A/N: i did this in my Creative Writing class, we had to make a descriptive paragraph-thingy... please tell me what you think! if i get enough reviews i might make this into an actual story!! although... i might not get any reviews at all... so then, i would just keep it like this! kk... i'll let you read my descriptive paragraph-thingy...

SUMMARY: descriptive paragraph of someone happening onto thier young king's murder scene... DUN DUN DUN!!

A Moment in Time

Mythical Luver

Everything I could hear was quiet, almost as quiet as the moment before the sun breaks the dawn sky and the birds awaken to welcome the new day. But, today, it would not be so welcoming here, in the palace. When I walked in, I saw nothing out of the ordinary, just the curtains swaying with the wind of the upcoming storm, the livid purple of the boy’s bed sheets, the dark mahogany dresser,the night black tiles sweeping through the floor, only coming to a halt right at the boy’s bed. But, when I took a second look at the bed, there was a huge puddle in the middle of the young king’s bed, like he had forgotten to get out of the bed again before he went to the bathroom. I touched his wooden dresser, only fit for a king, which always smelt like the forest. But instead of touching the smooth mahogany, I felt a chink, just like someone had swung an axe and barely missed his target instead hitting the already-dead object. I had not really taken a good look at my surroundings before, but as I did so, I noticed that there was a musty odor in the air, although the curtains were slashing around inside with the force of the gales of the wind, soaked with the rainwater from the storm that had just come to my senses. I thought I remembered closing the windows that night before I left the king, but it must have opened with the force of the winds, although I could not understand how a little bit of wind would open a ten pound window pane. As I strode towards the windows to shut them, I had remembered that there was a wet spot on the bed, although it was far from the stain the rain had made in the form of a line, and so I slowly, with as much as my practiced stealth that I could use in my moment of panic, walked over to feel if that wet spot was just a trick that the night usually played. When I felt the dampness, I was still hoping, like all of the other citizens of this country, that it was just water. But as I saw what was on my hand, something as red as a strawberry, although not so pleasant, I felt something watery slide on my cheek, and then fall into my mouth, with all of its sorrow, grief, and sadness, something that was so salty I had to choke back a sob. It was then that I understood I had been crying since I first felt that chink in the king’s smooth mahogany dresser.