what I had begun. After four hours of scrubbing, I still couldn't get the image out of my mind. . . The flash of silver, a warm embrace, and the mystery that the lake now held for me. . .and why I wanted so badly to know its gilded secrets.

The next morning was wrought with dew-spun webs of cold fog and rain. I could feel the drizzle of the tepid tears of the sky falling slowly onto my face, like the mist of falling water to the jagged rocks about its mouth. I stared longingly out my window, the trees, as forever green in the woods as it could be, swayed in the rush of the breeze. The winds, coming forcefully at times, made the rain patter against the roof, creating a rhythm of falling drops. I listened to said rhythm as I sat upon my chair, the fire in the hearth whistling and popping like an angry mother bear's jaw. Yet, despite the warmth given from its noisy flames, I felt ever colder by the minute.

Who was that person? Where had they come from? Who was mine savior, really? These things I pondered over again and again, trying to find a semblance of an answer for my ravenous curiosity. Several times I wished to leave the dank, dark cabin, which shut me in like a bird to a cage, free to do as I will, except leave the bars which held me so steadfast. Though, when met by the dismal surroundings, the weather that poured its vengeance from the sky, I thought against it, even if that did mean that I would never see mine savior again. . . Perhaps it was best that I didn't, for imagination can serve just as good a companion, if not better, and to wonder about mine angel's face would be by far the better choice than disappointment.

Yes, in the privacy of the wooden cage, I could think of this "savior" as handsome, young and kind. . .This angel would come and take me away, I fancied. They would come and free me at last from the wicked Hell that was my life, whisking me off to some foreign land where no one knew my name. . .not that anyone knew me now, of course. He or she, whoever they may be, would be my guardian and protect me from the cruel contempt of people; that is truly what I wished for. And, the more that I thought, the more that I craved, I found myself gradually, over the next few days, thinking about this enigma in more of. . .a romantic sense.

I can recall waking from a dream, hot all over and sweating, my lips still tingling and my heart beating as fast as a hummingbird's wing. It was, solely, the most frightening thing I had ever experienced, and I wondered how such passion could come from me. How could I, a person who hated the contact of others, who despised other beings, save for animals, with a passion, be so easily aroused by the thought of a kiss or the touch of a hand, and from an UNKNOWN entity no less!? Then again, this creature, if creature it be, held no malice within it, otherwise I would have been in pain as soon as it touched me. Suddenly realizing this, I came to wonder if the entity was even a person at all.

I was cursed, was I not? I was doomed and scorned to walk the earth and never know the touch of another, if only for the fact that I could feel their hatred within me, such a thing that would pain me to no end. So then, certainly, this creature that saved me, mine angel, could not be Human, Youkai, Tenshi or Draconian in nature. They could not be an Elf, a Dwarf, or even a Spirit! So then, how? How could what I touched and what saved me not have hurt me so?

Mayhap it was not, in fact, the race I thought it to be? Perhaps I had been saved by a giant fish. . .or some other form of animal? Suddenly I felt incredibly silly, for what I had just dreamed was NOT of the appropriate nature. . .and it was about my savior no less. Had I just dreamed as such of an animal? As the thought left me, I shivered coldly in its passing, and resolved then and there to NEVER think of mine savior again. . .though it was hard in doing so.

Each rainy day after rainy day, I would stare out my window, wondering what circumstances had led to our encounter. Certainly, anyone would think me folly for having such hopes in another meeting, but I could still dream, couldn't I? So desperate in my waking hours, alone and filled with spite towards everything around me, I found it a calm solace to finally be bemused with a more pleasant part of my imagination. Who was mine angel? I had little clues, and even less courage. For, you see, once I would regularly visit the shallow waters of the frigid lake, but now, having been encountered by such an enigma, I feared to return. Oh! Such a coward I was! Hated malice of my own being, my own spinelessness, filled every day, for I cursed my weaknesses, especially my fear. . .

Yet, when the angry purple clouds finally cleared from the sky, their burden to be spent on greener pastures, and not the spiny, scratchy wood, I found my chances to see the lake again more. . .and my water supply less. Thus, out of necessity, I came once again to the yellow sands that paved the way along the lakeshore, a strong sensation of worry, anxiety that bubbled from within the very pits of my heart, mulling me over like a pig on a spit. Though I stayed far off from the water for some time, simply gazing through the forest like a spying bird, waiting to catch their prey. The buzz of the world around me, my own personal civilization from which I wrought much pleasant company, filled my ears with the calls of birds and bugs and animal chattering.

I could see the bees as they buzzed from their hive, floating on blue- tipped winds from flower to flower, causing buds to trembled and sway under their caresses. The lark, sweet tunes ringing forthwith from her loving mouth, fluttered about the tall, dark leaves in which she and her kin lived. Fish, gold and silver and all the colors of the rainbow, jumped for joy at the chance of an early morning fly to land upon their waters, provided quite a scrumptious meal. All around, above and below, rang the chorus of the forest; from prattling squirrel, to cawing crow, there was not an animal silent in these woods. . .save one.

I sat against the rough bark of a tree, hands pressed lightly against the rough palm of the tree, tracing my fingers over its fingerprints with nervous care. My eyes peered out upon the lake, so serene and lively, the perfect contradiction, but refused to move. Nothing but my worry kept me glued to where I stood, and only anger with myself bade me not to return to my cabin. . .along with that of my empty bucket. Suddenly, I caught sight of a flash of pallid, colorless figure, tinged with the blue hue of the waters, as though a corpse floating dead in the sea of ice. Filled with apprehension was my heart, beating at a pace so rapid I wondered how it did not bust unto a million shards. Yet, anchored to where I stood, my feet like lead and my heart a flutter of fear, I watched on as the white shape became a form. . .a Human form.

Pale skin like alabaster, so colorless in fact that it held an azure tint to it, which was flawlessly marked here and there with strange tattoos. A bare, flat chest, with a strong build, yet a flimsy, slim and sleek air about his hands and face, it seemed, suggesting that the stranger was, indeed, male in gender. He looked tall, handsome, from what I could see, and was undeniably young. Hair the color of the ocean waves, spiked like the sea-foam tipped currents against the coast, a place I had only seen once in my childhood. I could not see his eyes, nor most of his face, as he slowly came form from the water, but, oh!

A blush painted my cheeks as I watched, with unblinking eyes, as he rose from the water, exposing his full glory. I wanted to run and hide, for I had never seen such anatomy. . .aside from my own of course. He was. . .well. . .he was rather large. Turning all the more red, I averted my eyes at last, staring at the ground like a fool and wondering why I was flustered. So "distressed" was I about this strange man's current lack of clothing, that I barely could remember my fear of strangers, especially one of this nature. What was such a person doing here, in the middle of the wood? Not only was this place dangerous, but it was completely isolated! How could he have gotten here?

Yet, I had no time to muse, for said stranger, not stopping on his trudge up the sandbank, was approaching in EXACTLY my direction! Panicking as a rabbit caught by a hunter, I turned to run, praying speed be on my side, and tripped right over my contemptible bucket, cursing the damned object as I fell backwards. I cried out as my body slammed into the dirt, rolling a little out of the bushes. . .and right into the arms of the stranger. The lofty gentleman gave a surprised yelp, withdrawing backwards onto the sand, with me atop his supple figure. If I hath been as red as an apple before, I was now as red as a dozen, spitting sand from my mouth and trying desperately to struggle away. To my complete horror, I was held back by a pair of strong, yet gentle, hands.

"Let go of me, I say! Let go! I beseech thee, Sir; remove thy hands from me!" I hissed, tugging and twisting my wrists to free myself from his grasp. Though, truth be told, I was avoiding looking at his face, fearing that I would find it handsome and be all the more fascinated with this naked creature. . .Ugh! Thoughts of nakedness only worsened the crimson burn upon my countenance.

"Aye, I shall. . .But first I may wish to know what angel hath fallen from the heavens to land so lightly atop me."

His voice was calm and strong, seemingly as dark as the mountain base, as silky as cream and tasting just as sweet to the ears. I was compelled to look at his face, but, being so infuriated by his obviously FORWARD actions, I struggled all the more. "I wish NOT to tell thee my name, so leave me in peace and be gone!" At this he only chuckled, holding me tighter to him, and making me ever more aware of his bare and open state. Such a contemptible bastard!

"How now? Dost thou speak so ill of me? After all, tis hard to be a cushion for even such a fair falling star. . ." came his fine reply, so cunningly performed as though to make a maiden blush and show some thigh. What does he think me? A whore to be won by pretty words! How dare such a person, one that I don't even know, try moving me!

Finally having enough, I pushed him forcefully away, rolling over in the sand and to my feet in less than an instant. Thank All-God for my fast reflexes, coming from living more than half of my life in the wood. "I care not what harm I inflicted upon you, for, if cushion you be, you were quite the hard one in return! Good day, Sir, for I will have no more of your false utterances!" So angered was I that I completely forgot my shyness and stared right into his face. . .and such a handsome face it was! Two aqua eyes to match his hair, like stunning azure gems of the sea-streaming tide. Like treasure from galleons long washed away, and, by and by, there was such beauty in those two, clear eyes. . .

"Well, than hear an utterance not false, but true. . . My name is Aphianos Dray Curinriu. I mean thee no harm, but only wished to know thy name. . .After all, tis not our first encounter, is it?" he said with a silky smile, one that could have made marrow melt and tongue go slack. Yet. . .not our first encounter? Was he mad? I had not seen this man in all my life, and somehow was not glad that I could not say the same were I to meet him again.

"What say you? I know you not. . .No first encounter have we had, for I consider this HARDLY an encounter; I consider this a displeasing first acquaintance! I have never -!" suddenly I stopped in mid-sentence, remembering the feel of his hands. . .the fact that, through such a touch, I felt no malice or pain. . .and the realization that they were as warm and as soft as mine savior's. Suddenly it dawned on me that he and this CRETIN were one in the same, and, had I the breath to do so, I would have screamed and wailed hatred to the heavens for such a horrid trick! Ghastly ghosts and Hell's bane! ! ! Why must All-God be such a bastard? ! Just about ready to start howling to the spiteful sky, I was interrupted by the smooth voice of the naked man sitting in the sands nearby. . .

"You know, I hardly think that suicide is a good thing. . .After all, thee are such a beautiful entity, so dark and morbid that it only makes the world brighter all around you, my Ebony Beauty. . . Perhaps if you were not such a shrew, nor lived in such an inaccessible residence, you would be more inclined to friends and happiness, aye?"

His words burned me greatly, especially with his nonchalant tone and even more. . .open. . .physical state. Oh, LORD! Give this man at least a decent pair of clothes so that he may not distract me from my anger with his obvious nudity! Must he ACCENTUATE such things?! A crude man indeed! Growling angrily, my teeth bared in a white, flashing sneer, I stared through him with my fist intent on bloody murder as their knuckles turned white at my sides. "HAVE YOU NO SHAME!? You putrid animal come here to make my woe only more INTOLERABLE! You are an insufferable worm to say such things about someone whose name you don't even KNOW!"

"Well. . .that could easily be remedied if you would have the courtesy to tell it," he chided, sitting back languidly and picking at his nails. I was about to MURDER him and dump his body, belly up, so that the damnedable crows might have a place to perch, in the lake! How could such a bastard, seemingly more handsome than I, myself, was, be MINE ANGEL?! No, the detestable swine must be lying, adding only more scores to his number of falsehoods! May he rot in HELL!

"PIG!" I cried, flustered and angry beyond words, as I turned sharply on my heel and ran up the path to my house. I did not look back once, not even for a moment, my anger seething like Hell's fire within me! Such a bastard! SUCH A BASTARD! Hath even an OUNCE of wit within him, he would know all too well to have killed himself, instead of saving those that wished to die! Hated, beautiful face though he had, he was merely all talk and no loins (That or all loins and no talk. . .)! I would see him dead, drowned, or HANGED if I could have managed it, but, for now, I will simply brew with mine anger. . .for NEVER AGAIN will I go down to that lake.

Oh. . .wait. . .

I FORGOT MY DAMNABLE BUCKET! ! !

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

NOTE: Alright. . .I know as well as all of you that I suck at this sort of elegant, opulent language, even though it be English and my own. --;; Yet, I ask that you look over my bad grammar and strained sentences, for I am NO Shakespeare; I pray you will not kill me for trying. Thank you and adieu! : )

Repsychus