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https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-rebekah-clair-dreamer/

Rebekah Clair Dreamer She Ran Through The Hall With A Sudden Burst Of Energy As If Someone Was Following Her. He Black Dress That Hit The Ground With Such Elegance Was Hitting up Against Her Heels. The Hall Was Winding Down As She Was Coming To The Turn That Would Set Her Free. When Every Thing Went Black, She Had Hit Her Magic Home Were She Swear Nothing Could Get To Her. Not Even The Darkness That Was Following Her From Behind. The Land She Had Built In Her Day Dreams During Lunch When No One Would Sit With Her. The Land That Was Filled With Color. And The Only Space Were She Could Never Hear A Thought In Another Head. The Place Were She Could Finally Be Alone. Her Dream Had Ended When Her Alarm Clock Went Off. She Was Sweaty And Clammy In That Satin Purple Bed Set Her Aunt Had Bought Her For Her Birthday Three Years Ago When She Turned 11. She Had This Changeless Dream Repeatedly. She Never Saw The Ending Of What Actually Happened Due To Waking Up. All She Knew Was She Was In That Same Dress. In The Constant Hall. Running From The Unaltered Feeling. The Thing She Could Never See But Always Felt. She Got Up From The Bed In Her Normal Routine. She Let Her Long Red Locks Fall Down Out Of The Messed Up Ponytail Her Hair Was Always In At Night. She Went To Her Closet And Saw That Identical Dress That Was In Her Dream. The One She Always Had Dreaded. Finally Ready She Went Out Side To Her Normal Bus. When She Finally Got To School Her Ipod Would Go On And She Would Block Everyone Out. It Was The Easiest Way To Stay Calm And Try To Understand That Dream She Had Every Night. School To Her Was Pure Torcher. With No Friends She Was Alone Which Made Her Think About That Dream Even More. The Dream. The Dream That Was Always Dreaded. The Dream Always In Her Mind. When Lunch Finally Roles Around She Sits By Herself Until A Newbie Comes Into The Pictures... "Hi I'm Alex" He Said With A Smile. "Are You Sure You Wanna Sit Here? With Me?" She Replied Scared To Hear His Answer Even Though It Was Nice To Have Some Company. "Yeah I Do. Is That A Problem?" He Asked Heartfelt. "No It's Just Nobody Ever Wants To Sit With Me. I'm Different" She Answered Scarcely. "Everybody's Different. I Didn't Happen To Catch Your Name. Let Me Guess Lizze?" Alex Asked With A Decent Guess. The Same Guess Everyone Had Ever Said To Her. "No Actually My Names Savannah, But All My Family Calls Me Vannah." She Said Knowing He Was Going To Ask What Her Friends Call Her. "So What Do You Friends Call You? Like Vannah-Bannah?" Alex Asked With A Grin From Ear To Ear Eager To Hear Any Thing And Every Thing He Could About Her. "Actually I Don't Have Any Friends..." Savannah Said While Holding Tears Back. "Oh I'm Sorry." He Said Wondering Why She Doesn't "It's Fine Don't Worry." She Said Ready To Burst Out Crying. She Had Always Wanted Friends. Some One To Talk To. A Shoulder To Lean On. Somebody That Was Always Gonna Be There For Her. Once Lunch Had Finally Ended Alex Was Thinking Different. At First He Thought She Was A Freak For Sitting By Herself. But He Found Out It Was Because She Kept To Herself. Savannah Found Out She Had Her Last Three Periods With Alex. English, German, And Art. The Longest Periods Of The Day. English And German She Was Fine In But When It Came To Art She Had No Artistic Ability. During Art Class Alex Asked "So How Good Are You At This?" Savannah Replied "I Suck At Art Always Have Always Will" "You Might Not Always, You Never Know The World Is Filled With Possibilities" Ales Said With As Much Love As Possible. He Thought About Everything He Knew About Her. Everything She Told Him. He Thought he Was Falling For Her. It Might Have Only Been The First Day That They Knew Each Other But He Figured What The Hell, She Might Be Worth It. Savannah Didn't Want To Fall For Him But She Couldn't Help It. She Didn't Want Him To Hurt Her. She Wouldn't Know Until She Tried. She Wasn't Going To Ask Him First Though. Once The End Of School Rolled Around She Was Confident He Liked Her. But She Still Wasn't Going To Ask First. "So Vannah..." Alex Said. "So Alex...." She Said With A Smile She Has Yet To Let Out. "I Was Thinking, Would You Like To Um Go Out Some Time?" Alex Ask Not Confident In What She Was Going To Say. "I Would Love To...But I Don't Think You'll Actually Wanna Be Seen With Me In Public I Mean I'm The Freak Of The Town." She Said Knowing She Wants To But Also Knowing He Probably Has No Idea What He Was Talking About. "Savannah I Want To. Even Just Meeting You I Know I Wanna Go Out With you At Least Once. I'll Pick You Up At Eight. Wear Something Nice Please." He Said With A Smile. "Okay. Pick Me Up At 13 Lagune Avenue." She Said Wondering Why She Had To Dress Nice. "Okay. I'll See You Later." As He Ran Away Towards The Bend In The Street That Would Bring Him To Production Road. When Savannah Got Home She Hopped Into The Shower. She Figured A Nice Hot Shower Would Calm Her Down From Her Ecstatic Day. When She Got Out She Wasn't Even Thinking About That Dream When She Put On That Elegant Black Dress That Hit The Floor With Such Sophistication. She Did Her Make Up She Was Debating On If She Should Really Do This. She Put On Those Silver Pumps She Adored And The Ones Always In Her Dream. When Eight Finally Rolled Around She Was So Excited. The Clock On Her Wall Was Ticking As If Time Was To Stop At Any Second. She Just Waited Until He Finally Showed Up On Her Doorstep. He Knocked Once, Twice And There She Was. "Wow You Look Amazing!" Alex Said With A Grin. "Thanks. So Do You!" Savannah Was Thinking At This Moment She Was Luckiest Girl In The World. Even Though She Might Not Have Any Friends Alex Filled In For It. Alex And Savannah Were On There Way To The Fanciest Restaurant In The Entire Town, Ellie's Corner. It Might Not Sound All That Great But When You Live In A Very Small That's What Your Gonna Get. But She Knew That This Was Going To Be Good. "So You Really Ran Into A Tree When You Were Five?" She Asked Not Believing It. "Yeah I Did. I Was Okay But After That My Brother Started Laughing So Hard He Fell Out Of The Tree I hit!" Alex Said With Such Interest. "I'll Be Right Back..."Savannah Said "Okay Sweetie..." Alex Said With A Caring Sense. She Walked Out Of The Room And Into A Hall Way That Was Just Like In Her Dream. Everything Was Starting To Become Familiar. She Was Wearing The Same Dress. With The Silver Shoes That Were In Her Dream. Every One Who Was There Had Disappeared She Was Alone. Coming Down To That Bend That Would Set Her Free. When She Realized She Was Being Chased. By A Feeling Of Darkness. No Body Actually Behind Her, Just The Feeling Of Darkness. She Took The Bend And Ended Up Going Through To The Bathroom. The Hem Of Her Dress Was Torn From Hitting Her Heels. Now She's Wondering What The Dream Meant. When She Finally Got Back, Alex Hadn't Even Noticed How Long She Was Gone. That's Because She Was Only Gone Three Minutes In What Seemed Like Forever. Publication Date: October 12th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-xo.rebekahclair

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-leah-minick-nothing-short-of-miserable/

Leah Minick Nothing Short of Miserable I dedicte this story to my best friend Tiffany Kahl, who has been there through the good and bad times. Publication Date: April 25th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-lilleahgirl

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-arianna-bivens-and-nia-benoit-pms-ing-while-bs-ing/

Arianna Bivens and Nia Benoit PMS-ing While BS-ing ~2nd book to 'The Third Wheel'~ To Mrs. E, who thought it was a good book, gave us courge, so we said "Hey! Why stop there?" Two Years Later... Publication Date: December 23rd 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-miamivampie123

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-rwby-lover-kirito-039-s-surprise-part-8/

RWBY lover, Asuna yuuki Kirito's Surprise part 8 Silica's feelings Silica awoke looking at the ceiling remembering what she had saw as she bursted into tears thinking of kazuto, "i'm in love with kazuto" she said to her self crying as her heart started burning as she was thinking of what happened. "Silica come down stairs some one is here to see you" her mom said from the stairs as silica opened her door and walked down looking down and crying as she saw it was kazuto and she just fell to the floor crying, "whats wrong silica" as she was crying on the floor she scream at kazuto " get out leave me alone, please" she said with a trembling voice and closed her eyes from looking at kazuto, but kazuto picked her up and looked her in the eyes, "please dont cry silica, it hurts to see a freind cry" he said with a sad look in his eyes she could tell he was serious about her feeling as she screamed "I love you kazuto I always have ever since we met in Sword art online but those other girls have just made it impossible to get to you and i love you i love you i love you" she said without hesitating as she kept crying and kazuto just held her in his arms as silica got free from his hug she ran up to her room crying, her mom looked at kazuto " im sorry kazuto, i dont know whats gotten into her". kazuto walked up to her room as he knocked on the door "silica please let me in" as he said that the door opened as silica started looking at him "please go away, I hate you" she scream and fell to the floor as he got on his knees holding her she started lightly hitting him "i hate you, leave me alone" she said while crying, kazuto just held her as she quieted down "i love you two silica" her eyes opened wide with a sad face and she started crying again putting her face in his chest as she fell asleep and he just held her while she fell asleep "huh kazuto what are you doing here" elisbeth said walking up to silicas room as she saw her asleep in kazuto's arms "well you see she was crying and she's in love with me and she fell asleep crying" kazuto said while picking her up in his arms putting her to bed. "let her sleep" he grabbed elizbeth by the hand and walked down stair as silicas mom looked at them "shes asleep, shell be happy when she wakes up" kazuto said with a smile, "she really loves you, you know that right kazuto" the mom said with a concerned look on her face "yeah i know and i love her too" he walked out dragging elisbeth out side with him. Publication Date: October 9th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-narutolover11

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-breana-g-more-than-life/

Breana G More Than Life Seven Days After Father hung his head down while mother dug her face into my brothers arm. My grandma sniffled and wrapped her hand around her husband's hand. I looked down upon everyone, not having the ability to cry along with everyone else in the big, white church. My friends and acquaintances sat on the left side of the church. My closest friends were in the front row. At the end of the row, next to the wall, there was enough room for one more person though. I scanned around, looking for one person in particular. I wondered if that was where he was going to be seated. Hearing a loud sobber come walking through the arche way in the back of the room, Jan, my best friend, staggered in with her family. The main speaker for the funeral lead the way for Jan to sit in the front row. I began to choke up a bit. I wondered where Sheldon was. I looked everywhere for him, but couldn't see him.  I then looked down at myself. My eyes were closed and I couldn't bare the thought of myself dead. But, right in front of me, I was settled in a soft, cozy blue coffin. My hands were rested on my stomach as my fake hair was spread evenly around my head and over my shoulders. I was wearing my favorite white dress that hung above my knees. My nails were painted the color red, while my face had barely any makeup on it.  I blinked in disgust. I wanted people to see me beside my coffin. I wanted people to know that I was still alive! At least I still thought I was... As my eyes began to water, but nothing would flow out, I watched as the main speaker stepped up to the podium. He adjusted the microphone so it would stick out just a foot away from his lips. He cleared his throat and the church went silent.  "We are gathered here today to respect the passing of this beautiful, sweet, one of a kind young women, Estell. All of us here today have shared memories with her, and she is definitely someone we will never forget," he took a deep breath and tapped the hard wood he had his hands rested on.  His voice went silent in my ears as he began to speak again. I glanced up at the arche way and noticed someone slide in. Squinting my eyes, I noticed it was Sheldon. I waved my hands and tried to smile, but couldn't. I did everything I could to get his attention, but I had to stop myself, remembering he couldn't see me; nobody could.  Sheldon stood against the wall, next to plenty of others. Many people stood along the walls that surrounded the benches in the church. I had no clue that, that many people cared. Scrunching my eyebrows together, I swiftly made my way through the aisle way. I honestly didn't expect Sheldon to show up. I had many reasons on why, too. One: he dumped me in early October, and it had been months since we've last spoken a long conversation or anything. Two: he was too scared and upset to even see me while I was in the hospital. Three: we only spoke a few times on the phone while I was in the hospital, and he always had to get off the phone because something usually "came up". Four: He never came and saw me. Five: He stopped loving me a long time ago. At least I'm assuming so. (There's many more reasons, but I don't want to list every single one out.)  I stood next to Sheldon. I never thought I'd stand next to him again, since the last time we saw each other was early September. He was shaking and his eyes were watery. I stood on my tippy toes and moved my lips to his ears. He closed his eyes as if he knew something was going to be said to him. "Please don't cry," I whispered.  Sheldon's eyes quickly swung open and he looked around. I slightly smiled as my eyes filled up with tears. I questioned myself on whether he heard me or not. But, as he touched his ear and gulped, and looked in my direction, I stuck with 'he did hear me'. 80 Days Before "He dumped you?!" Nick asked with loudness included in the tone of his voice. I nodded my head and slightly chuckled, "yeah. He had some stupid reasons, too." Nick sat down, along with me, at our usual table. "Well, what were his reasons?" I cleared my throat and then let out a sigh, "he said he didn't like the distance between us, which is a stupid excuse, because he's the one who practically begged me to be his girlfriend, and what do you expect out of a long distance relationship? You obviously can't see each other every day." I paused to shake my head, "then he said he just wanted to be friends." "Are you serious?" Nick questioned, taking a bite out of his sandwich. I bit my bottom lip, nodding my head again, "yeah, and what I don't understand is, if he meant it when he said he loved me, why didn't he just ignore the distance like how I have been these past couple years? I mean, come on! He either was desperate to have a girlfriend, or he just wanted to hurt me again. From the stories he's told me, it seems as if he enjoys hurting others." "Are you just now realizing he's a douche?"  I shrugged, "I mean, I've always known he was, but I never wanted to admit it, you know? I just don't wanna see that side of Sheldon. Only because he was so sweet to  me-" Nick waved his hand in my face, quickly swallowing his food, which was rude, but it was a good way to make me stop talking, "no, no, no. Cheating on you or dumping you twice is not sweet. He is not sweet. Don't ever, and I mean it, call him sweet again. Never put him in the same sentence as sweet. Those two things do not mix well together." Nick took a drink out of his plastic water bottle and shook his head, "now, I'm not an expert on him, nor do I even know him, but he's not a swell guy it seems like. It's best you completely call it off with him. Tell him tonight you don't wanna talk again, or at least until you're over him." I laughed, throwing my head back. I stomped the floor and grabbed my stomach. Then, suddenly going back into all-seriousness, I began to speak, "um, I've been trying to get over him for like the past two years. That boat's already sunken a long time ago, and it'll never rise up again. I don't think I'll ever get over him." "See, all you girls are the same. You obviously have never tried since you took him back twice. Hell! You took him back after he cheated on you! God knows if he cheated on you this last relationship!" Anger began to structure up inside me. Nick was partially right on what he had said. The part he was correct on was the "cheating" part. He could have cheated on me again. It wouldn't be a surprise, just because A: once a cheater, always a cheater! And B: it was such a random breakup, but it was also obvious the few days before he dumped me, if that makes sense? But, the part he wasn't correct on was the "you obviously have never tried" part. Of course I've tried! Maybe I didn't try hard enough, but I did my best. Honestly, in my opinion, Sheldon's just an irresistable guy. "Sorry if I blew your buzz down, but I'm your friend. I can't just lie and spill out sweet words all   the time."  Nick was right. I needed to know the blunt expressions and thoughts in life on different things. Not everything's going to come easy or free.  "Hey guys!" I heard from behind me.  I turned around in notice of Nick's older brother, David. "Hey," I said. He sat down, putting his white foam tray on the table, "everyone'll be here in a few. There's a football meeting right now." I nodded, wondering how the guys were going to act once they got to the table. Most days they were noisy, while others they were calm and chatted about football or some other sport.  For a few moments, things were silent between the three of us. David being the most obnoxious one, I assumed he would've said something by then. I glanced over at Nick, who was finishing up his sandwich and drinking the last bit of his water. Then I glanced at David. His lips were straight, which was rare, and he was slightly pale, which was a little out of the ordinary. "What's wrong, David?" I asked. Nick shot his head up and looked at me, then David. David cleared his throat and put his milk carton down on the tray after opening it, "what do you mean?" "Today's Wednesday. You guys usually have meetings on Friday's. You're awfully pale, you're not smiling, and you're really quiet, which isn't usual," I explained. In the corner of my eye, I could see Nick pick at his carrots. He was looking down, as well as David. Something was most definitely up. I then realized Nick wasn't at the meeting. I was suddenly confused. Hearing a sigh come from David, I looked up at him. He was clenching his jaw together and his knuckles were turning white. I felt as if he was getting mad at me for pointing out the obvious, so I kept my mouth shut and snuck a carrot from Nick's little bag and nibbled at it until the rest of the guys got to the table.   78 Days Before I stood next to the football players locker room door, in hopes Nick and David would be out before they had to go to the field. But, before the deep thoughts of Nick could sink in, the smell of coffee coming closer to me had my undivided attention. Turning my head, I noticed Jan holding two white chocolate ice mocha's from Starbucks. I slightly smiled as she handed me one, "my mom went into town and decided to get us some coffee. Enjoy." "Tell her I said thanks," I said taking a sip out of the straw.  I looked at the door, looking forward to it opening by either David or Nick. I don't think Jan knew why I was standing there, so I told her I was waiting for them. "Are you giving them a good luck kiss?" she asked. I let out a loud sarcastic 'Hah' and raised an eyebrow, "because I would kiss a brother in front of another." "Why not? They're both hot!" "Well, still. That'd be weird and uncalled for. We're all friends, and no. I just couldn't." "Nick most definitely needs a good luck kiss," Jan pointed out. I sighed. The thought of the news everyone has been sharing with each other like it's some kind of healthy disease, made my stomach turn. I looked down at the ground and Nick's voice echoed through my mind. I felt bad, but there was nothing anyone could do to help him. "Let's not talk about that right now," I offered. "Talk about what?" I heard come from the door.  It was slowly opening and it was Nick coming out. He had a small smile on his face, and I just couldn't help but smile as well. He had his jersey on, but instead of wearing his full uniform, he just wore Nike shorts, black Nike socks, and white Nike sandals. "I thought you were playing?" Jan asked with minor confusion. Nick glanced down at the tiled floor, "I thought so too, until last night the doctor said I couldn't." "Well, why not?"  "So many questions, Jan," Nick chuckled. "Because, since I'm out there a lot and running a whole bunch and shit, he thinks it could disrupt the brain stem." My eyes began to water and I dropped my coffee.  "Seriously, Estell?!" Jan hollered. I flung into Nick's arms as he stood still like a statue for a moment. He then wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on my head. "It's gonna be fine," He reassured me. I shook my head, "why didn't I know about this until yesterday?" I paused to take a deep breath, "why didn't you or David tell me when you found out?" I could feel Nick shake his head, "I didn't want anyone to know so soon, but David having a big mouth, he spilled the beans and told people. I especially didn't want you to know until later, only because I didn't wanna see you upset. So please do me a favor?" My lips quivered and my eyes closed tightly. I nodded, but I guess that wasn't a good enough response. He unglued my body from his and put my chin up so my eyes could meet his, "can you do me a favor?" I giggled. He was smiling, but you could easily see the agony building up in his eyes. I felt bad! "Depends," I said. "Don't ever frown and don't ever cry. Smile with me and everyone else. There's honestly nothing to be upset about, alright?" I nodded my head and hugged him tightly, "I'll try," I mummered. "No, you're not gonna try, you're gonna do." "You sound like her dad," Jan laughed. I couldn't help but laugh either. It was true; my dad did sort of talk like that.  "I do, don't I?" Nick chuckled. We let go of each other and cleaned up the spilt coffee. It was probably uncalled-for to make that little scene, but I couldn't help it. I was in shock, though.    Same Night "Can I ask you something I've always wanted to ask?" Nick questioned. "Of course," I answered. He looked out into the field. The guys were playing under the bright lights, which was pretty cool. You could see the fog rolling in, and the mist in the air that was surrounding them, and everyone watching the game. The lights that reflected in Nick's eyes made the blue look gorgeous. His eyes had the endless love of mine. He turned his head and caught my stare and smiled, "how does it feel to sit with all the varsity guys? You're the only girl, and I'd assume it'd be quite awkward." I giggled, "your assumption is incorrect. I mean, last year it was awkward because I was a freshman and I only knew you and David. But, it's really nice and fun. Just because you guys are so carefree and sitting with you guys gives me the chance to get away from all the girl drama outside of lunch." Nick nodded and looked out at the field again. "Do girls say anything about you sitting with us?" I looked out into the field, too. The crowd of people in the stadium cheered as number 13, which was David's friend Michael, made a touch down. I waited until the crowd simmered down to speak, "eh, some girls do. They always ask about you and David. You guys are like the hot topic in all my classes." Nick looked at me with a puzzled look, "you're kidding, right?" I shook my head, "nope. I'm being serious." Nick gasped and raised both his eyebrows, "how come I can't ever get a girlfriend?" I giggled, "I'm sure you will soon enough. There's tons of girls lined up... Just waiting to be yours." "Nuh-uh. I'm sure they're all desperate. I'm looking for a girl who likes me for me, not just for my looks or body or anything, you know? I just want a girl to actually  like me." "I understand." "Yeah. But, I don't think that'll happen any time soon," he quietly said.  I looked down at my lap, "why's that?" "Wanna take a drive?" Nick offered. I looked around for a clear pathway. We were literally in the middle of the student section, and it wasn't going to be an easy predicament to get out of.    By the time we got to Nick's car, it was half time. We only had about 40 minutes until we had to be back before the game was over. It was cold inside, and him having an older car, it was going to take a while for it to warm up inside. "You know, I should be out with the team right now. I must've looked weird standing in the stadium with my jersey," Nick said chuckling and driving out of the parking lot. "How come you weren't out there then?" He turned the car out to the road that lead to the main part of the country. It seemed as if it was an endless stretch of farmland and road. It was nice though. "Uh, well, I got out of it I guess? I asked coach if I could just stay up in the stadium to see what it would be like to actually watch. And since he knows about my length of time left in life-" "Length of time left in life?" I cut in. Nick sped the car up a bit. It started to get warmer inside. My eyes widened and I couldn't stop staring at him with my watery eyes. He gulped and blinked a few times, "yeah. I have a limited amount of time left. The tumor is getting worse. I honestly should be in the hospital right now, but I requested to live my life and wish the best of it. I told them I didn't wanna be crammed in a bed and have to lay there all day, every day." A tear streamed down my face. I wanted to bawl. But, not being the kind to cry in front of others, I stayed strong and wiped the tear away. I looked out the windshield and thought of what to say next. I was almost speechless. "How much time do you have? If you don't mind me asking," I held my hands together so tight they started getting sweaty. It began to get hot in the car, but I didn't bother to say anything. I didn't know if he was still cold or not. "Well, they're estimating about two or three months. Depends on if I stay in the hospital or not. Or  if I take chemotherapy. Which I'm not going to. I have school to worry about and I wanna spend time with family and friends. I also don't wanna lose my hair," Nick laughed. You could hear the misery in his laugh. It wasn't a warming laugh, honestly. "Wouldn't it just be better off if you stayed in the hospital, Nick? I know it'd be very miserable, but really..." I trailed off. I didn't know what else to say with out bursting into tears. "Yeah, it would be better off. But that's not what I want. I honestly just wanna live, not lay in my death bed." I nodded in slight agreement. "I just don't wanna lose you," I said with a soft, shaky voice. That's when I broke. For once I cried in front of someone. The tears didn't stop and I was embarrassed, "oh God!" I said under my breath. Nick pulled the car over and unbuckled. He scooted over on the bench seat to me and wrapped his arms around me, "please don't cry. I'm not worth your tears." "Whatever!" I pushed him off of me and stared deeply into his eyes. He didn't understand how much he meant to me. "You've been my best friend since like kindergarten and we've been through a lot together! I don't like what you're going through, and I'm pretty sure you don't either! You're not being smart and I just-,"I paused to take a deep breath, "I don't know, Nick. I just don't wanna lose you. That's all." "I know," his lips quivered and he looked away. I noticed a tear flow down his soft cheek, which only made more come down my cheeks. I felt bad for ruining the free spirited moment, but it was time to break down our emotions together. "I'm sorry," I quietly said. Nick rubbed his chin and shook his head. He erased the tear from his cheek and still looked out the windshield, "about what?" "About everything. I didn't mean to make you cry or get into this subject," I began to cry more, but I kept it to myself by doing it silently. He took a deep breath and looked at me, "don't be sorry, Stell." I slightly smiled and cleared all the tears from both my cheeks.  "Can I tell you a secret?" Nick asked. "Of course," I smiled. Nick took a deep, heavy, but steady breath. He sat back and relaxed a bit, while twiddling his thumbs. "So homecoming's coming up soon. Like, next Saturday," he began, "and I think I wanna ask a girl, but I don't know." I laughed, "how's that a secret?" "Well, 'cause... I don't know," he laughed, as well. "Okay then?" I said scrunching my eyebrows together as my laugh began to fade away, but my smile was still there to stay. "I like her, too. And have for a while now." "Does she like you back?" "That's the thing. I have no clue." "Well, ask her." "What if I'm scared to?" "Why would you be scared?" Nick chuckled. He shook his head, "because, I just am." I hit his arm playfully and still smiled, "dude, grow a pair of balls and ask her to homecoming." He started to laugh and looked into my eyes, "you're starting to sound like the guys. Should I be scared?" "No," I giggled resting my hands in between my knees. I looked out my window as things got silent. Wind was swiftly moving the leaves on trees and horses in the distance were prancing around a decent sized field. I felt comfortable and relaxed. I was glad we were off the topic about what Nick was going through. Homecoming was a much brighter topic that I could deal with. "Stell," Nick softly said startling me. I turned my head and gave him my undivided attention, just like how I did with the coffee from earlier that evening. "Nick," I mocked with a still smile. He smiled back and looked down at his hands; then he looked at me. "I like you," he put his words on hold for a second. "Like, a lot." I opened my mouth, wanting to speak, but didn't know what to say exactly. "I know this might be weird, but I have for a long time now," Nick said. I closed my mouth. I liked Nick, but not in that sense. Well, maybe. He was different from most guys and I liked that most about him. He wasn't the type who played around. He actually was quite picky with the choices of girls he had, and to find out he liked me, gave me some butterflies, but also some confusion. It was weird he liked me. Why me? 71 Days Before Nick and I stood in front of the camerman with bright smiles. I was held in his warm arms as the camera flashed. I tried my hardest not to blink as the flash went, just so I wouldn't ruin the pictures for the both of us. "He blinked," the man said.  I laughed along with Nick, "sorry!" he apologized. It had been about the third time he blinked. I almost wanted to tape his eye lids open! Another flash came as we stood in the same position. "Perfect!" the man said. The pictures instantly printed off so we could see them. He handed them to us with a kind smile, which was rare from the photographers our school paid to have. I scanned one of the photos and realized, having twenty photos of the same picture was pretty boring. "Can you print out all the mistakes for us?" I smiled. The guy did his magic and printed out the three messed up photos. He was weirded out at first, you could totally see it in his eyes, but I told him before we made our way through to go to the dance, it was for special memories we could hold forever. He then understood. Nick and I split up the pictures so we could give them away to whomever the next day. All the pictures were cute. Not going to lie, but Nick did look pretty great in a suit.  As we approached the gym, people swarmed around in the middle, dancing. My heart began to beat a little faster, and I was a little nervous. It was my first formal dance and I didn't know exactly what to do, especially since I couldn't dance.  "Let's look for the guys!" Nick offered. I nodded in agreement and followed him as we made our way though people to where the guys were. I saw David standing next to his date, which was the homecoming queen.  "Hi, Estell!" she said. Her name was Esther Robin. She had some kind of mental disability, and for David to take her to homecoming, it really showed how much of a man he was. He talked about her at lunch the week before, and always said how she loved football and had gone to every game so far. It honestly was really cute. "Hey, Esther!" I smiled with a slight wave. She smiled back and wrapped her hands around David's arm. He glanced down at her with a warm, kind smile and then back up at the guys as they ranted on about last nights win. Esther ended up getting into the conversation, as well, and so did Nick. I wanted to say something, but didn't. I wasn't really in the mood to mingle, which was strange. But, I honestly just wanted to talk to Nick-one on one. As a few songs went on by, we all still stood in a circle. I expected the guys to dance and go all crazy, but it was just the beginning of the dance. I figured they would just warm up after a while.  "What's wrong?" I heard Nick ask. I looked up at him. He had a reason to ask, even though I hated it when people asked me that question. But, I wasn't saying much. "Oh, nothing!" I smiled. It was true. Nothing was wrong. I just didn't know what to do. For once I felt awkward and wanted to step outside for some fresh air. So, I told Nick that. "Want me to come with you?" I shrugged, "if you want to." I made my way through crowds of sweaty bodies grinding and dancing all over the place. I could sense Nick was following me, so I didn't bother to turn around to make sure.  By the time we made it outside, sprinkles slowly came down from the sky. It felt nice and welcoming, but it made me want to stay outside for the remaining time we had left at the dance.  "You look very nice tonight," I said breaking the silence between Nick and I. He looked down at me with a blushing smile, "and you look very beautiful tonight." I rested my hand over my heart. I was sure he had won it, just like how his gorgeous eyes did. I smiled and could feel my cheeks burn with a slight hint of "I'm flattered" to it, "why, thank you, Nick." He nodded, still smiling, "anytime." We stood in silence for a little while longer, which didn't bother me. What bothered me was the fact we were running out of things to say it seemed like. I didn't want that between us, nor did I want things to get weird after that night. I knew whatever happened then, we couldn't let it ruin anything we had.  "Thank you for going with me tonight. It really meant a lot." I looked up at Nick with a smiling sigh. I blinked as he caught my stare, and my heart then skipped a beat as he smiled back, "anything for my best friend." As our eyes locked, I could feel my hand being touched. I didn't bother to look down as I could feel his fingers slowly slide in between mine. Butterflies began to explode with much excitement, and as crazy as it sounded, I began to think Sheldon was out of the equation.  At least for that night he was... Publication Date: May 9th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-zdb3e22ddc2da15

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RWBY lover, Asuna Yuuki Kirito's Surprise part 6 The class jealousy when kazuto awoke he wasnt awoken by gal or asuna but instead was awoken by elizabeth and she was hugging him and holding him and yuuki awoke" huh elizabeth?" yuuki was looking at her confused "guess what a month of cease fire is over yuuki now i can get all lovey dovey with him to". Gal woke up from under the blanket and pushed elizabeth off of kazuto as she hugged and held him close "he's mine" she said with a gleem looking at both of them. "huh who is this girl yuuki" elizabeth asked with a angry look on her face, "thats his sister and yes his real sister, shes in love with kazuto" she told elizabeth with a mad look to and thats my boyfreind how can she just take him from me "uh she hasnt taken me from you hello im still your boyfreind" he said without hesitating but yuuki wasnt listening as she just kept argueing with the three girls then turned to kazuto as she saw Gal hugging up to kazuto, "errrrr" yuuki and elizabeth both said while walking out of his room to downstairs angry, "um where are you going, wait dont leave me here by myself" he said looking at Gal scared, gal started to kiss him as he couldnt do anything since he was held tight by her but yuuki came in the room with some food and saw, " What are you doing to my boyfreind" she was standing infront of them with red eyes, "no it isnt what it looks like yuuki" he said with a scared look on his face and started to run fast outside the house and down the street but when he reached the corner he ran into silica.k..kirito?..salica" i dont have time to talk  right now" "he rubbed the back of his head " well actually i came looking for elisbeth"  b..but dont worry ill find her" "she smiled and ran off aswell as kazuto" later that day kazuto had went home and yuuki gal and elizabeth were waiting for him as they all said "where were you" they all screamed at him but kazuto just passed out from the pressure they put on him. Publication Date: October 9th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-dnf10382a424525

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Morgan Individual MY GRANDMOTHER MY MOM AND DAD. Publication Date: August 4th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-mkia99

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Shaelyn Ray I do love you very much I do love you very much I ran out of the dressing room and whirled around."What do you think?"I asked excitedly as I smoothed the dress.My mom turned around from looking at a rack of skirts and made wide eyes."WOW!!!honey,that's gorgeous....now where's the price tag?"she asked coming over and checking the dress."MOM!?"I gasped."Well,honey we need to know to see if you can.....oh my gosh!four thousand six hundred thirty two dollars!no way girlfriend!"my mom said."GOSH!!!!!!!!!!!"I screamed stomping back in the dressing room and changing back into my clothes."I hope I look hideoues in my prom pictures!"I said running out into the rain crying.I sat down on the sidewalk and cried like crazy.Soon I felt a hand on my shoulder,looked up,and saw my crush...who was taking me to prom!"Donney!um hey!"I said standing up."I was coming here to pick up a tuxedo and I saw you here crying and had to see what was wrong so what's the matter?"he asked me with feelings."Oh it's just my...my mom she's driving me insane!"I said walking over to a post,putting my head on it and crying more."Oh?sorry I've...gotta....go?"he said running into the prom dressing store."Yeah and I need a new mom."I said walking to the car and getting in.I looked in the rearview mirror and guess who was coming?my "lovely" mother.I got out of the car into the pouring rain again." GO AWAY!!!"I screamed."GO AWAY I DON'T NEED YOU!!!!!"I screamed breaking into more tears."Honey!?stop there's a car coming don't step into that street!!!"she screamed.Soon a car honked and I was mowed to the ground.I woke up in the hospital with pain everywhere."Sissy?"my brother squeaked from beside me."Donney?"I asked."No I'm bubby,Drake!"he said worried."No!you're Donney!"I argued."No please I'm Drake I'm your brother mommy's in the cafeteria."he cried."YOU'RE DONNEY!!!!"I screamed."AAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!!"he screamed running to sit in a corner."Drake!?"my mom asked worried walking into the room seeing me awake."She's calling me Donney mommy she's calling me Donney!"he cried,as my mom picked him up."Sweetie I think Brooklyn lost her memory."my mom explained.He hopped down and walked over to me."Hi I'm not Donney but Donnie was here when you were knocked out and....(hee hee).....he kissed you on the cheek!"he squeled."You kissed me on the cheek?"I asked him excited."NOOOOO!!!!!Donney kissed you on the cheek."he said.Finally my eyes drooped closed...I was gone from the earth. Publication Date: January 4th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-jasperismine

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Dianna P chantell dedicated to all teenage girls who have the same kind of problems in high school Publication Date: November 12th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-sweetydee12

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Caleb Torres, Priscilla Collier Belchy Boy ("I Will Burp On You!') Belchy Boy ("I Will Burp On You!') Diary of Belchy Boy (I will burp on you!!!) By Priscilla Collier Julia Collier And Caleb Torres     Chapter One:About Me 4/26/5016 Hi, my name is Miguel, and I am 10 and I a supernormal boy. BUT WAIT! I AM THE SUPER LEGENDARY BELCHY BOY! Whenever I burp I send an electric shock and a big hard wind, and whatever I aim at will be a sad sight. Chapter Two:The discovery 4/27/5016 The day my family discovered my super powers was both good and bad. We were eating baked beetle shells and snakeskin chips. It was so delicious that I just had to burp. I tried to hold it in but I couldn’t. Suddenly there was a terribly LOUD sound! “BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP!” It was so loud it shook our house and everyone was screaming. Partly because our dad had crashed through the wall and was looking like he had just been BEHEADED! “WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BEAUTIFUL WALL AND HUSBAND!” Shrieked my mom. So that was how they figured out I had powers. But I made them all solemnly pinky promised that they would never tell anyone. Now you know my past so let’s focus on the future. Note:Whenever I eat this dinner I burp. Chapter Three:sent to a bad school 9/30/5018 That day was the fadel when I was forced to go to villain school. It started when a businessman came to our town telling us about a better school that we could go to for free. Unfortunately all of us fell for it.   Chapter Four:The first day of school 10/7/5018 It started as a normal school day. I got out of bed at 6:30. I ate a quick breakfast, got dressed, brushed my teeth, and ran out the door to find a dirty brown bus that was beeping a horn that sounded like vampire bats screaming. The kids were standing and running around in the bus shrieking. The “school building,” if that is what you call it, had no windows and looked old and haunted.I was assigned to room 13. My teacher was named Ms.Badluck. The students were ugly and rude.for example,one of the kids was literally rolling in fat. Instead of walking, he rolled. Another one had baggy eyes and tiny lips. There was a midget with no hair at ALL. Shockingly, the teacher said ,”You are all looking very wicked this morning.(As if they looked evil! )Now Evil + Good= awful!That will be our theme for the year.” Suddenly I jumped up,took aim at Ms.Bad Luck, and let out a huge belch. The teacher screamed, fell backwards then kept on falling, right through the floor! It only took the kids a moment to figure out what had happened to their teacher. They began running around and panicking, no one even thought of telling some other teacher. But I got out any way. I was going to run away when I realized that room 13 was not the only room in that school. I had to “save” all the other kids. This was my first mission. Chapter Five:Saving the school My mission was simple, go into each classroom, burp at each teacher,and rescue all the kids! Well, maybe not so simple, the teachers might be suspicious when they saw a boy snooping around the school burping,so I went through every class belching on everyone and electrocuting and beheading the teachers . I turned all of the kids into nice normal kids with the nice kidantor All that was left was the evil principle Mr.Smushwax he frided to shoot me with a nerf gun but it did no harm (and felt like cotton balls hitting me.) So all I had to do is burp on him. I burped on him and stopped him. Now the city is safe because I am the I AM THE LEGENDARY BELCHY BOY! The End! Note: look for the next Belchy Boy book coming soon! Text: Caleb Torres Editing: Caleb Torres All rights reserved. Publication Date: April 27th 2016 https://www.bookrix.com/-tz43b82fded0275

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Charles Dufresny Spirit of Contradiction Characters French names Mr. Townly M. Oronte Mrs. Townly Mme. Oronte Lucas, the gardener Lucas Angelica Angelique Edward Richly Valere Mr. Nelson M. Thibaudois Lawyer Notary Lackey Lackey Six men, two women The scene is a garden before Mr. Townly's house in London. Lucas, the gardener enters in a rage. Lucas: To hell with that bitch and her contradictory nature! Townly: There, there, Lucas, softly. Lucas: No, sir. I can no longer put up with your wife's temperament. Townly: You have to forgive her, because the spirit of contradiction is natural to her. Lucas: When she contradicts you like crazy,--you, her husband--that's natural, huh? Well, maybe. But it isn't natural that she should contradict my garden. Townly: Patience, Lucas, patience. Lucas: To be perfectly frank I don't like being gardener here--or anywhere there are women. A woman in a garden causes more damage than a million hedgehogs. Townly: You're right and my wife is in the wrong. Lucas: Everything I've planted is torn up. She's replanted all the weeds I tore out when I was grafting. She said they're wildflowers. Then when I planted the cabbages she said she now wants lettuces. Nothing is done by her order that doesn't reverse something I've done. Yesterday she half buried my prunes under melons. I believe, God pardon me! that it would be better for me to plant watermelons in the grape arbor. Townly: She's unreasonable, but let's forget about that, Lucas. Let's talk about marrying my daughter. I need your advice about that matter. Lucas: I haven't got an idea in my head because I've been fighting with Madam. That puts me in an uncultivated state--me and my garden. And besides, she's just discharged me. Townly: Don't worry about it. Never mind. I'll take care of you. Lucas: How are you going to take care of me against her--when you can't take care of yourself? Hey! did I ever tell you that you're too easy with her? As soon as she says yes or no, you say the same. Townly: What do you want, Lucas? I love my wife. She has no other pleasure than to do exactly the opposite of what I want. So I provide her with that small satisfaction. Lucas: You do that if that's what you like. But don't worry, her humour is too settled for it to give her any satisfaction. So much for that, sir. As to your daughter, I'll be what help I can--but what do you intend to do? Townly: Well, you see I've got to get my wife to agree-- Lucas: Well, it's not up to me. I've tried to revive your spirit, but you won't do anything against her. Townly: Look, you're more imagination than I do. And more sense than philosophers--who haven't any, really. Lucas: Wait, sir. There are peasants who are sharp about acquiring money--but my philosophy is to govern the world like a careful gardener. You for example, want to marry your daughter but you don't know to whom. But me, I've seen it all in my garden. As I tell Madam, trees benefit from the sun; plants from the shade. So you see if your daughter is ready to benefit from marriage, your wife will put her in a convent. Townly: You've said it exactly. If my daughter wishes to get married she'd better not show it. Lucas: Madam has already tried to worm it out of me. "But Lucas," she said to me, "what do you think of this marriage?" "I think nothing, Madam." "But my daughter, for her part--" "Nothing." "But my husband, for his part--" Silence. "And because they know I can't breathe when I'm contradicted, they hide it from me. But it won't work. And I have tricks for figuring out when I'm being contradicted. It's a blind alley." What a woman. Very well. Leave it to me to put everything right. She's coming. Townly: I will wait for you in the arbor. (Exit Townly) Lucas: I'd be very much put out to leave the employ of that bourgeois. His bourgeois money shines forth more splendidly than the money of noblemen who have a great deal more. Mrs. Townly: (entering) Have you just put yourself under the protection of my husband? He can tell me to keep you, but I am not going to obey him. Come quickly, give me the keys and then I will give you your wages. Lucas: (in a whining tone) I am very upset about losing my situation with you. (Then roaring) Ha! Ha! Ha! Mrs. Townly: You are laughing, eh? Lucas: (crying) It overwhelms me. (Roaring) Ha, ha, ha! Mrs. Townly: What are you getting at? Lucas: Nothing, nothing, ha, ha, ha. (Sadly) Here, Madam, I am giving you the keys. Mrs. Townly: I know why you're laughing. Lucas: Ha, ha, ha, ha. I can't hold myself in. How nice to be thrown out. I'm not afraid of you. Ha, ha. I laugh like a merry go round at what you have done. Ha, ha, ha. Quite frankly, this is something that I expected for a long time from your difficult temperament and I hope you are inexorable. I have said to myself, if Madam sees that I want to take my leave, she won't hear of it. If I ask for my wages, she'll let me fish for them rather than be of my opinion. Oh, it's much better if I anger her so she will throw me out. Mrs. Townly: What! Who says I'm throwing you out? Lucas: I have quarrelled with you, ha, ha, ha. I'm giving you back your keys willingly enough. Mrs. Townly: Oh, I see. To get even you have decided to leave me without a gardener. Lucas: That's precisely what I'm going to do. Mrs. Townly: You can go when I have another. Lucas: You can have three right away. Mrs. Townly: Stay at least until tomorrow. Lucas: Tomorrow you'll no longer be in the mood to throw me out. I want to quit today. Mrs. Townly: No! It won't be said that I am your dupe. You wish to leave me and I do not wish you to leave. Lucas: One cannot keep people against their will. And you are of such a disposition. Mrs. Townly: Listen! Is my disposition really so horrible? Lucas: More than I care to suffer. Mrs. Townly: At bottom, I'm really no good? Lucas: To be fair; I know that it isn't from malice that you torment the whole world--but your will is naturally contrary and never agrees with the will of any other person. Mrs. Townly: You hold a strange opinion of me--for of all the women in the world, there isn't one who contradicts less than I do. Lucas: There's nobody like you, it's true. Mrs. Townly: I never contradict except for good reason. But I don't like being contradicted. For example, I'm angry with you for your obstinacy. Why do you obstinately hide from me that which I wish to know? Don't I know that you are the advisor, the oracle of my husband? Without a doubt he has taken you into his confidence in the plan he has for Angelica. Lucas: Hey! He did speak to me about that. Mrs. Townly: Ha! Tell me about it. Lucas: I considered the matter of Miss Angelica very thoroughly. Mrs. Townly: Yes. Lucas: I know what I would tell myself about that matter. Mrs. Townly: Well, Lucas? Lucas: But my thoughts, your husband's thoughts, your daughter's thoughts-- I'm not going to tell you. Not even if you cry. Mrs. Townly: Lucas, I beg you, tell me. Lucas: You're not going to find out a thing. I see you coming. You're always trying to find out the yes and the no. I will marry her. I will not marry her. What did he say? What did she say? and all that just so you can see the road others are taking so you can cross them. Mrs. Townly: On the contrary, I am always going the right way, and each of you turns away from me from malice. And in a word I know they have made some plan contrary to mine. But I see my daughter coming and I must talk to her again. Halloo, Angelica, halloo. Come here for a minute. Lucas: (exiting) I am going to see Mr. Townly in the arbor. Angelica: (entering) What do you want me for, mother? Mrs. Townly: To speak to you again, daughter. Angelica: I'm always ready to listen to you. Mrs. Townly: I can complain about you every way because you are a dissimulator, while I am good, and reasonable. Since I have to dispose of you one way or another I want to consult your inclinations. Speak sincerely for once in your life. Do you want to marry or not? Angelica: I've already told you mother, I am duty bound not to have any will in this matter. Mrs. Townly: But you do nevertheless--admit it. I have no end other than your satisfaction. Open your heart to me; speak naturally. You think that marriage can make a girl happy? Angelica: I see some wives who praise their situation. Mrs. Townly: Ah, now I begin to understand. Angelica: But I see others who complain. Mrs. Townly: I don't understand you. Speak to me a little. You've seen this newlywed who goes from door to door boasting about her good luck. Do you hear her with pleasure? Angelica: Yes, indeed, mother. Mrs. Townly: You wish then, to be married? Angelica: Not at all. For this same woman the other day afflicted by her complaints the same assembly that she had recently regaled the day before with praises of her husband. Mrs. Townly: So you mean you're afraid to take the risk of getting married? Angelica: I didn't say that, mother. Mrs. Townly: What are you saying? Either you think marriage is good or bad--you long for it or you dread it. Angelica: I don't long for it and I don't dread it. I've only voiced some simple reflections without taking one side or the other. The pros and cons seem pretty well balanced to me. That's what has suspended my choice up to now. Mrs. Townly: Your indecision begins to make me impatient. You have too much character to remain in a situation so indolent. Angelica: That's the situation a young girl ought to remain in until her mother can decide for her without difficulty. Mrs. Townly: But if I decided to marry you? Angelica: My reasons for marrying would become stronger for the reason that my duty would make me forget all the contrary arguments. Mrs. Townly: And if I decide to keep you single. Angelica: Then the reasons against marriage would appear to me to be the best. Mrs. Townly: What talk, what a tractable spirit. I cannot get it out of you. What? You won't give me the pleasure of knowing your inclination. Angelica: My inclination is to follow yours. Mrs. Townly: She won't give up her opinion. Angelica: I will obey you to the death. Mrs. Townly: What obstinacy, what an opinionated-- Angelica: It's not obstinacy. Mrs. Townly: What, you contradict me without stopping? Angelica: To wish what you wish is to contradict you? Mrs. Townly: Yes, yes, yes, because I want you to express your will and you won't do it. Angelica: But Mom! Mrs. Townly: You make me beside myself. Shut up. They will all say I'm wrong again. Now it's you--yes, it's your spirit, one can call it that indeed--a spirit of contradiction. I don't know how I can live with you. A daughter like this is a real domestic calamity. I want to get rid of you for sure. Yes, miss--I will marry you off today. The two candidates are Edward Richly on one side and Mr. Nelson on the other. I will not give you the honor, I will not give you the choice. You will take the one I choose. I will speak to your father one more time. If his ideas are reasonable, I will agree. If not, no. (Exit Mrs. Townly in a rage) Angelica: (sighing) What violence is necessary to turn me into a dissimulator with all the world. I am naturally sincere. But where my mother is concerned I don't dare confide in any one if I'm in a situation where I can see what's happening. (Enter Mr. Edward Richly) Edward: Here I am again young lady, and I've resolved not to return to Oxford without having first had an explanation with you. I swear to you your manners make me beside myself. I am furious, worse, I'm no longer in possession of myself. When I think that since the last time I came here neither my love, nor my respect, nor my prayers, nor my reproaches, have succeeded in getting one word out of you. (pause) I can't make any sense out of it. When I spoke to you of the most violent passion that ever was, you listened to me with a tranquility, a languor that was incomprehensible. For women react either with love or scorn or anger to such emotions. Just Heavens, what am I to think of a silence so obstinate? Angelica: Only that I am prudent and nothing more. Edward: Do you approve of my love or forbid it? Angelica: I can't say. Edward: Always the same indifferent tone. Angelica: You haven't been able to tell whether I have any inclination for you, right? Edward: That's what upsets me. Angelica: Nor have you seen any aversion? Edward: No indeed. But that's not satisfactory. Angelica: It satisfies me. For I have need to be impenetrable to your curiosity. Didn't I tell you that I have formed a project to secure my freedom, and that to implement this project, it is necessary that my mother be unable to tell whether I love you or someone else? My father must also be kept from the truth--and therefore you also must be kept in the dark--for if you know it, my father, my mother, and any one who sees you will be well informed. Edward: You're trying to tell me I'm indiscreet? Angelica: No, but your vivacity takes the place of indiscretion. Edward: I know how to control my temperament. For example, from the moment I saw you I felt possessed to such a degree that you wouldn't think it possible. And I swear to you that a word of enlightenment--one little word from you, will make me just as tranquil as you are. Angelica: But suppose the word is that I have no intention of marrying you? Edward: Ah, so that is what you dare to tell me? How can I listen to such infamy? Just Heaven! Angelica: You're not tranquil: would you feel better if I promised never to marry anyone but you? Edward: If you promised me that--ah! I'd die of delight. Yes, my joy would be so great-- Angelica: So that you would publish that, too. See how your transports of joy or despair give away everything! They would divulge my secret, and from them my mother would know what I want to do: then she would cross me furiously. Thus I find that I am wise to keep you ignorant of my true intentions. Edward: I can't be ignorant of them, ingrate. They are so plain. So I tell you, I've just learned you will be betrothed to Mr. Nelson, today. Angelica: That is possibly true. Edward: And that's why I came here. Angelica: Well go away, then. Edward: And that is what has made me understand all your politics. I see you've managed me up to this point because I am friends with your mother. You fear that, irritated by your refusal, I will prevent this marriage. Angelica: Prevent this marriage! I believe you are a very gallant man to prevent me from securing my advantage. Edward: No, cruel woman, no. Don't worry. If you are happy with another, I will die, but I will not prevent you. Angelica: You are ruining my plans already. But I do believe that if I had no inclination for you, you wouldn't try to force my feelings. Do what I want you to do. Don't see either my father or my mother today. I forbid you to appear here. So go, I beg you. Edward: I obey you blindly, but if you betray me-- Angelica: I cannot betray you, because I've promised you nothing. Edward: If you betray me you are the most cruel, the most-- Angelica: Oh, if you are going to berate me, wait till I've done something. And I will do something very soon perhaps. Don't be so impatient. Edward: WHAT! You mean-- Angelica: Here is my father. Leave quickly. (Exit Edward) (Enter Mr. Townly from another direction) Townly: Rejoice, little girl, rejoice. You will be married according to my wishes. I have triumphed and put it over on your mother. Angelica: Ah, poor papa, I am afraid indeed that-- Townly: (dancing around) I put it over on her I tell you. She just insisted herself that I do what I wish. And I had to appear not to like it for fear she'd change her mind. Angelica: Once she gets an idea, action soon follows. Townly: Yes, my darling daughter, the great wealth of Mr. Nelson is as pleasing to my wife as it is to myself. A rich merchant is a treasure for a girl like you who hasn't a romantic thought in her head. True, he's a bit rustic and crude, but he's open, honest. Angelica: I pardon this crudeness in favor of his honesty. Townly: Some say he lacks good qualities, but I find he has many. If only he could get away from the habit of saying things which have neither rhyme nor reason. He's a little too familiar, especially with women he's never met before. (Enter Mr. Nelson sporting a large gold vest, huge cuffs, a big belly; his fingers are covered with rings) Nelson: Hey, neighbour--well, well, your old lady says that--what didn't she say, that woman? Ha! There's your daughter. Well, well, when shall we get married, honey? Angelica: I have no idea. Townly: Not everything's ready yet. Nelson: Ready, ready, I'm ready. Yes, yes, Angie, I give you my word. Take the biggest ring from my finger--it's yours. Angelica: We aren't at the altar yet. Townly: We have to consider. Nelson: Let's consider, let's consider. Angelica: We must take precautions. Nelson: (grabbing her hand) Take, take. Angelica: While you are deliberating it's better that I stay with my mother. Townly: Go quickly. We haven't any time to lose. Nelson: Time is pressing, yes. (squeezing her) Wait, wait, I want to see you again. It makes me feel good. Let's talk about any old thing. Tell me a story. Angelica: What sort of story do you want me to tell you? Nelson: Well, tell me, tell me--you're cute, sweety--tell me a little story-- Angelica: It's time that I should go-- Nelson: (still holding her by the arm) Ho, I want you to tell me-- Ah, I love you with all my heart--tell me a little love story. Angelica: You love me, and I'm obliged to you for that. Story's over. Nelson: Well, the story's over. Why did you tell me that story? Tell me instead-- Townly: (separating them) Oh, let her go. It really is important that her mother not see her with us. Nelson: Go then. Go darling. Get ready to be my wife. (Exit Angelica) Townly: Let's discuss a little how we are going to manage my wife. For that's the difficulty in our little business. Nelson: What's the problem? Townly: Not really a problem, but-- Nelson: Because it's not a problem for me-- Townly: Do you have some expedient to--? Nelson: Sure, sure. Leave that to me. Tell me, what are you going to do? Townly: That's the problem, I tell you. Nelson: You, you, you, are a poor planner. Nothing is so easy. Townly: Instruct me then! Nelson: Nothing is so easy. Now how do you intend to go about it? Townly: That's what puzzles me. Nelson: But, but, but, me too-- She's a terrible woman, your wife. Townly: I see we're both too clever and cunning to figure out what to do. But, by luck, I have a gardener who has more clever ideas that anybody in the world. He should be a statesman. A real good head on his shoulders. Nelson: I've got a good head, too. Have him here and we'll figure it out. Townly: Here he is now. (Enter Lucas) Townly: Well, Lucas, have you been thinking about our business--have you considered what I said to you? Lucas: Shh! Townly: Shh? Nelson: Shh! Lucas: This gentleman here wishes to marry Miss Angelica, Angelica also, Madam does, you do, and so do I. So the matter's settled. Nelson: See--it's settled. Lucas: I say it's not settled. For from the moment she sees that we want it, too--she won't stand for it, not her! Townly: That's the trouble. Nelson: That's the trouble. Lucas: Oh, I ask you if-- Townly: Certainly. Nelson: What a question. Lucas: I ask you then if she were unaware that we agree-- Nelson: That's a good idea. Townly: Very good, Lucas. Nelson: That's my advice. Lucas: That's good advice. You must tell everybody so that your opinion's spread by rumor. For my part, I know that your wife's temper is like a whirligig that's always turning one way then another in the wind. Therefore, we must make the wind appear to blow from the West so she’ll blow to the East. Ah, there must be two winds blowing about Miss Angelica. Nelson on one side, and Young Richly on the other. We have only to say that it's Richly we want and she will force this gentleman on us just to cross us. That's my pronouncement. Townly: That will tie it up. Nelson: That's the trick. Here are a hundred pounds, Lucas. Lucas: It's necessary to tie two knots to do the job right. For there remains the little matter of putting Madam in the mood to cross you. Townly: Let's try to do it immediately--our lawyer has been called, the marriage contract is ready. Lucas: Yes, but to finish this properly she must be put into a rage. I know the secret of irritating her. When she comes to inspect my garden I will pretend not to say a word. Instead, I will scrape the ground with my shovel--that will infuriate her. I will shake my head--she'll take that for opposition and begin to argue; the fire will ignite, and when her spirit is aflame--she will remember that she is an honest woman and that she told you and you deceived her. And here she is now. I will get her going, then you come in and announce you've decided on Young Richly. (Exit Nelson and Townly, then enter Mrs. Townly) Mrs. Townly: You were there quite a while with my husband. Apparently, he knows the one he wants for a son-in-law. Is it Mr. Richly or Mr. Nelson, as I advised him? Lucas: (turning his hat) HMMM! Mrs. Townly: You turn your hat. That means my husband didn't take my advice. Lucas: (shaking his head) PRRR! Mrs. Townly: Mr. Nelson, you say is not to my husband's taste--and he prefers Richly? Lucas: Heh, heh, heh. Mrs. Townly: Because he is younger? Or because Richly is more pleasing to my daughter? Lucas: Oh, well-- Mrs. Townly: What! You think that the solid wealth of Mr. Nelson is not preferable-- Lucas: Well-- Mrs. Townly: I get mad when I hear nonsense like this. Lucas: But, but, but-- Mrs. Townly: False reasoning, all of it. Lucas: (striking the ground with his foot) The devil! Mrs. Townly: And everything you have told me is what my husband told you? Lucas: Pah fan goo. Mrs. Townly: So you've told me word for word everything he said. Well, let me tell you, in spite of him-- Lucas: Han. Mrs. Townly: Yes, in spite of him. In his teeth. Lucas: Pao. Mrs. Townly: Yes. He takes a high handed tone like that with me. Lucas: Pa, ta, ta. Mrs. Townly: He will see that I am the boss. Lucas: Puff. Mrs. Townly: Oh, that's too much. Husband, you cross me, you insult me, you outrage me! (Lucas signals Townly to come in and places Townly beside his wife; Lucas exits) Mrs. Townly: (seeing him after a moment in Lucas' place) Continue, sir, continue. I really want to know where you get the things you say to me. Townly: I didn't say a word. Mrs. Townly: Go ahead, be brave. It takes a lot to get me worked up. Townly: It's true that I've come to speak to you. Mrs. Townly: To speak to me without reason, without sense, that Mr. Nelson wouldn't be good for my daughter. Townly: Still, Richly-- Mrs. Townly: Don't say another word-- Townly: I ask you to consider Richly. Mrs. Townly: No, sir. Richly presents nothing worthy of my consideration. Townly: Well, for my sake then-- Mrs. Townly: >From today, I give my daughter to Mr. Nelson. Townly: But the reason. Mrs. Townly: The reason is that I wish it. And to prove that I am right it's going to happen as I wish and immediately. Mr. Nelson is here. Get ready to sign the papers. (Exit Mrs. Townly to the house, and after a moment enter Lucas) Townly: Well--did I play my part well? Lucas: Like an expert this time. She is going to do what we want willingly and for the first time in her life. Townly: There--is the lawyer here? Lucas: I'll go see. And when I see her, I am going to tell her I like Richly better. To add a little fuel to the fire. (Exit Lucas) (Enter Angelica) Townly: We've done wonderfully, daughter. Angelica: I've heard. I was under the swing with the lawyer--he's just come. It's time and he's on schedule. Townly: I am going to speak to him. Go quickly and rejoin your mother. (Exit Townly) Angelica: Things are at the point where I wish them. And the measures I have taken will succeed. Watch and see what happens. (Exit Angelica; after a moment enter Mrs. Townly and a Lackey) Mrs. Townly: Tell me child, where did you get this letter from? Who is your master? Lackey: I am forbidden to tell you that--and to prevent you from forcing it out of me, I am leaving right away. (Exit Lackey) Mrs. Townly: Now what's this mystery? (Reading low) Hmm, hmm, hmm. "I advise you that your daughter is in communication with Mr. Nelson and wants to marry him and to make you sign the wedding contract, they have a lawyer ready who will appear as if by chance." Indeed, that's the lawyer I just saw with Angelica. The warning is obviously true. "In a word your husband pretended not to want Nelson so you would prefer him." So! Mr. Nelson is the choice of my husband. (Enter Lucas and Townly) Lucas: Courage, sir. Tell her quickly that I am against Mr. Nelson. Townly: Listen, my dear wife-- Lucas: I tell you that-- Townly: I want you to know that-- Lucas: (to Mrs. Townly) That I and your husband-- Townly: You say that you want Mr. Nelson for a son-in-law, right? I tell you that my daughter doesn't want him. Lucas: The matter is a little delicate. Mrs. Townly: It isn't my daughter's will or mine that ought to decide--it's yours my husband--and in this and in everything else, you are master. Lucas: As for me, I think-- Mrs. Townly: You're a good advisor, Lucas, and I willingly listen to your advice. Townly: In a word, my wife, you have proposed Mr. Nelson to me, and I don't want him. Mrs. Townly: Let's speak softly. I love peace and harmony. I will do whatever you find most agreeable. Townly: (aloud) What's agreeable to me is (low) not to have such complaisance about this. Mrs. Townly: To me it's to have a husband that I love and respect. Townly: You're joking, but I tell you Mr. Nelson is not to my taste. Mrs. Townly: Your taste determines mine and I tell you I won't give another thought to Mr. Nelson. Townly: Lucas? Lucas: (low) Try harder. Her contradictory spirit isn't on fire yet. Townly: Tell me, Madam, are you making fun of me? Mrs. Townly: But what makes you think that when I give you my word? Lucas: Good! Your word comes and goes like the air. Mrs. Townly: (sweetly) Wait till you see. Lucas: You can't make up your mind. Mrs. Townly: To prove my sincerity and my submission, I am going this moment to forbid Mr. Nelson to set foot in this house. (Exit Mrs. Townly) Townly: I believe she's going to do it. What should have caused this miracle? Lucas: Listen, it must be that-- Townly: It would be, just my luck. The only time in her life she doesn't contradict me it's to contradict me. Lucas: For her to obey you is not natural. Townly: I am going to see what's happening. I still don't believe it. (Exit Townly) Nelson: (entering) Well, well, Lucas. We are going to sign the contract. Here's the money I promised you-- Lucas: Madam is going to give you your walking papers--she's looking for you to do just that. Nelson: She doesn't want me, you say? Lucas: Something has happened, I don't know exactly what. Wait for me here, I'm going to see for myself. (Exit Lucas) Nelson: I love waiting for this little Angelica--but I'm joking about that. If I don't marry her, I can marry at least four others. (Enter Angelica followed by Edward who is determined to fathom her tricks) Nelson: Well, well, poor girl, it's bad for you. You won't get married. Angelica: What an irritating thing. Nelson: It makes me mad, but I'm easy. You're crying because you love me, and that's swell. Don't cry, come on, don't cry. You'll make me do it, too. Angelica: Go quickly, join my father, second him, speak together to my mother. Beg her. Press her. Nelson: Shh! Shh! There's your other lover who's listening. Angelica: Ha--are you there, Mr. Richly? Edward: What I've just heard, what you've just said, has exposed you to me. The lawyer I've just been with proved sufficiently your betrayal, but you aren't worthy of my reproaches. I will take the way of scorn and silence. (Shouting) Don't wait for me, nor beg, nor reproach--ingrate! No, faithless one, no traitress-- Nelson: Do you call this the way of silence? Edward: Just Heaven-- Nelson: What are you complaining of? That she promised you something? Edward: Nothing at all, Mr. Nelson. I would like to know indeed, sir, by what right you insult me? How, I beg you, can you have any hope? First of all, my father has as much money as you--and the little merit that you have-- Nelson: (showing his hand) Why, do you see this hand? These five fingers alone are worth more than all your father's wealth. Angelica: For me, I prefer Mr. Nelson's good nature to this wild passion which you never give up-- Nelson: Fie! He's crazy in love--like in a novel. Angelica: His kind words touch me more than your despairing face. Nelson: I've heard it said that women don't care for the affected, but I pity him. Go young man, go--console yourself. I will lend you some money. Edward: Why, damn you, sir-- Angelica: (taking Edward by the arm) You're beside yourself. Go away, I beg you. I don't like to be bothered like that. Nelson: Hey, me either. I'm going to rejoin your father. (Low to Angelica) I order you to get rid of him. Give him his walking papers and come find me. (Exit Nelson) Edward: Your procedure seems to me so outre that I cannot believe that you are feigning. I don't flatter myself, but if you were pretending because Nelson was around--now he is gone--justify yourself! (Enter Mrs. Townly) Mrs. Townly: (aside) My daughter alone with Richly! Edward: Justify yourself--or admit you have betrayed me. Speak, we are alone. Angelica: I will speak to you just as I spoke in the presence of Mr. Nelson. My father wants me to marry him and I tell you I am delighted. Edward: Oh! I give up. No more explanations. I am going to find your mother. Angelica: Go, sir, go, you can tell her that I want no part of you. Edward: (seeing Mrs. Townly) Have you heard, Madam? I am betrayed, Madam. For it is no longer time to hide from you my love for this ingrate--you see she has betrayed me. Mrs. Townly: I feel sorry for you, sir. You see father and daughter plotted against you and me, too. I enter into your feelings because I always sympathize with the feelings of others. Edward: No. After what she's done, I never wish to speak of her again. Mrs. Townly: I swear to you I have no objection to your proposing to my daughter. Edward: You propose her to me in vain. Mrs. Townly: But to prove to you, a reasonable man, that reason alone guides me in all I do--I wish to offer you-- Edward: I refuse your offers, Madam. I am not a man to force her inclinations. Mrs. Townly: So that I may have the pleasure of avenging you on my husband, on my daughter--on all those who conspire to contradict me--I beg you, sir. Edward: Can't do it. Mrs. Townly: What! You contradict me, too? Oh, I will do so much for you, if you will marry my daughter! Angelica: What! Mother! You wouldn't marry me against my will? Mrs. Townly: Against your will, daughter? Don't think of it--because you have no will, remember? Angelica: Alas, when I spoke to you thus, I didn't speak sincerely. Why will you prevent a rich match with Mr. Nelson? Mrs. Townly: He's got more wealth than you deserve. Angelica: Hey, mother, I beg you-- Mrs. Townly: Shut up! I know all your tricks. The lawyer told me everything. You wanted to betray me. To expose me to the will of a husband! To punish you I will make you sign the contract you drew up against me. Only, I'm going to fill in the name of Richly. (Exit Mrs. Townly) Edward: No, Madam, I will never sign. I prefer to die rather than marry your daughter. Angelica: (imitating him) I prefer to die rather than marry your daughter-- You say it very naturally. Edward: As I feel it, ingrate. Angelica: And as I wished it. For if you had done it to persuade my mother it wouldn't have worked for it wouldn't have sounded right. You could not have deceived her if you hadn't been deceived yourself. Edward: Explain yourself. Angelica: To make my mother agree to what I want it was also necessary to deceive my father. He tried to trick her naturally enough, and when I saw how they were working for Mr. Nelson, by pretending the contrary, I sent her an anonymous letter explaining what they were up to. And it did the trick. Seeing all the world against you, she has taken your part--and wishes to make us marry to contradict them--and you, too. Edward: Can what I hear be true? Misfortune overwhelms me, and joy confounds me. But I don't know which. Angelica: I don't want you to show it until after the signature. I fear some indiscreet transport of joy. No, Edward, don't believe yet that I love you. Edward: (wildly) Ah! Darling, Angelica--divine lady-- Angelica: Someone's coming. Keep pretending. (Enter Lucas) Angelica: No, Edward, no. I will not be married to you against my will. Lucas: No, dammit, it will not be against your will--for you'll marry him with joy. But it may not happen yet for I doubt you can both scheme together or that you can pretend to be pretending. Your mother's on her way, but I've warned you so that you may deceive her. Angelica: Ah! Heavens. Edward: How wretched you are! Lucas: For you it will be wretched. For Madam changes her mind quickly if she suspects for a minute that you want it too. That's too bad cause, Mr. Nelson promised me a hundred pounds. Edward: You rogue. Why didn't you ask for two hundred from me? Lucas: There's no time. Madam knows all. Meanwhile, if I take your money it will be true that Madam knows all--for dammit she knows nothing. Angelica: Ah, my poor Lucas. Edward: Wait, take my purse. Lucas: And here comes Madam returning. I am going to assist you. (Enter Mrs. Townly, Mr. Townly, Mr. Nelson, and the lawyer) Lucas: Come quickly, Madam, see the young folks are fighting. Come quickly, separate them. They find everything the other one says enraging--so much so that I would think they are already married. Mrs. Townly: Does my daughter revolt against me! Insolent! You here, too, sir. (To Nelson) Leave instantly. Nelson: Go, go. I am more complacent than you. You kick me out and I'm leaving. Mrs. Townly: You're a brute. Nelson: Goodbye old battle cruiser. Mrs. Townly: A booby, a simpleton. Nelson: I never contradict anyone. (Exit Nelson) Townly: Really, my dear wife-- Mrs. Townly: Shut up, my dear husband-- Lawyer: May I dare explain to you, Madam-- Mrs. Townly: I am delighted that you are all against Young Richly. He lacked only you. Give me the contract that I may sign-- (signing) Come, Angelica, sign after me. Obey me. Angelica: (signing) I still can't be married, because my father won't sign, so there. Mrs. Townly: (to Edward) To oblige you, sir, I have put a gift for you in the contract. Edward: (signing) Hey! I didn't do it because of the gift. Go ahead, sir, don't waste a minute for fear Madam will change her mind. (Townly pushed by his wife, signs) Lawyer: These proceedings are closed. (Folds up the contract, bows and exits) (Lucas whispers to Mrs. Townly) Mrs. Townly: What do you say? Lucas: I wish to say simply that they love each other. Townly: And I only wanted to marry her. No matter to whom. Mrs. Townly: I've been betrayed. Angelica: I throw myself at your feet, mama. Edward: A thousand pardons, Madam. Mrs. Townly: I will never pardon you in my life. Townly: You signed. Mrs. Townly: Yes, but I will disinherit her. I will never see my son-in-law again. I will divorce my husband. I will hang Lucas and the lawyer. I am going crazy. (Mrs. Townly runs out in a fury) Edward: We'd better bring her back before she does something dangerous. Townly: So much for the spirit of contradiction. CURTAIN Publication Date: May 20th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dufresny

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Fanny Andersson my life story Publication Date: March 20th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-fannyandersson

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Spencer Dennen Hold Onto Me Don't leave me Jail House I sat in the blue chair next to the front desk of the juvy place.My social worker was talking to the front desk lady.I was shaking not because it was cold in here but because I new I was going back to juvy.I just don't even know why I'm sitting here again...I did the right thing!My social worker nelt down in front of me.   She smiled sweetly.   "How you holding up bud."She asked.   I looked away from her tears in my eyes.   "I did the right thing.She needed me."I whispered.   "Hey Travis I know.You did save her but honey you can't..."I cut her off.   "I didn't kill him!"I snapped.   She shut her eyes.   "I was going to say you can't help her runaway."She sighed.   "Right...I know what everyone is accusing me of."I said angerly.   The door across from me opened and a darker skined man called my name.My head jerked to him.This was it.Anything that I say in that room can only be the truth.I stood slowly as well did Kim my social worker who came and got me this morning.I walked in the room the door closing behind me.I took a seat in the black chair the man pointed to.My leg started to twitch.I stared at the glass as he poured the water.This was now.I would have never expecting myself to be back here for something worse than what I did before.To make you fully understand why I'm seating in this chair right now I'm actually answering questions about a murder that I didn't commit.I swear on my life that all I did at that house that night was sneak Maliana out.I still have the call from her on my cell phone.The man sat down across from me.He stared at me intently.I stared back deep into his eyes.The last thing you want to do is let them know they intimidate you.   "So tell me exactly what you were doing at Mr. Petersons' home on the 15th of June again."He said.   I nodded.   "I was picking up Maliana Dennen."I said.   He opened the file he had on the table and read.He nodded and then closed it.   "At what time would you say you arrived at the home?"He asked folding his hands.   "Um."I said.   I don't really know.How am I supposed to know when I arrived when I was trying to get out of there as fast as I could.   "I couldn't really tell you sir but you could check the time that I recieved the call from Maliana.Maybe that could tell you.I got into my car right after the call so you do the math."I said sitting back in my chair.   He nodded with a smile.   "So I understand you went to juvy before for breaking into houses and having stolen property in your home."He said walking around the room now.   "Yes sir and I learned from it."I said.   "So answer me this Mr. Tatum...Do you think you could be capable of murdering someone if you have broke into their house?"He asked.   "Excuse me?"I asked turning to look at him.   "You are taking anger management classes aren't you?"He asked.   I nodded.   "Would you say you have improved from taking those classes?"He asked.   "Yeah how does any of that apply to the murder?"I asked.   "Hey I'm asking the questions here!"He snapped hitting the table.   I smiled.   "I'm confused here.Is it me or you who needs anger management classes?"I smiled folding my hands.   The man glared at me.   "We're done."He said through clenched teeth.   I got up and left the room.Kim was waiting for me outside.We started walking to her car.   "Hey Kim I was wondering where am I going for the time being?"I asked.   "Uh.I'm gunna put you in a all boys home."She said unlocking her car.   "An all boys home?"I asked getting in.   "Well you really gave no choice Travis.Seeing as what happened last time in the mental house."She smiled pulling out of the parking lot.   "I didn't do that on purpose..."I sighed.   "Yeah yeah I know."She said.   "All boys home here I come."I nodded.   She patted me on the leg.   "It's just until they figure out what happened that night."She assured me.   I nodded and looked out the window. Flashback-Mental house  I walked throught he halls everyone congradulating me on getting to go home finally.I remember coming in here hating everyone and everything.I didn't want to ever go home.I didn't ever want to see my parents again for what they did.They are the reason I'm in here.They did this to me.But lots of therapy and coping made me realize they did this to help me.I was a pretty awful person to be around.This place changed me for the better.I sat down in the intertament room next to my good friend that I met in here.   "Hey man did you here that they canceled the visits today?"Mike asked.   "Wait?Why?"I asked.   "I don't know.That's just the rumor in the house."He said.   "Damn...Today is the first day I get to get a visit from my family."I said.   "I know.Sorry man."He said.   "Yeah me too.I'll be right back."I said leaving the room.   I wanted to know why they canceled the visits.Right when I finally get to see my family really.As I walked down the hall I stoped dead in my tracks.She was walking with my social worker Kim.Her hair was dark brown and had a tent of red to it.She glanced over and our eyes met.She looked away as she went into a room.I just stood there in the hall.One of the nurses was walking by.   "Hey Mandy!"I called.   She turned.   "Why were the visits cancled?"I asked.   "Oh didn't you hear.We are getting a new member in today.It's just poliacy Travis sorry you won't get to see your family today."She said with a smile.   "Oh yeah it's fine."I nodded.   She turned and started walking away.I looked back at the door the girl that was walking with kim went into and turned around.   "Hey Mandy where you headed?"I asked as I caught up with her.   "The intertament room."She said.   "Me too.I'll walk with you."I said.   "Sure."She smiled. All boys home  Kim dropped me off at the all boys home that I would be staying at for the time being.The man of the house was kind and so were the other guys who were staying here well from what I could see.I finished unpacking my stuff in my room that I shared with one of the other guys.I had to focus my mind on something other than Maliana or I would fucking loose it.I am in no place to do that.One fuck up and I'm out of here to juvy possibly.I just need to keep to myself in here and all will be well.   "So all you pretty much need to know is we have dinner at six and shower times are at 7."Kyle the guy I was bunking with said.   "Well that's only a few minutes for me to eat.That's impossible."I said.   "Well then you better be getting a shower with your boy."He said.   They can't be serious.What did Kim put me in a all gay guy house cause I am not gay and I'll punch a dude out.   "I was kidding."Kyle chuckled folding his clothes.   "Very funny."I smiled.   "But seriously only two guys get a shower in each day."He nodded.   "Great."I said.   So I can't take a shower everyday...That's just great...I layed back in my bed.   "Oh and we have visits every saturday if your parents or who ever you belong to wants to visit you."Kyle said.   "Yeah I don't think I'm going to need that."I said.   He just nodded.   "Me either."He said before leaving the room.   After the whole accusing me of murder thing went down I was snatched out of my home because my father.He was afraid I would hurt my little brother Mark.I would never lay a hand on him but I couldn't say the same for my dad.He had a past of abusing me so.The only one who really believed me was Mark.He knew I was leaving to get Maliana.He knew everything.I just can't really believe my mother would have doudt in me.This all brings me back to Maliana.I wonder where she is and if she's okay.At least she out of that house.That means she's safe for now.I need to see her but there's no way in hell Kim will let come and visit me.She probably thinks we will plan a story or something together about the murder.Maliana knows I didn't murder Mat Peterson.I was with her the night he was killed.I need to stop thinking about her before I go crazy.I closed my eyes and dozed off. Dream of Her  It was dark and quiet.A light appeared in a what looked like a hall.As I walked closer it began to move further.I followed it until she appeared at the end of the hall.I trembled at the sight of her.I only wanted her all this time.Just to talk to her or touch her one last time.   She smiled.   I ran to her almost knocking her down but the wall caught her.   She gasped.   I hugged her and kissed her all over.   She giggled hugging me back.   "I missed you so much Maliana..."I cried.   "I miss you too."She half smiled running her fingers through my dark hair.   "I'm sorry.I'm so sorry."I cried into her hair.   "This is not your fault Travis.You saved me and I love you for that."She whispered stroking my cheek.   "I know but I just feel if I got you out of there sooner you wouldn't have been beaten."I cried moving a stand of hair out of her face.   "I'm fine Travis.Really I am."She smiled holding on to me.   "Travis don't ever let me go."She nodded.   "Never."I smiled.   After I said that she disappeared right in my hands.I shook my hands angerly and cried out in anger.   "Why!!!!Why is this happening to me!!!"I yelled. All Boys Home Kyle shook me awake.   "You okay Mate?"He asked.   I sat up and blinked a couple of times.   "Yeah.I just had a bad dream."I said.   "That was some dream mate.You were about to fall out of your bed Mate."He said sitting down on his bed.   "Yeah."I nodded then ran a hand through my hair.   "Whose the lady Maliana mate?"He asked.   My head jerked up and I glared.   "How do you know about her?"I asked angerly.   "You were shouting the name mate.Just calm down man."He said putting his hands up.   I let my gaurd down but not all the way down.I calmed myself.   "Uh I don't really want to talk about it."I said standing.   "Alright mate.That's fine but if you need someone to talk to I'm here."He nodded playfully punching my shoulder before he left the room.   Great now I'm dreaming about her.I've gotten to the point where I'm talking in my sleep.I rubbed my eyes and looked out the bared in window.It was almost nightime.   I sighed. Publication Date: March 10th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-ffff264eefbfc45

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Elysia L Sampson, Rachel L Black last day heyo people did u like the book? prologue It was the last day of the world. We tried to run, but everywhere we went it was there too.The last words before he went missing was "i love you." whispered softly in my ear. something It started out a normal school day, "c'mon Zen!" Honor yelled behind him on his hover craft. I laughed. "Coming!" I leaned forwards to make it speed up. Finally I caught up with him. He smiled. "Your so slow." he said before speeding up again. The speed made his brown with neon blue-streaked hair flying everywhere I glanced at my own, the black and mint green colors blend together "wait up!" I called, snapping out of my daydream. We stopped at the school. The huge gray-and-blue metal building looked like a prison yard much less a school. Honor sighed “let’s go" he said, taking my hand and leading me inside. "Zendora and Honor!" Head Master yelled when we walked inside. "Yes, headmaster?" We said in unison "the droids. They need to scan you." He said, sending them over to us. We sighed and held out our wrists. The droids scanned our birthmarks. “Free to go" one said in a metallic voice. We sighed in relief, and went to our classes. "So, how are you going to find the center of the universe is multiply x by a trillion and see the speed of light " Maestro said. Honor and I exchanged glances. This was boring suddenly, the headmaster came on the loudspeaker. “All of the droids are malfunctioning, “he said in a panicked voice. Stay in your classes.” Then he went off. Everyone panicked. Someone was Publication Date: August 17th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-uua3870335fa245

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Richard Shekari Hashim Khail and Keeper of the Gates “Father is too old.” Jamil said naughtily as he rode his white horse, his shoulders spoke of his rugged feature; bold and robust. “The good thing is, when his reign is over, the kingdom will have a greater king. I just can’t wait to see you on that throne, brother.” He smirked, “I have no doubt you’ll make this realm an envy in the eyes of all the kingdoms, Hashim.” “Yes, he’s old.” Hashim responded, a hunk long haired fellow. He rode on a black horse, “But it’ll be wise not to envisage how the kingdom would be in his absence.” He turned to his brother, “The walls have ears, they say.” “Aah!” Jamil remarked, “We’re in the open field, no walls here.” He giggled and turned to the guards behind them, “Hey! You see any wall around here?” “Uh…no Prince Jamil!” Answered one of the guards. “ Chapter One: The Essence of Malefic. “Father is too old.” Jamil said naughtily as he rode his white horse, his shoulders spoke of his rugged feature; bold and robust.  “The good thing is, when his reign is over, the kingdom will have a greater king. I just can’t wait to see you on that throne, brother.”  He smirked, “I have no doubt you’ll make this realm an envy in the eyes of all the kingdoms, Hashim.” “Yes, he’s old.” Hashim responded, a hunk long haired fellow. He rode on a black horse, “But it’ll be wise not to envisage how the kingdom would be in his absence.” He turned to his brother, “The walls have ears, they say.” “Aah!” Jamil remarked, “We’re in the open field, no walls here.” He giggled and turned to the guards behind them, “Hey! You see any wall around here?” “Uh…no Prince Jamil!” Answered one of the guards. “See, no walls here.” Jamil said, “And there are lots of guards who’d stand as witnesses that there isn’t really any wall nearby!” “You know exactly what I mean, Jamil.” Hashim said as he giggled, “Don’t play that game with me, brother.”  “My point exactly,” he said. “No games! There’s nothing wrong in talking about the future here, brother. Even the one who created us all know that. We’re given the right to plan; be hopeful and dream dreams. Which is why even as we aspire, the gods still bless and surprise us beyond our wildest imagination! Whether we conceive of it or not. It is every good parent’s wish to become one with the earth than watch their own offspring perish before their very own eyes.” “That, you are right.” He said, “There are a great deal of things to learn from the king. Ruling a kingdom as great as Tzuria is no small task, brother.” “The people in any kingdom are like women…” Jamil said. “What do you mean?”  He asked. “Find out what stimulates them,” said Jamil, “Toss it over and let the thrills occupy their mind while you execute your existent ploy from behind.” Hashim put his horse to a halt and sighed. “Just because a few lasses throw themselves helplessly at your feet don’t mean women are all the same, brother.”  He said, “Your heart hums with too much misconception and ambition, Jamil. Everything has its time, be careful, for the evil one will give thee what does not belong to him with his left hand and snatch what belongs to you with his right.” “Aaah! You and your pious ways, Hashim.” He said, “We’re kids no more, we are men now. When you rule, all I ask is you give me an army and in four days I can bring Azikania and the rest of the domains before you on their knees; and slaves their beautiful women we shall make.” “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” He said. “When the time avails itself we shall lift the torch and light up the way to peace.” “You have to be hard on the world if you want to be respected.”  Jamil said, “Be unpredictable and show no sign of weakness. Not like father.” “He’s a peaceful man, a merciful king, you know better.” Hashim said, “Ever wonder why the people love him?” “Trust me, brother.” Jamil said, “The world we’ll find ourselves tomorrow will not have room for love. Hate shall be adored and chaos bred.” A guard arrived on a horse and saluted the princes. “His majesty, the king demands your presence in the castle, my lords.” He said. “Oh father,” Jamil said, “When will he realise that we’re grown men? Every time a man goes out, he sends for you to come home. He worries too much.” “That’s what fathers do, brother.” Hashim said, “It’s their worries that guarantee this very future of yesterday.” He turned to the guard, “Let the king know we’re on our way.” “Yes, prince Hashim.” Said the guard, he then rode off. “I can bet you it’s about marriage, again.”  Jamil said, “He’s too keen to become a grandfather.” Hashim climbed down his horse. “Don’t tell me you’re walking home.” He added. “Mmm hmm!” Hashim responded, “Need to stretch these legs, and the big girl need some weight off of her. Right girl?” He tapped his black horse. “Suit yourself,” Jamil said, “See you when you see me.” He galloped his white horse away, “Yahoo!” Hashim arrived in time to meet his brother Jamil flirting with some of the maids by the entrance to the king’s chamber. “Mind if we go in now, brother?” Hashim said. “Oh sure,” he answered as he turned to the young women, “Don’t forget, I’m getting a full sponge bath tonight, and you girls better be in your best behaviour.” “Yes, prince Jamil.” They all said as they giggled. “Hmm!” Hashim remarked, “You still do that?” “And many more great things,” he said. “You’re missing a lot, it is our right as royals. Just because the oldest of the lions rejects free meal don’t mean the youngest should choose not to consume it.” He bowed to his brother. “You should be a writer,” Hashim said, “Shall we?” “Sure, brother.” He replied. Hashim led the way. They both walked into the king’s chamber and greeted their father who was standing next to his throne in a purple floor-length robe. His crown was on his throne. “I’ve been standing here ever since I sent for you to be fetched!” Said the king, “if only your mother was here.”  He stroke the fringe of grey-white hair around his balding. “You boys better be fast about it!” “About what, father?”  Said Jamil, he giggled as he winked at Hashim, “We’re old enough to lead an army into battle. You worry too much, father.” “That’s not what I meant,” the king added, “When are you getting married? Especially you, Hashim. Thekina is gone, you’ve got to move on, my boy.” “I just need some time, father,” Hashim responded. “Time to uh…” “You think I don’t miss your mother?” The king interjected, “I’m just too old for that, would’ve remarried. Come on, when I was your age I was as strong as a panther both on the battlefield and in bed.” “Father, you could have a concubine.”  Jamil said, “It wouldn’t be bad to have a young woman…taking care of you.” “The maids are doing a great job.”  He said, “I do not have that strength anymore. How much time do I have left?”  He coughed, “And all you boys do is throw yourselves out there every now and then.” “Sorry about that, father,” Hashim said, “you shouldn’t worry much whenever we are out of sight, oh great king. We went deer hunting.” “I’m not worried, nooo!” Said the King, “I am just wondering what’s so great out there that you two would abandon your father every little chance you get.” “Father, Hashim is twenty nine, and I, just three years younger. We’re perfectly safe; besides, the guards are always around.” “That’s the least of my problems.” Said the king, “Anyway that is a matter we shall discuss some other time. There is a package coming in from an old friend, King Zaffariah of Therakania, I’ll want you to go fetch it for me.” “Did he send a messenger?” Hashim asked. The king took the crown from his throne and wore it. He then gently sat down. His eyes were fatigued as he was very old, “No,” he said, “He wrote some days back, they should be by the port of Tashqbal before dusk.” “You know how to read, father?”  Hashim asked as he smiled. “Mmm!” He remarked, “Your brother read the letter.” “Oh, figures!”  Hashim remarked, “Have you had anything yet, father?” “Uh! Yes,” he said. “Boiled potatoes and some grapes. It seems I’m going to have to go down the garden by myself, and pick the right ones. What am I saying, huh?”  He cleared his throat, “Maybe it is old age. My tongue is losing it. See?”  He threw a tongue out. “Oooh! Father.”  Jamil responded. “Ha-Ha! Father,” Hashim remarked, “You’re doing just fine old man!” “Is it his daughter he sends?” Jamil asked. “I’ll go! Here I am, send me to go fetch the gift.” “He has only but a son...” The King replied, “…And about two….or is it three adopted daughters, I think?” “What is your will oh great king?” Hashim asked. “I had wanted you to go alone,” he said. “With some of the guards of course but maybe uh…” he coughed, “Your brother should follow you so he’d learn how we welcome our guest in a civilised way.” “Your wish is my command, father.” Hashim said as he bowed. “You boys can leave right after lunch.” Said the king. “In that case I’d only reveal my handsome face after we meet them!” Jamil said. “By the way, brother, from this moment henceforth, call me prince Weird; I will only talk once we see the girls. Need to save this princely tone.” “What exactly do you have in mind?”  Hashim asked.  “I know just the right thing to put on for this mission.”  He said, “Let me go get my Barbute!” He quickly departed from their presence. “A mission indeed.”  Hashim laughed. “Here we go again!” said the King as he shook his head, “I warn you Hashim; never dare a blacksnake in the game of hide-and-seek in the dark.” They burst into laughter. Hashim and his father engaged into a conversation about the king’s plan to extend the western side of the castle. By the time Hashim and the ten guards were ready to go, it took a while before Jamil was able join them at the city gate; he appeared riding on his white horse, royally dressed and wearing a Barbute. “You can’t be serious!”  Hashim said. Jamil only lifted his hand and cleared his throat. “Oh, I forgot,” Hashim added, “You’re in your weird-prince-mode.” The two princes along with the guards left for the port of Tashqbal. “The Therakanian King has no daughter.” Hashim said as they rode to the port, “Just so you’d know. You don’t need to pick a girl that’s royal in order to make a queen out of her anyway, you know. Every woman is royal. For in the eyes of every man, his woman is queen.” Jamil uttered no word throughout their journey. They later arrived at the small village of Tashqbal that appeared deserted. The guards were on alert. “Where did all the fishermen go?” Said one of the guards. Hashim turned and gestured to Jamil to halt his horse. “Go look around, just to be sure.” Hashim ordered the guards. “Maybe they have all gone for…” “Fire!” a voice yelled from nowhere as arrows sprang out and hit the guards. Some masked men all dressed in black from head to toe, charged toward them on black horses. Hashim jumped off his horse and drew his sword, he swung his blade swiftly and took the lives of four men who attacked him, as he turned to warn Jamil, his eyes caught his brother’s body falling off his white horse and unto the ground. Jamil did not flex a muscle; two arrows pieced through his chest and one through his throat. He was dead. Hashim was outraged by the sight of Jamil’s lifeless body. He ignored the attackers and rushed to where his brother’s body lied. “Jamil!” He cried, “No, Jamil!” The attackers surrounded him, all the guards were dead and he was outnumbered. As he wept, one of the attackers rode off his horse, rushed towards him and with the hilt of his sword, delivered a sharp blow to Hashim on the back of the head. Hashim fainted. Chapter Two: Imperial slave.   The next morning, Hashim was brought before King Yuri of Therakania. He was in shackles, as he was dragged before the king, he noticed that the one seated on the throne was a young man about his age, and there was a young beautiful lady who stood on the left side of the throne in a full length vibrant-red silk hooded cape. She looked like a princess but the hood over her magma-red hair made her appear more like a sorceress and not from it. Things are not as they appear, try to remain calm said a soft female’s voice that sounded in Hashim’s head. He looked up and wondered if the lady in red was the one that spoke. She only crossed her arms across her chest, her visionary eyes anchored at him. The king, a tall stalwart young man stood up and walked down to meet them, his cloak bore his royal emblem. The soldiers bowed before him. “Hashim Khail, I presume.” Said the king, “I’ve longed to meet you. I never expected it to be this soon, and in this manner.” He stood with arms akimbo, “Pardon my men, their heart only reveres one throne.” Hashim stood 6-feet tall with his broad shoulders and bare muscular chest before the king. “You’re much taller than I expected,” the king added as he looked up at Hashim. “You look more of a warrior than a prince, my friend!” “You had my brother killed, “Hashim said, with a burning lethal stare. “I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll make you pay!” Hashim sighted a dagger around the waist of one of the soldiers, he rushed for it but received a punch in the stomach, he went down on his knees, and they took turn in kicking him. “That’s enough!” Said the king. He turned and looked at the lady in the red dress. She ignored him and quietly walked out of the throne room, her elegant personality caught Hashim’s attention once more.     The king bent with his hands on his knees and gazed into Hashim’s vengeful eyes. “For the sake of your mother, I hope you’d keep your lips sealed about who you are while you are here,” said the king, “I don’t have much to say for now.” He turned to the soldiers, “Rid my sight of him.” The soldiers dragged him out of the throne room and locked him down in a dungeon. For the days that followed, Hashim tilled the soil in the fields under the scorching sun just like any other slave and was fed twice a day. Every time they returned from the field, they’d be frisked by the guards before being allowed to enter their cells. Hashim found out that Yuri has succeeded his father, King Zaffariah, who had passed away. One day while at the field, he sighted two slaves in a brawl and made an attempt to separate them but someone stopped him. “Don’t!” Said one of the slaves, a sinewy athletic looking man. “The guards will beat you up and tie you for days if you try to stop any fight on the field. They love it, it entertains them. Trust me, you don’t want to be tagged a killjoy by these men.” Hashim ignored the man that spoke to him and ran towards the fighters. Before he got there, another slave who tried to stop the fight was caught, whipped and dealt with by the guards. They caught him, tied him up, and left him bare under the sun as the rest of the slaves were ordered to keep working. The fighters were ordered to continue their brawl moments later.   Hashim went back to the slave that warned him earlier. “Thank you,” He said. “You’re welcome, brother.” The man answered. “What’s your name?” Hashim asked. “Brutus Boriah.” He said as he continued working. Hashim felt the man didn’t want to be bothered, so he too went along ploughing. The next morning, while at the field, one of the slaves began to jerk up and down as though possessed. He drooled and began to run after the other slaves, his facial structure changed, and he hissed like a snake and spoke in foreign tongues they’ve never heard. He grabbed a fellow slave and like a catapult, flung him away. It shocked and amazed all the slaves, some of the guards laughed while others got scared. The guards ignored the madman until he ran towards them and began punching the ones he laid his hands on; he’d catch two and throw them off, the possessed slave ran out of control and blasphemed. On seeing what was unfolding, the commander ordered Brutus be brought forth. And as soon as he arrived the scene, he knelt down and whispered some words then stood up and commanded the spirits that took the man’s body hostage. The madman went down on his knees, and unto the ground. Some of the slaves came forth and took him away to a nearby tree, where he was allowed to rest. After that, the slaves began chanting Brutus’ name, they hailed him. He lowered his head and begged them to stop. “Are you some kind of wizard?” Hashim asked him. “No,” he replied, “I only prayed, and cast out the evil spirit that possessed him.” “Prayed? Cast out the evil spirit?” Hashim responded, “Hmm! Where are you from?” “I hail from Damarus.” He said. “Uh,” he remarked, “Damarus, land of the free.” “Land of the free indeed,” Brutus said. “Where are you from and how did you end up here? Because you don’t look like them.” “I am Hashim.” He replied, “I am from a kingdom north of this place,” he paused. “And the day my father finds out where I am, not a damn goat will be left alive in this land.” “You’re royal?” Brutus asked. “I’ve never felt so.” He responded. As Hashim and Brutus acquainted themselves, three young beautiful women arrived on a chariot, they went and had a chat with the one in charge of the slaves. Hashim recognised one of them; she was the one he saw the day he was brought before King Yuri. “That woman…the tall pretty one.” Hashim said, “Who is she?” “Oh, the fairest of them all?” Said Brutus, “That’s Nabil Tahil, King Yuri’s seer and protector.” “Nabil? Seer and protector?” He whispered. “That’s what I said.” Brutus responded. “Is she the late king’s daughter?” Hashim asked. “Well, in a way yes!” Brutus added, “She’s a sorceress of some sort; King Yuri’s ears are slaves to her lips, I heard.” “The other two?” He asked again. “They are her sisters.” Brutus answered, “Known as the gates!” The ladies left the man in charge of the slaves and got unto their chariot then rode through the field to where Hashim and Brutus stood. The chariot halted right in front of Hashim. “The dust from your horses’ feet would degrade thy beauty, my lady.” Hashim said as he coughed, “Where I come from…” “Please-don’t-say-another-word.” Brutus interjected, “I beg of you.” Nabil, who was driving the chariot stared at Hashim for a while. Her two sisters where beside her, she lashed the horses and rode off. He was ensnared by her looks. “When a man’s eyes are set on such beauty…” Hashim said. “…Even his soul shall become slave to her command uncoerced…not only his heart.” He sighed, “and the queen is never…jealous?” “Jealous? No!” Brutus said, “As a matter of fact, Nabil advised King Yuri to take Haloui as his queen. Queen Haloui is not of noble birth.” “Who are they?” Hashim asked. “The girls are triplets,” said Brutus, “The one in red, Nabil, is the oldest, she’s the one that controls the powers of the other two.” “Powers?” Hashim remarked, “I don’t understand.” “Well, it is what I heard.” Brutus added, “It’s said that their mother was once a slave in this kingdom, around the time they were conceived; she died of childbirth, and Yuri’s father, the late king, took them in when the matter was reported to him. It’ll take six years before the girls would be discovered to possess certain powers. To his demise, the king treated them as though they were his own.” “Hmm!”  Hashim remarked, “So, for how long have you been here?” “Seven months.”  He said as he ploughed the field, “I was running away from persecution, decided to sleep in the valleys one night and by the time I woke up, I was surrounded by some armed men; slave traders. They chained me up and sold me to someone else who also sold me to another,” he paused, “On our way to an unknown destination, the Therakanians captured us and brought us all here.” “Including the slave master?”  Hashim asked. “All of us,” he said. “But the old rich fellow died three months ago. He couldn’t stand the heat.” “You said something about persecution?” Hashim said. “Well, yes.” Brutus replied. “Someone wasn’t happy with the colour of your skin?” Said Hashim. “No. No!” He answered, “Anyway, certain men came to our city years back and preached about this man, whom they said could heal the sick and even raise the dead. And after some of us watched them make manifest the very thing they preached,” He smiled, “We gave our life to the one they spoke of, the saviour.” “You gave your life to someone called the saviour?” Hashim said, “I do not understand!” “It’s a form of uh…acceptance, commitment after an agreement to have a personal relationship with the one we worship.” He said as he laid his hoe aside and sat on the ground. “So those of us who believe, wilfully embraced the way.” “You can’t be serious.” Hashim responded, “Your ancestors, didn’t they have like a god or some deities they worshipped before you were born?” “They do; my father and mother both worshipped different gods,” he said, “However, when they decided to marry, my mother adopted my father’s god.” “But you abandoned the gods of your parents?” Hashim asked, “I mean the gods your parents worshipped for another one?” “Yes!” He answered, “No one would experience His presence, peace and mercy, and not turn away from the world.” “Well, why would the king of your land persecute you?” said Hashim, “If what you practice is good, and if the one you serve is as good as you speak of or did you people rise against your ruler?” “No!” He said, “When we embraced the way, our number began to grow and some gentiles weren’t comfortable with it. We were accused of creating a movement that was seen as a threat to the kingdom, its laws and way of life of the people. So they arrested us, imprisoned some of us and even killed those who resisted.” “Why?” He said, “But you practice your way in peace, right?” “If you ask me” Brutus replied, “Maybe the light of the way threatens the existence of darkness in these kingdoms here on earth even though they are of two different worlds.” “Hmm! The way?” Hashim said, “Is that what the movement is called?” “It’s not a movement,” Brutus responded, “It’s a way of life; we tend to follow the pattern of life of the author and finisher of our faith. At least that’s how it’s supposed to be.” “I see,” said Hashim. “To cast out demons, heal the sick and…?” “Share the good news,” Brutus interjected, “Love your neighbour as yourself and…” “Raise the dead?” Hashim interposed. “When the need arises, yes?” He said. “With little faith in whom I serve, you have no idea what can be achieved or made manifest.” “You mean to tell me you watched the dead brought back to life?” Hashim asked, “This is interesting! And I thought I’ve seen all the crazy things in the world.” He snorted. “So, do you have plans of going back to your place?” “Not anymore,” Brutus said, “The Romans invaded our lands and well, made an outpost out of it.” “The Romans,” he said, “I heard their story. Great army.” “You’ve got that right,” Brutus responded. “Crushes anything that stands on their path.” “Back to work!” A guard yelled. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Brutus.” Hashim said as he continued weeding. “Please to meet you too, Hashim.” Chapter Three: Dine with the King. After sunset, they marched back to the slave quarters. While in the cell, four guards arrived and ordered Hashim to stand on his feet. A guard entered the cell and put on shackles around his ankles, they took him on a chariot to a house in the city. On their arrival, two guards stood behind while the other two took Hashim inside the house. He was unchained and left standing in the middle of a large empty room, painted white. Moments later, the doors in front of him came open. Two young women walked in; one dressed in a blue hooded cape and the other in green, he recognised them. They were Nabil’s sisters, and behind them was their older sister in her usual red silk cape. “Hashim Khail.” Nabil said as she approached him, “Is that what you are called?” “Yes,” he answered. “Who wants to know?” Nabil’s tone resembled the voice that sounded in his head the day he was brought before King Yuri. Her two sisters stood behind her.  “Please be seated!” She said in a polite manner. “Are you serious?” He said. “Please,” she pled with him as she pointed at something behind him. Hashim turned and saw a white wooden chair. He looked around and saw no one. He could not remember hearing any sound or footsteps earlier, and he was sure the chair wasn’t there when the guards brought him in. “Ookay?” He emphasised, sighed and ignored her order, “How did you…” “Please, sit!” She interposed. Hashim crossed his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow. “Alright, tough guy.” She said, “Shurriah!” The one in blue dress came forward and stared at him. She raised her left arm and a vortex appeared behind him, and like the wind compelled Hashim to the chair. “Vina!” Nabil Yelled. The lady in green came forward and raised her left arm; roots from each handle sprouted and tied his hands. Two more roots pierced the floor and wrapped themselves around his ankles, and fastened his feet to the legs of the chair. “Don’t fight it, warrior.” Nabil Whispered as she lowered her face and gazed into his eyes as though she wanted to read his mind, “It’ll get tighter. Stay calm.” She laid her hands on his forearm. He was lost in her large green eyes as she was also ensnared by his. They stared into each other’s eyes. Nabil couldn’t talk anymore, she heaved as though he took her breath away; she held her lips together as best she could, then stood up right and took a step back without saying a word. Shurriah and Vina looked at each other, then quietly left the room and shut the door behind them. “How did they…do that?” He stuttered with a smirk, “And hey, did you just sneak into my…mind?” She snorted and stared down at him as she suspired. “Oh, I know.” He added, “You want to torture me, huh? I saw how you were staring me back at the farm.” He paused, “So uh…if I may ask, really, what are we doing here?” The doors came open once more. “Aha!” King Yuri yelled, “The great prince himself tied to our little magic chair.” He walked to them and shook his head. Nabil bowed before the king and turned to walk away. “Hey, beautiful eyes!” Hashim said, “How can three women tie me up to a chair and leave me with this…man?” She looked at the king, then walked out of the room. “Hey, I am talking to you!” Hashim yelled, “You didn’t tell me your name!” “She’s a fine one, isn’t she?” Said the king, “Be careful with her eyes, and don’t say I didn’t warn you, my….” “One day I’m going to have my hands wrapped around your neck!” Hashim interjected, “I’ll squeeze it and watch the life in you squeal out.” “If I had a brother, I don’t think I’ll be this fond of him.” King Yuri said, “I have nothing to do with this zany accusations you lay.” Hashim jerked his hands and tried to free himself from the roots that held him. “Hmm!” King Yuri responded, “Anyway, I would’ve preferred a more, you know, gentlemen kind of meeting but the way you roared at me in the presence of my men the other day suggests caution be taken. Hence the magic chair.” “What do you want from me?” He asked. “Nothing, nothing really!” said the king, “I came to uh…well, it means I do really want something from you; I came to personally invite you to come dine with me and my queen later tonight!” He giggled, “That’s all.” “That’s it?” Hashim said. “Yes! That is all!” He answered, “However, you’ll need to get cleaned up. Some ladies are going to come back and give you a good warm bath. Mind you, my guards will come along with them just to make sure someone’s hand don’t reach out to any lass’ neck. You know what I mean, don’t you?” The king clapped. Four young women walked in half naked, followed by six guards. Four of the men pushed in a big bathtub on small wheels filled with warm water.  Two of the ladies had with them soaps and sponges. “Off I go then.” Said the king, “See you in a jiffy, my friend. Oh! And uh…Enjoy yourself!” He tapped Hashim on the chest and walked away humming. The women and the guards bowed as he walked pass them. The men then stationed the bathtub right next to Hashim. Moments later, two guards brought Hashim before the king. He was dressed in a fine gentleman’s attire. The king was at the dining table with his queen by his side. “Please, join us!” The king said, he stood to his feet as he chomped on a big leg of succulent roasted turkey. Hashim walked to the table and bowed to the queen. She smiled. The guards stepped back and stood by the entrance. “I love pork, it’s my favourite.” The king added as he sat down, “Please have a seat. I understand that you Tzurians find swine offensive especially when offered as a meal. So I made sure they prepared a nice roasted turkey, just for you.” Hashim looked at the variety of food and exotic fruits displayed on the table, and almost drooled. He then turned to the king and queen. “I insist,” the king said. “Please!” Hashim sighed, then gently drew a chair out and sat down. “Please, eat!” The king added, “You Tzurians are lovers of exotic fruits I am told, I also made sure they plugged the finest from the palace garden. Hope you like it.” Hashim grabbed a purple fruit that looked like an apple and took a bite. He shook his head. “Mmm!” He responded, “This is very-very-good! Tastes like uh… assortment of fruits; a mixture of pineapple and uh…grape?” “You’re pleased by the sweetness of what I offer to you then.” The king said excitedly, “This is a good start, huh?” Hashim shook his head as he mashed the juicy fruit with his Tzurian teeth. “Good!” The king added, “I love the fact that you love it.”  He giggled, “I believe you’ve met Nabil?” “I sure did,” he said, “She’s beautiful, but the way she stares and appears out of nowhere scares my soul.” He licked his lips, “Whence comes this peculiar fruit? It’s…juicy!”  He took another bite. “My queen’s favourite,” said the king, “Jaspel, I call it. I actually named it after her beloved mother.”  He cleared his throat, “I don’t know what name your people shall call it, I can give you some samples to go back home with. It is a combination of the heart of a pineapple tree and some fruit tree from the western part of Africa.” Hashim stretched his hand and grabbed a chunk of meat placed before him. He sank his teeth to it. “Hmm!” He remarked, “You live in a paradise oh great king.” “Wait till you taste her own meal,” said the king referring to his queen. “She’ll make your tongue realise it has been denied its right from birth.” He smiled. “Oh please, my king!”  The queen said. “Yet he doesn’t want me in the kitchen.” She smiled. “No king in his right minds would allow a rare and beautiful gem such as yourself near anything that burns, my queen.” He responded, “As much as I’d do anything to eat your food, I’d rather die trying to protect your tender skin from being gouged by the wind itself.” She smiled and shied away from his comment. Hashim belched, “Pardon my manners.”  He said. “The seer, Nabil.” Said the king, “She thinks you’re special, and should not be tampered with.” “The beautiful lady in red?” Hashim said, “I think she’s in love with me. I can see it in her eyes.” The king cleared his throat and turned towards his right. Hashim turned and saw Nabil standing behind him. He gently turned his head back to the table and laid the meat on a platter, he reached for a cup filled with red wine. “Nabil, her name?” He asked, “She’s not from this kingdom, is she?” “Hmm.” The queen remarked, “And, how did you know, might I ask?” “Hashim is one of Thal Kalliman’s great student.” The king said. “Thal Kalliman?” The queen asked, “The great old and grey scholar from the Ghanerk?” Hashim shook his head, “and how did the great king know all these about me?” He asked. “I know more than enough about you, Hashim.” Said the king, “I know that you’re the true heir to the throne of your father, King Xhafir Khail III. You’re a brilliant swordsman, and very generous to the people, even those not of your father’s kingdom. I also know that you lost your wife to the cold hands of death.” “Oh dear,” said the queen, “So sorry for your great loss.” Hashim smiled. He gently placed the wine cup back on the table. “Please, come with me.” Said the king as he stood up, “There’s something I’d like to show you.” He wiped his mouth with a piece of cloth and led the way, Hashim stood up and walked with him. And so did Nabil and the two guards. The king took him up to the roof of the palace, where ten more guards stood watch. He showed him a model of the vast land he ruled, laid on a big platform; it showed the great city of Nurok, the capital of Therakania. And many other cities and lands under the king. “Not as big as thy father’s kingdom,” said the king. “But big enough to be my pride, as it was to my father.” He sighed, “You see, my father…your father’s chum built this great city, and during his reign he shifted the capital after every ten years. This way, he believed would bring development and spread prosperity throughout the kingdom.” “Wise approach.” Hashim said. “He was a wise king indeed.” He said, “We Therakanians attach value to loyalty. And the late king, my father, had told me a great deal about your father. He promised never to stand against his interests in any way, no matter what. My father had great respect for your father.” He nodded, “He always said that your father was more than just a king, but a man with a good and kind heart. I think there came a time when war knocked upon the gates of our kingdom. When Arrazaq, the Gruxian invaded our land and none among my father’s friends came to his rescue. He called for help but they turned their backs on him. The one king that my father didn’t call out to, was the only one that came to his aid. They joined forces and drove out the Gruxians, and fed them to the vultures in the plains.” He laughed, “My father told me that, after the war, this king even offered assistance to help raise the kingdom’s economy back on its feet. Do you know who this king was?” “No!” Hashim responded, “But I’ve heard stories of King Arrazaq of Grux.” “Come on, Hashim.” He said, “Don’t tell me your father never told you about how he assisted my father in defeating the Gruxians in the days of old.” “No!” Hashim answered, “My father isn’t much of a talker. He is more of a thinker and adores his solitude. He did tell me he was expecting a gift from your father, and he sent us to collect it, we didn’t know your father’s son had other plans.” “Things are not as they appear, Hashim.” King Yuri said, “You’ll find out at the right time, maybe. But your father…he was a great king.” “No, he is a great king.” Hashim emphasised. King Yuri walked to Hashim. “King Xhafir Khail III passed away weeks back, Hashim.” He said. “About the same time you were brought.” “Really?” Hashim responded. “No, you must be talking about a different king entirely. My father…” “Your father was assassinated, Hashim.” He interjected, “I’m sorry to say but it is the truth.” “Don’t you dare stir the name of my father with the dead,” Hashim yelled in anger. The guards made a move but King Yuri signalled them, and they remained calm. “I did not invite you into my palace to make mockery of you.” He said, “The son of my father’s friend is also my friend.” “Then what is this unthinkable thing you spat?” Hashim said. “I have no reason to lie to you.” He said, “I’d gain nothing from it.” Hashim wrestled the king to the ground. The guards grabbed hold of him and subdued him. Chapter Four: Veracity. Hashim woke up in his cell. The excruciating pain from the back of his neck made him lay on the ground without flexing a muscle. “Here!” Brutus said. His hand stretched across from his cell. “What’s that?” Hashim asked. “Loaf,” he replied. “They brought food while you were gone, asked them to keep your portion but they spat on me instead.” “Actually I just dined with the king.” Hashim said. “I see,” he responded. “It seem they served you a hot plate of delicious punches.” “Ha-Ha-Ha! Very funny,” Hashim remarked, “And I thought nice people don’t throw jokes.”  He groaned, “Really, I am okay.” “If you say so, brother.” Brutus said as he withdrew his hand from Hashim’s sight.  “Brutus!” He yelled. “Yes, Hashim.” He answered. “You are a good man,” Hashim added. “Thanks for um…looking out for me.” “Why? We are neighbours,” Brutus stated. “Besides, what are brothers for?” “Yeah, thanks, brother.” Said Hashim. “You’re welcome.” He responded, “So, how does the king’s meal tastes like?” “Trust me,” Hashim replied, “My late grandmother cooked better.” “You can’t be serious.” Brutus added as he laughed. “Come on.”   “Actually it tasted nice,” Hashim said, “Reminded me of my family; my brother loved roasted turkey, and so does my father.” “What about you?” Brutus asked. “Well, I am more of a fried-fish person.” He said, “Oh, and I love fruits.” He cleared his throat, “So um…do you ever miss home?” “Well, yes!” Brutus said, “Even though what I call home has been destroyed, and the ones I call family have been killed.” They both went silent. “It must be hard on you,” he said, “I’m so sorry for…” “It’s okay.” Brutus interjected, “That reminds me; you never told me where you’re from.” “Karan!” He said. “The Tzurian capital?” Brutus asked. “Yes, friend.” He answered. They heard some guards approaching. “Now what?” Hashim whispered.  “You’re a stubborn man!” Hashim raised his head only to see Nabil standing by the bars that caged him, there was a guard behind her. “I was born that way, maybe.” Hashim said. “How do you do?” “The king treats you like a friend and invites you to dine with him yet, you stood up to him in the presence of his royal guards?” She said, “You’re special kind of stupid.” “Leave me alone.” He said. “If I had left you alone from the start, you could’ve been killed the very day you stepped on the grounds of this kingdom.” She added, “I vouched for you before you even set foot on this land.” “I never asked anyone to stand up for me.” He said as he managed to stand on his feet, and walked to the bar. “You truly are a stubborn man.” She added, “I’ve never seen a…” “What do you care?” He interposed. “What do I care?” She giggled. Nabil then asked the guard to open the cell. Hashim gently took some steps back. She walked in and slapped Hashim on the face. “Did you just hit me?” He said, “You lay those soft fingers on my delicate face again lady and I’d make sure…” She slapped him once more. “Oh boy!” Brutus’ voice echoed, “She’s a tough one!” “Shut up!”  They both yelled in unison. “You look more beautiful when you’re angry.” Hashim said. She snorted. “I know you like me,” he added. “Your heart emits a fragrance of…” “My heart has no affection for a slave such as yourself.” She interjected as she turned her back and crossed her arms. Hashim took a step forward. “I’m sorry, I messed up.” He said, “King Yuri said something about my father that provoked me.” “He spoke the truth.” Nabil said. She turned and faced Hm. “What do you mean?” He asked. “Your father was killed by…” she paused then looked around as if she sensed something. “I need to go, “King Yuri is on his way down here.” She quickly walked out of the cell and ordered the guard to lock it. They walked away. Hashim lied down on the floor and pretended to be asleep. As soon as they left, King Yuri arrived with six guards. “Wake him up!” Ordered the king. A guard took a bucket of water and poured it on Hashim. “Oh for the sakes of my ancestors!” Hashim yelled, “Can’t a man have peace?” “That I’m afraid only your ancestor can brag of,” King Yuri said, “A great king once told me that anything  a man owns can be taken away from him, even his own life can be snatched from him.” He giggled, “Peace is for the dead, my friend. Because you cannot steal anything from them, or betray them or backstab them, I guess.” “What do you want?” Hashim said. “I came to give you a chance to apologise.” Said the king. “I did nothing wrong.” He said. “You rushed a king to the floor,” He snapped his finger, “I could have you hanged, just like that.” “Well, what stopped you?” Hashim asked. “Because I know that you despise me, you’re clouded by a wrong notion of who I am.” King Yuri said, “I’ll tell you something very important but it won’t make any sense to you for now; the one who planned the attack on you that made you end up here is the very one who killed your father.” “Don’t you dare speak such of my father!” He said. “I know it’s something that doesn’t make sense to you.” King Yuri added, “I won’t blame you for being mad at me. You see, the day you were attacked, the ones who came against you weren’t my men. My men got there just when you were about to be slaughtered. You were unconscious, and my men confronted the ones who attacked you. They brought you back here, because it was dangerous for them to deliver my father’s message after what they witnessed.” “What are you talking about?” Hashim asked, “Your words don’t even make any sense." “Alright,” King Yuri said as he sighed. “My father was old and sick. He wrote to his friends that he would send gifts on a particular day. Your father, was among those friends of his. Now, the truth is, my father intended to hand over the kingdom to me while he was still alive and wanted his friends to be aware, so he sent invitations to those he considered friends. The gift he sent were actually some gold and silver, and a letter of invitation for my coronation. Unfortunately just after the gift bearers left, my father passed away. But all the men have delivered the invitation with the exception of your father’s, and by the time my men had arrived the port of Tashqbal, they encountered some masked men who were about to slaughter you. My men confronted and killed them but one escaped.” He sighed, “You were unconscious when they found you, and on recognising who you are, they decided to bring you here.” “Hmm!” Hashim responded, “When I was a little boy, my grandfather used to tell me stories. And believe me, as old and shaky as he was, he told greater stories even in his sleep. You my friend, you sound like a parrot! Well, I’ve got news for you; my father would one day know I am here, you and your entire army won’t find it funny.” “Nabil warned me about you,” said the king. “She said you’re stubborn spirited. Now listen, I also understand clearly that her heart has grown fond of you, know that she is more than just an adviser, she’s like a sister to me.” “From what I’ve gathered she’s a seer, eh?” Hashim said, “Guess the future of your kingdom depends on her foresight too.” “From one man to another man,” The king said “I’d say you do us a favour and keep your hands off of her for now.” “What do you want from me anyway?” Hashim asked. “Look, the one who reigns over your father’s throne demands your head on a platter of gold as proof in the next four days or he’d come for mine.” He said, “All I want is to help you regain your father’s throne.” “That’s it?” Hashim asked. “Well, yes!” He replied. “You killed my brother and had me captured.” Hashim said, “Now you come to me about my father’s throne being ruled by a certain someone, and now wants to help me get it back?” He laughed. “And knowing that I am a prince from Tzuria, you had me chained and treated as a slave?” “When you come before a king and a make a move for his life,” he answered, “What do you expect? You act like a cretin, you get treated like one!”  He smiled, “Couple with the fact that we had no idea what went down at Tashqbal, we had to put up with the only option left, and then the next day I received a letter from Tzuria, to deliver you dead or alive, or face the wrath of the new ruler of Tzuria.”  He giggled, “I replied to comply at the same time sent some spies and on their return, the news I received was not pleasing to my ears. I believe that we all make mistakes because when I made the deal, I didn’t know what I bargained for. Nabil tried to warn me but I didn’t listen. Now, she was the one that advised me to keep you alive and safe. She also suggested that I give you and army to go back and retake what’s rightfully yours.” “Hmm!” Hashim remarked, “How am I sure you are saying the truth? Put your feet in my shoes.” “Bring him along.” The king ordered, he quickly turned and walked away. The guards chained him up and took him to the palace, and into the King’s inner chamber. King Yuri brought out some scrolls from a shelf and threw them at Hashim’s feet. “You are royal,” he said, “I believe you can read. I also believe you know where that seal comes from!” Hashim picked one of the scrolls and went through it, he threw it away and pick the next one. He lifted his head in disbelief and looked at King Yuri. Hashim’s knees kissed the floor. “If you agree with me,” Said King Yuri, “I say we set out as soon as possible.”   Chapter Five: Eventide. King Yuri ordered Hashim be treated well. He was taken to a nice room and offered good clothes to wear and good meal but he rejected the food as he was sober.  As King Yuri and his advisors planned on how Hashim would be assisted to retake his father’s kingdom, Nabil brought some fruits and found Hashim standing by the window. “You have to eat.” She said. “You’ll need to stay alive, if not for your sake but for the sake of your people…and my people. Yuri is a good man, you need to understand that. But even good men sometimes make the wrong decisions. And a few wise ones get themselves back on the right path when they realise they’ve erred.”  “Ever wondered how it’ll be like to have a family of your own?” He asked as he turned to her. “I have a family!” She said, “King Yuri, the people here and my sisters. They are my family.” “Well, Yuri seem to have a queen, right?” He said. She nodded. “We have this beautiful garden in the castle,” Hashim added, “I used to go there a lot. I don’t know if it’s still there, but I think you’d love it.” “Are you trying to woo me by enticing me with a garden?” She said as she smiled, “You can do better than that!” “I want you to come with me,” He said. “You’ll love it there!” “My heart is rooted in this land.” She said. “I will water the roots with my own hands if you agree to come with me!” He said. “And maybe you’ll find out that my land is more fertile.” He smiled, “Not that I am saying the soil here is bad!” “You did not just say that.” She responded. They both laughed. “I do love to have a garden of my own someday,” she said. “Does that mean you’re coming with me?” He asked. “I can’t answer that right now,” she said, “but if King Yuri is giving you an army then he’ll surely ride with you and wherever he goes, my sisters and I go.” “I know that,” he said. “What I am trying to say is, if this whole thing is over. Would you…” “I know what you mean!” She interjected. “I don’t know but, I dreamt about you even days before you came.”  “How can you dream about a man you’ve never met before?” He responded. “Let’s just say I see things.” She added. “What was the dream about?” He asked. “In my dream, you struggled with someone with a dark heart and snatched a crown from him,” she said, “You then took me to a garden but the bridge that led to the garden was broken.” “My father’s garden has no bridge,” he said, “It’s in the middle of a beautiful orchard. With beautiful flowers and trees that bear exotic fruits.” “I need to get going.” She responded. “Please stay.” He said as he walked to her. “We have a long trip ahead of us tomorrow.” She added, “You’ll need to rest too. Goodnight!” She walked out of the room. “Goodnight.” He said.   Chapter Six: The Foe within the Four Walls. King Yuri assembled his soldiers and they left for Tzuria at dawn. By sunset they had entered the land and made a camp not far from the capital city of Karan. On their arrival, Hashim disguised himself and prepared to go into the city but Nabil stopped him. As the morning sun shone upon the battlefield, King Yuri’s two thousand army stood behind in full battle formation. “You must remain calm when the representatives from the other side come forth for negotiations.” Nabil said. “Keep you armet on no matter what!” “I can barely breathe,” said Hashim as he pulled down the visor of his helmet. “I don’t usually fight with such thick armour, I can barely see with this thing.” “I’ll need you to trust me on this, okay?” She said. “Okay.” He answered, “But as soon as it gets rusty out there, I’ll take it off!” “Not a problem, just don’t take it off before the battle starts no matter what. Do you understand?” “Do whatever she says,” King Yuri said. “Nabil always knows best, trust me!” He smiled at her with such profound respect. She smiled back. “I understand!” Hashim nodded. “I hope you really do!” King Yuri added. Hashim agreed to heed to her advice. They mounted their horses; King Yuri, Hashim, Nabil and her sisters rode off. As they approached the centre of the battlefield, so did five representatives from the Tzurian side who galloped to meet them; four soldiers on black horses and their leader wearing a full plate armour along with his white horse. Hashim and his team had reached the meeting point, they halted their horse in wait for the others. Nabil turned to Hashim and uttered no word, he gasped and placed his hand on his sword. “Hands off sword!” She said. Hashim did as told. “Act natural.” King Yuri added. “Not on a battlefield!” Said Hashim, “And not when the one who murdered my family is proudly riding on my beloved brother’s favourite horse.” Nabil and King Yuri looked at each other. “When the scouts told me of an army riding against my city I thought it was a joke.” Said the one in the full plate armour, “Don’t be threatened by the armour, I haven’t worn it before so I felt today is such a good day to let the beautiful sun shine on this silver, King Yuri.” He laughed, “You’ve got my generals and commanders worried but I reminded them that our new-borns alone outnumbered your army. Funny but a true fact, huh?”   King Yuri smiled. “So if I may ask out of respect, from one king to another,” he added, “What gift have you brought that’s so special you had to bring it yourself, Yuri?” “It’s not much,” King Yuri said, “But it sure going to be amazing.” “Escorted by a handful of boys dressed as soldiers?” He mocked, “Come on!” “I’ve come not to fight, that is sure, oh great ruler of Tzuria.” King Yuri said, “Gifts? I do bear them but it’s in my tent back there, you know, we had to camp for the night. I told my men we were coming to see a man who believed that the precious life of his family and the ones who loved him stood between him and pleasures of this world, so why not rid himself these eyesores so he’d rule the kingdom and glide on the wings of greed.” The four men from the Tzurian side pulled their swords. “Easy! Easy, men!” Said their leader. “We are Tzurians, we don’t cringe when a hog oinks!” The men returned their swords to the sheaths as their leader took off his helmet. Lo and behold! At that very instant Jamil’s face was revealed. “Remain calm!” Nabil whispered to Hashim. Hashim’s legs began to shake and so his hands. He agitated on his horse, he found it hard to believe his eyes. His heart pounded uncontrollably. “Well,” Jamil responded, “When I was a kid, my friends and I would say things we don’t really mean, you know, boys always do that. Even if it leads to a fight, we always laugh and at the end of the day, we’d let the friendship flourish…but you see,” he sighed, “This thing you just said  Yuri is…very-very-hurting, my friend.” “That’s the whole idea.” King Yuri said. “Now, I am a merciful king!” Jamil added, “I have already forgiven you but, you see, my men have heard these silly or should I say foolish thing you’ve let slip off that tongue you used to kiss that whore you call a queen, so I shall let this pass on one condition; that you come down your horse and kneel before me.” King Yuri laughed so hard tears rolled down his eyes. “I have behind me, three thousand men on foot and on horsebacks.” Jamil bragged, “a thousand and one archers, and if you look up and around you, you’d notice about three thousand or more assembling themselves right now as we speak. They are gift from a friend.” King Yuri turned and realised that the entire place has been surrounded by soldiers in black uniform. He and his men were besieged and confused at the sight of the sheer number of men that surrounded them, they lost their morale. “I am not my father’s weakness, Yuri.” Jamil added. “I am not that weakling. We had a deal, yes, if you have come to collect your share of the bargain then we can go into my castle like the men of royal that we are, and I’ll have your gold delivered to you so you’d go and settle your pathetic excuse for an army the debt you owe. But um…I’d hope you have preserved his dead body or at least his head.” “I require nothing in return for almost…helping you kill your own brother, Jamil.”  King Yuri said. “I am that man none of you sons of whores should dare dream of raising your tongues against let alone your swords!” Jamil yelled, “Bow before me or I’ll kill you right here, right now, and make that stupid whore of a queen of yours feed on hay for the rest of her miserable life.” “It’s obvious you didn’t hear the word ‘almost’ in the last thing he said!” Hashim yelled. “Who is this leper?” Jamil asked as he giggled, his men laughed along. Jamil gave a signal, and one of the men beside him raised a flag and wove it. More than a thousand men that surrounded the battlefield began marching downwards. The Therakanians were terrified. “The Gruxians!” King Yuri yelled, “You coward!” He appeared frightened by their number and size. The Gruxians charged towards the centre of the battlefield. “You see, my friend.” Jamil said, “I am not as stupid as you think. I am in the business of making friends, making friends with the right people that is, and I offered you that chance which you turned down. Not only have you come before me with an army to insult me, but defiled our soil with your foul presence.” Nabil rode her horse gently and stood between the two sides as the Gruxians approach them. “Coward of a king you are,” Jamil added “You should throw them in the room where meals are prepared not fields where battles are fought!” “Vina!” Nabil called. Vina came down from her horse and walked to her sister. Nabil turned to her and smiled. Vina then removed her shoes and sank her feet into the soil, she lifted her two hands and chanted; tiny roots sprouted from where she stood. Jamil, his men and their horses drew back. The roots grew larger in size and many more sprouted from the ground and made their way to the Gruxians’ position, the roots ferociously pieced the grounds as it approached them. The spikes impaled them; many where flung into the sky by the roots and landed on bare ground, some on the sharp edges of the roots that appeared to come to live. The Gruxian army began to flee but the roots were faster than their dreaded heartbeats. Jamil watched as the might of his ally was put to shame in a matter of minutes. The entire Gruxian army were wiped. Fear gripped Jamil’s heart as two of his men ran away back to where the Tzurian army stood. Vina slipped her feet into her shoes and quietly went back, she climbed her horse. “Shurriah!” Nabil called again. “No, Nabil!” Hashim said as he got off his horse. He pulled his sword from its sheath and threw it on the ground, then walked right up to Jamil, the two men beside him quickly drew their swords. Hashim took off his helmet and flung it away. “Brother?” Jamil said as he trembled. Hashim stared at the two men, they pulled back their horses. “You fool!” Jamil yelled as he turned and stared at King Yuri. “We had a deal! You betrayed me?” “Betrayal?” Hashim remarked, “You? Speak of betrayal?” “Brother, it’s not what you think!” He said. “Sure, I know!” Hashim responded, “You ophidian! Who was the one wearing the Barbute?” Jamil was bewildered, he turned to his men and then swiftly pulled his sword, “Someone loyal to the course!”  He yelled as he delivered a strike; Hashim dodged and dragged the horse down to the ground along with Jamil. Shurriah evoked a powerful vortex that flung the other men off their horses. Hashim then seized the sword from Jamil and placed it around his neck. “Let’s hear what the king’s men have to say about this.” He said as he dragged Jamil towards the city. “Hashim wait.” King Yuri yelled. “You all stay here!” He yelled back. “I’ll go settle this alone with my people. Stay-here!” “I told you this was a bad idea!” King Yuri said to Nabil. “Stubborn man!” Nabil whispered as she got off her horse and ran after them, “What do you think you’re doing?” “Just go back, Nabil!” He answered, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this!” “Hashim,” she said. “What if…” “Nothing will happen!” He interjected. “Go back!” “I can’t!” She said. “I am coming with you.” “Oh, brother, this one smells like she is in love with you!” Jamil mocked, “I can see it in her eyes too, and she is wearing your favourite colour!” He laughed then turned to Nabil, “Did he get this dress for you? It looks great on you!” Hashim continued to drag Jamil along to where the Tzurian army were stationed. “Brother, you don’t have to do this!” Jamil pled, “Hey you!” referring to Nabil, “Talk to your lover here for me okay? I was going to come look for you. I swear on mother’s grave.” “You shut up!” He yelled, “You killed father and planned to have me killed?” “I can explain everything,” he added. “No! No! No!!! Jamil, No!” Hashim yelled. The entire soldiers pulled their swords, and the archers drew their arrows as Hashim brought Jamil to their position. “Don’t shoot!” Jamil yelled, “You imbeciles!” “Where are the elders?” Hashim yelled. “Where are the generals?” The soldiers made way for them to pass. Hashim pulled him to the middle of the Tzurian army. “It’s Hashim!” Some of the soldiers mumbled. “They said he was killed!” Others grumbled. They whispered his name. “You call this man your king?” He yelled, “You rested your loyalty on the knees of this traitor and murderer of our beloved king?” All the soldiers remained mute. Some elders made their way through. “Hashim?” Said one of the elders who made his way through the soldiers. “We were told you died in an ambush the day your father was found dead in his chambers.” “How did my father die?” He asked. “Heart attack!” Said the elder. “Lies!” Hashim said, “He murdered father and almost had me killed, King Yuri will testify to his ugly act.” He kicked Jamil to the ground, “And for what? So you’d…” “Why must it be always about you?” Jamil interjected. “You’re as weak as was father! Weak! Arrest him!” The entire soldiers stood still. Their silence deadened his command. “I said arrest this man! Now!” Jamil yelled once more.  “Stand-down!” Said one of the Generals, “This matter shall be treated in accordance to the laws of this kingdom.” “I am the law!” Jamil yelled, “I say take this man away! Seize them all at once!” “Prince Hashim,” said the General. “Please, relinquish your sword. You know it deep within you that your father’s soul aches as he watches these happenings.” Hashim turned to Nabil, she nodded. While everyone’s attention was on Hashim, Jamil drew a dagger from his right shoe and with great speed quickly stood up to attack Hashim, Nabil blocked him and the dagger got buried in her stomach. Hashim turned and punched Jamil to the ground. “No!” Hashim cried, “Nabil, please no!” Vina and Shurriah let a powerful cry out as they rushed toward them, they found Nabil coughing out blood with the dagger in her stomach. They began to chant as they raised their hands up; a thick dark thunderous storm formed a wild tornado over them. A dark cloud blanketed them, and the grounds began to shake. “Vina! Shurriah! No!” Nabil said, “No! It’s okay!” The sisters calmed down and so did the storm, the ground stopped shaking as they along with King Yuri ran and knelt next to Hashim. Nabil managed to stretch her left hand towards Hashim’s face, “I told you about the broken bridge.” She said as she buried her head in his chest, and gave up the ghost. Hashim, and her two sisters sobbed inconsolably. Chapter Seven: Arrivederci. The next day, Hashim was crowned king. And after being found guilty of the late king’s murder among other things, Jamil was exiled. He is to stay away from the kingdom until dead or when his brother, Hashim, the new king of Tzuria decides to pardon him. Nabil’s body was laid in the king’s garden, on an altar made from two mighty roots like two hands that emerged from the ground, holding her golden see-through casket. She was adorned with a beautiful white silk dress. She laid elegantly and smiled as though asleep. Hashim stood with his crown and gazed upon her. King Yuri, and her sisters stood by his side. “Hope it’s okay if I keep her here?” King Hashim said, “She’ll be treated with all the respects she deserve.” “I have no problem with that.” King Yuri said, “And her sister’s wouldn’t mind either.” He turned to Vina and Shurriah. “I believe that if she was alive this is the one place she’d have loved to spend the rest of her life.” He tapped King Hashim on his back. “Thank you,” said King Hashim. They shook hands and hugged each other. King Yuri and the two sisters bid farewell to him and left the garden. Twenty hefty men were ordered to deliver five big wooden boxes filled with gifts to the Therakanian camp that was set up outside the city. The Therakanians and their King were set to leave, and as they were about to embark on their journey, they sighted king Hashim fast approaching on a horse. “Yuri! Yuri!” He called, “Dear friend.” King Yuri ordered his men to halt. King Hashim arrived and came down from his horse as he smiled. “I hope your queen’s heart delights in these gifts I offer.” He said. “She loves shiny things!” King Yuri responded, “She’ll love it. Women,” he snorted, “You can’t blame them.”  “Please, sorry to disturb you.” He added as he panted. “There is a man among your slaves, he goes by the name Brutus Boriah. He hails from Damarus, I’ll be more than thankful if you’d have him brought before me. He’s a nice man,” he nodded, “I can offer you twice what’s in those boxes just for his freedom, if you don’t mind.” King Yuri nodded and smiled. “Anything for a friend!” He said, “My men and I should be home by nightfall, I’ll make sure he’s set free on my arrival and will have him escorted to your castle before sundown tomorrow.” “Thank you very much, friend.” King Hashim said. “Oh, thank you so much! This means a lot to me.” “You’re welcome,” he responded. “I hope you do not seek trouble, my men informed me of a slave that speaks to other slaves about freedom and a certain saviour. I am told of the things he does and says, and I think the name of this man sounds like the one you seek.” “No,” King Hashim remarked. “I don’t think he is trouble to the kind of kingdoms you think. He was good to me while I was there, and I thought I should return the favour.” “Well then, expect him by dusk tomorrow.” He said, “Oh, I almost forgot to ask; your brother, Jamil? Where do you think he’d go?” “To the one man he adored the most?” King Hashim said. “Arrazaq?” He asked, “Hmm! I guess it means a benighted season awaits our demesne hereafter.” He giggled. “Good always prevails, my friend.” King Hashim said, “We shall pray and remain ever ready; besides, we’ve got each other!” King Yuri smiled and bowed. He ordered his men to start moving. Vina and Shurriah wove at King Hashim, he wove back with a smile. The Therakanians rode off. King Hashim heaved a heavy sigh of relief then climbed his horse and went back to his city. To be continued…. ###   Publication Date: February 6th 2017 https://www.bookrix.com/-is2b4203e352365

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-w-luis-broken-one/

W Luis Broken One Prologue "Wake up. Wake up! WAKE UP! I had enough of you sleeping in all the time you need to stop all this depresion already. Don't you ever get tired of people feeling sorry for you!" My aunt wake out as I lay in bed again.     My name is Zelda Amandia Lopez. I'm Hispanic but look more like a so called "gringa". Yes, I might be more light skinned and white looking but that don't make me any less Hispanic. I am 21yrs old and not that tall. I have an hour glass shape with 34 D boobs. I just grew them due to my child I just had a year ago. I try so hard not to talk about her. I do go to college and was studing to be a the therapist. Everyone I meet loves my eyes that are honey brown. I have red hear which is very much natural. I like to party and do a lot more often cause of the accident. I try to keep myself from being sober so I wont remmember. It is just to hard for me. I have lived with my aunt for the past year know she used to help with my baby. She tries to help but all she does is bring up the past. I don't see how talking about anything has helped me in the past. Every time I did it would all be heard to my father. My father has tried to make me move in with him when everything happened. I almost dropped out of school. I would rather stay where I am. Plus my aunt has been there for me always. We leave in a four bedroom home with two and a half bath. It seems like a house out of a magazine. Everything is modern on the inside but, outside has a iron gate in the front. My aunt has three trees but added one after the accident for my baby girl. It seems like my aunt just goes to work to get outside the house just as I party to get away form it all. Chapter 1 " Zelda come down stairs and eat. "  I come down stairs as slow as I can. I love to get my aunt mad to make her pay for all the crap she gives me. "I'm coming! I just don't feel myself cathrine." "Well when are you if all you do is stay in bed."  That is what she thinks I sneek out to parties all the time. Just like all days I come home drunk she never can tell.  "Aunt Cathrine can you stop picking on me? I do a lot I go to school, study, clean the house, and do everything you ask from me." "Well Zelda is only you would have learned your lesson..."  I cut her off " Well maybe I did....Maybe just maybe you shouldn't bring it up!"  My aunt takes a breath. She looks at me one last time and grabs her things to go to work. I sometimes wish I could stop myself for being to mean on her for bringing up the past. But, she always does it like I havn't learned. She is  WRONG!  I know what I did that night was wrong but I can't go back and change it. I don't know why she is always on my case.  I go upstairs and take out my clothes. I get a lace bra that is strapless and lace underwear to match. A girl never knows when she will need something sexy. I get out my gray skinny jeans and a white crop top. I get my towel and go to the bathroom. I hear a baby cry. I stop for a minute look in the mirrow. I then reach under the sink and grab my vodka and take a sip. " This has to stop!" Tell myself. I go back to my shower. Once I get dressed I put on my leather jacket and Black boots that come to my knee and leave. I walk downstairs and into the living room. I get my purse, phone and car keys. Right when I'm about to walk out the door I get a text. Hey Loca! Had fun last night?  I then text back. Yes, had the time of my life. We still on for drinks later chica? I'll just tell my aunt i'm sleeping over your house.  I walk to my red Acura NSX Concept. Right when I turn on the car I get another text.  You bet! Your buying loca.........By the way can I catch a ride?  I texted her  I'm on my way!  And drove off. Chapter 2   " Que guapa estas! Where are you going?"   "Calm down chica and stop touching me!" "It's not my fault your gupa today! You turn me on Zelda!" "Just cool is Lizzy. You wanna be latina!" "Hey for all you know I can be latina. haha. I talk perfect spanish cause of my tips with daddy." I look at her with a you wish look and start driving. We get to the mall that is two blocks down the school. I get out and so does Lizzy. She and I have been friends since we here in are mothers stomach. I don't thing I can ever be mad at her more then a day. "So Cathrine called me yesterday night asking where you were. So I lied and say you were on your way home we were studing for a test. She also asked if........um.......I was going to the sirvice tonight for your mom."  I look at her and study her.  "I'm not mad at you if you said yes but I don't wanna go okay."  I just couldn't be reminded of them so soon. I know it has been years for mom but my baby girl has just passed. I wouldn't want no one to see me cry again.  " Hello earth to Zelda!"  She waves her hand in my face.  "Plus you know your going to need closure. You from all people know that. I just don't feel like coming to your house and seeing you cry like that agian. James has tried to appoligize. Why can't you"  I cut her off. I didn't want to hear this not from her at this moment. We just got to the mall I wanted to shop. Maybe even have fun but, no she always tries to pry at the wrong moment.  "Fine if you think I need closure I will go but I do not want to speak to him you understand. I had enough of his lies. He always says it wasn't his falt but who i'm I supposed to believe him or my aunt?" "You got a point. I promise Zelda he will not get near you But, I can't stop him from going okay. Now lets go shop I need you to look sexy for friday!"  With that note we left to start the shopping. Chapter 3   "OMG! Look you have to try this on Zelda! PLEASE!"  I look at the dress it was a red v-neck dress with lace on the top. While on the bottom is was a soft solid black skirt. It was long sleave to top it off. Looking at it I knew it would come above the half knee so I would have to be careful with the guys. "I don't know.....You might try to rape me in the dress with your stap on."  She looked at me with lust in her eyes. "If only you would let me do it one more time."  She looked at me with puppy eyes. Trying to tell me she would love it if i would agree to it once more.  "I'm sorry chica but my body is off limits no matter how much I party."  Which wasn't a lie. Even though I do party I never pass more then touching and kissing. "Well in that case i'll watch over you if you wear it. Just in case some other guy tries to take my spot guapa!"  We both laughed. I ended up letting her talk me into buying the dress. She got a fitted one with a see through top and glitter skirt. We were getting tired walking around so we went to the food court. Which was a little empty cause it was sunday. No one likes coming out on sunday even though we are a growing city.  "What do you want to eat? I could go for pizza how about you?" "Yeah that would be nice. I'll pay lizzy you got the food last time."  She looked at me with her blue eyes and tried her best mean mug. " What it is true!"  " Zelda you know that is not true you always buy food for us. When are you going to let me pay? You treat me like a little sis and a lover when you need to bail out of a guy." I looked at her with my best puppy eyes. "Please don't be mad at me. I was just being nice to my favorite lover."  I couldn't hold in my laughter no more. I laughed in her face and she looked at me annoyed. " Okay fine but i'm paying for some of the drinks later." Chapter 4  Mark's P.O.V     I sit their and watch her fake her happiness. I would love to take her right there and then but people are watching. I deside to go say hi to the one I have loved before she got lost. I have always been there for her but they don't let me. James tells me she hates me for touching her that one time. He blames me for taking her away from him. All I plan to do is love her unlike him. I walk up to them and lizzy looks at me with the look of disgust. You would think with her beautiful eyes she would never wast them on that expression. Soon after she looks at me. I hug her brefly and say Hello. "It's nice to see you mark."  "Yeah. What are you to beautiful ladies doing at the mall?" "We came shopping. What's it to you?"  Just like lizzy to be mean to me like always. I sometimes think she hates me only cause Zelda likes me. "Now lizzy don't be that way he was just coming to say hi. There isn't anything wrong with that is their?" "I guess not but he needs to keep his hands off of you" I can't believe she stands up for me. I don't know if it was cause she was drunk when we kissed but she has confessed to liking be. I would have believed her into the next day she slapped me for no reasion. "Well it's okay lizzy I just came to say hi and to invite you guys to a party at my cousins house on saturday to swim." " That's nice of you mark. I'll txt you if we deside to go."  I hugged her once more and waved off to them. I was hopping she would agree to go but who knows. I could never read her. Lizzy I could read too well. All she was mad at that She wants me but I like Zelda. Unlike james I didn't want to play with girls feelings. So when she told me she liked me I told her the truth.       Chapter 5  Zelda POV     I can't believe he came and hugged me after what happened a months ago. Mark is so dreamy he is tall at 6" 4' with dark green eyes. He is well built not too buff just the right amount. Mark is mixed but you wouldn't tell if it wasn't for his sexy cirly hair that is a faided on the sides and tall on top. When I was in high school I dreamed of him being mine. I kept it form Lizzy cause she could go on and on about him. She stopped right after she asked him out and took her to a party. She said he played her and that he was planning to do the same to me.  " Zelda come back to me! Did you really not hear me talking to you" "Not really. I was in lala land just thinking." "Please a gupa like you is not thinking of a cabron like him."  She looked at me like she longed for it not to be true. I just really couldn't help it but, I wouldn't tell Lizzy that. So I lied! "No! How could you think so little of me." I started to laugh " I was thinking; what am I going to do if I see James tonight at the ceramony." "Zelda can you please just stop worring he is an awsome guy. Sometimes I don't know why you would ever leave him. It wasn't all his fault I'm sorry to say. Your aunt had something to do with it." I couldn't take it any more. I started yelling at her. "I don't care who's at fault all I want is for him to go away. Maybe if he would have stopped and payed attention! Or maybe you could have answered the phone! Or just maybe you could shut up about it and let me be!" She looked me like she was so sorry. But at this moment I was not I walked off. Leaving he to walk to school. As I grabbed everything to leave I told her. " Maybe if he is so special in your eyes you can have him. You always like to have what is mine. Si eras una buen amigo no te comportaras como una putas a veces!"  As I looked at her Impression of shock. I was happy I said every word.          Translation: Si eras una buen amigo no te comportaras como una putas a veces (If you were a good friend you wouldn't act like such a bitch sometimes.)   chapter 6   Mark's POV     As I was in the car thinking before I drove to campus I saw Zelda. For some reasion she wasn't with Lizzy. I knew her behavor like always got them into a fight. It might not be long before one makes up so I made my move. I called her over to my car. "Are you okay Zelda? Did another fight go on with you and Liz?"  She looked at me suprised like if she didn't expect me to care. I couldn't help it but grab her into a hug. Once I did that she was whimpering in my arms. I felt so bad for her. I hated to see what James had done for her. After she lost Anastasia I didn't know how to talk to her. I know she hated talking to people about it. I was so lost into thought that she reached up to touch my face. I froze at her touch. I grabbed her had gently as my head moved closer to her face. I could feel her let go of her things and get on her tip toes. I started to brush my lips to hers as soon as I did she pulled me to her. I could feel myself get lost in her. I wanted her but wanted to let her choose me not use me. I stopped the kiss and cleared my throught. "I don't think you are thinking straight. I think you just might be to emotional to think. I want you I do. Everything inside me tells me you are the one."  She looked at me suprised and nodded. She then spoke and what she said shocked me. "I want you so bad. Why cant you just use me like lizzy. I don't want someone to help my heart heal. I just need someone to forget mark. I just want you to help me forget. Can you please help."  I was so lost I wanted to know what Lizzy told her. Why was she thinking that way. I wanted her to be mine but not in this way. I wanted for her to love me as I have always loved her. "Zelda, I know everything is hard. But why can't you let me in. I know it's not you talking right now. Mi nina, I am no player and I hate playing games. I want you to be my chica and no one elses."  I walked her to her car and the whole time I made sure she didn't talk. I didn't want to change my mind and let the blood flow in the wrong place. Not while she isn't my same Zelda agian. I would do if for her and Anastasia. Chapter 7   Zelda POV     I didn't know what just happened. One minute I was begging for Mark to take me to bed. The next he said no for me to think. I just wanted him to help. I wanted him to make it go away. I should know better because of my studies. But, all I can do is run from the past right now. I find myself sitting in the car till my phone rings. As soon upon answering I feel regret come to me. "Hey Zelda it's James." "What do you want? I don't feel like speaking to you." " I just wanted to check up on you. See how my girfriend it doing."  He asking for it now. So I deside I would let him have it. "Oww really. I thought I wasn't last time I checked. Matter a fact I think Lizzy is just perfect for you!" "Now. Now. I know you don't mean that Zelda. Plus Lizzy is your best friend and what happened was not my fault will you stop that already." "Well James how can I when you live and breath. I wish you were dead not her. If I had a choice it would be you in the ground." "Stop being a stick in the mud."  I was getting so upset with all the thing he was saying. How was I being a stick in the mud. I just wasn't up for his games. My body tempeture was boiling from anger. My feelings were talking control. My body and mind would split and decide only one could work at once.  "Well i'm a stick in the mud then you might just be a sand in water with your stupidity!"  I desided to not take his rude attitude no more. So before he spoke my finger pressed end. If only he was a better boyfriend or maybe he could be more like Mark. Sometimes my mind lingers to what if Mark was mine and this would have never been. Right now my mind needs to be away from imagination and in present world action. My emotions need to be under my control. I find myself heading to school the last place I want to do. Chapter 8  When I got there I see Lizzy looking at me as if she is sorry. That so called friend makes me think is she my friend or just someone I have grown to be able to be around. My body froze when my eyes met the sit that made me want to cry. I saw my baby girl Anastasia standing by Mark. I found myself walk to Mark. When I did she was gone. "Hey. What's up?" "Nothing I just wanted to say I would love to go to the party with you. That's if you haven't found no one else yet?" "No, Why would you think that?"  He stopped and looked in a diraction behind me. " Never mind what I asked. If you want to go i'm sure you can catch a ride with me their." " Well that would be nice. Do to the fact that you invited me."  I laughed softly to try to not make it akward between us. I glanced to see who was approaching. When I saw black spiked hair with blond tips I knew it was James. I hated looking at him. He played soccer and has Mexican. He was tan a little tall but not as tall as Mark. He was 5" 9' with brown eyes. He was musculer that is what a lot of girls liked about him. He was a cheater I always defened him intill that night. He was close to coming up so I left. I called out to Mark. "I'll see you later Mark. Txt me the information about what time you want to pick me up for the party." "Okay. Will do Zelda." I walked to the bathroom took out what looked like a water bottle. I drank form it which was vodka it was my do to when I was seeing things. I never plan to tell anyone about it. I then looked at myself in the mirror fixed my hair a little and walk to class. I always like getting there before someone sits in my chair. Chapter 9  School was over I was walking to my car as I feel someone grab me. My hopes where that Mark changed his mind on what happened. But it was only James that was holding me.  "Can you let go of my arm?" "Not intill you tell me what you told Lizzy?" "James why do you care? Are you asking so you can make her feel better then fuck her?" "Zelda that really isn't funny."  He looked at me with a serous look. "And you are? Well sorry I'm not funny okay. Now leave me alone I have to go get ready." "Can I get a ride my car wont start." "Yeah right. Plus why don't you tell your dad to come and fix it? It's not like you to just leave your car here at school."  A lot of red flags where coming up. What was he up too? Did he not want me to go home? Why now does he want to be all needy with me. I would always beg him for rides just to spend time together. "You Know we are not together anymore. Right , James."  There was silence between us intill Mark walked up. "Hey you guy. What you guys taking about?" "Nothing I was just leaving."  James was about to walk away but not before saing " You Know what Mark you can have her. It's not like you can get some anyways."  As he was walking away Mark turned him around and punched his nose. James pushed him back. " You lucky your friend if not I would have block your face a long time ago Mark."  He then kept on walking and I stood their wondering what just happened.  "I'm sorry he said those things Zelda. You don't need someone like him." "It's okay he just mad that we are not together no more. I'm just happy you guys didn't fight." "Me too. I would have finally gave him what he needs. A true beating for how he treats your weman.       Chapter 10   MARK POV   I cann't believe James was acting like that infront of Zelda. I knew he stoped loving her but he just wont let her go. I feel sorry for her only to wish she was mine. I look at her and think I should just ask her to hang out maybe then she will open up to me.  "Well Zelda what are you doing later today?" "Well I was going to go home and get ready for the service my aunt planned but I had a change of heart." "I understand it must be way to soon for you right now. You know they say you shouldn't be alone in times like these." "Well mark i dont know. Maybe no one wants to be with me in my depressing state."  She looked like she wanted to say more. I waited a few seconds to see if she would say what is on her mind. But of corse like always she didn't. " Well if you like I can keep you company." "That would be nice do you want to go wake in the park till my aunt leave. I don't want her to see me right now. Cause all I need her is to force me to go." "That's fine with me. Do you want to go to the park close to your house?" "Yeah that would be nice I will meet you there Mark."  I was waking to my car when I saw her go to hers. I pulled off to head the park. When we got their it was empty like always. It seemed like no one ever was at her park besides saturdays and sundays. I got out my car and waited for her on the grass. I dozzed off next thing I knew Zelda was trying to shake me awake. I rolled over " Let me sleep"  I complained. "Well if I would have know you wanted to sleep I would have never invited you to hang out." I rolled over and grabbed her by the waist rolling down the small hill. We laughed at what we were doing. Then she looked at me. "Mark tell me why you don't want me?"  I looked at her confused. " What do you mean? If this is about the mall?" "Yes."  She looked like she wanted to cry.   Chapter 11   Zelda POV     I looked at him with tears close to running down my face.  "Please don't do this Zelda. I want you but getting in your pants wont help anything." I looked at him trying to not let my tears out. "It well help me."  He took a deep breath and then looked straight into my eyes. "If you promise to open up to me so I can help more then that then maybe. And I said maybe Zelda. I don't want you for just that you know."  A I looked into his eyes I knew it was true. Everything in my body was telling me that he ment every word. "Si. I promise Mark that I will open up."  He leaned in and gave me a kiss. I then started to get closer to him. I wanted to let this be as long as my body needed. I know my body needed someone for some times but I wanted it to be Mark. I started playing with his hair to make the kiss more passionate. As are lips grew more rough my body wanted more. I felt him left me up onto his lap. Before I could lean in to kiss him again. He whispers " I said maybe Zelda and I never agreed to right now."  I felt like crying my eyes out. My heart felt as I never have been betried so badly before. He grabbed my my face with so much tenderness. In that moment everything went away.  "Zelda don't be so hard on your self. I want you to know nothing was your fault I know you beleive it is yours. James has a lot to do with covering things up. I'm sorry to say but ..."  Just then he was cut off by someone throwing me off of Mark. Next thing I know I see James punching Mark in the face. I was confused what was going on. When did James come find me. How did he find me? Why was he so mad at Mark to start a fight.  " Stop!! Please Stop!!" Is all I could yell to them. I didn't know how to stop it. All of a sudden James look up at me and charges tword me. "You whore! Why couldn't you just leave everything alone? Why couldn't you just be with me and leave everthing alone!"  As he was about to slap me Mark pushed him off.  All of a sudden I though I heard Lizzy in the back ground. She came and got James away from Mark. Good thing too cause it seemed as if Mark would have puched him through the ground.  "I told you to let it be."  Is all I could hear Lizzy tell him. Everthing was so confusing. My head was spinning it felt like to much information was coming back at once. All of a sudden I felt light as air. Then everything went black. Chapter 12   Mark POV     "Why did you do that Mark are you stupid."  I hade it enough with James crap all he put me through. That was my baby he killed. The only reasion I couldn't say nothing is cause of Lizzy. She took video of us having sex. Yeah it wasn't that bad intill I found out she was going to fill a rape charge. I was mortified cause my scholership was riding on my behavior and grades. That information would destroy someone like me to be a doctor. Especially not a doctor who delevors children.  "Why do you have to be a dumb ass and think I would tell her."  I was tired of lies!! I hated my life for all this that I was trapped in. "Mark you need to stop tring to ruin everthing." "What do you mean Lizzy. All I wanted to tell her is that she was my daughter." "Shut up. That was my baby for all people know. If it wasn't for lizzy I would have kicked you ass." "It seems like your ass was being served to you anyways. I would kick your ass but Zelda is more important then your ass."         Text: Wen Luis Editing: Wen Luis All rights reserved. Publication Date: January 10th 2016 https://www.bookrix.com/-my9c4a89fbb8865

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-john-dane-new-found-land/

John Dane New Found Land Publication Date: August 31st 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-johndane

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-leodog6-time-after-time/

leodog6 time after time As i looked at the sun, i was aware of the softness around me. Publication Date: December 21st 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-leodog6

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-kastesha-brumfield-life-is-death/

KASTESHA BRUMFIELD LIFE IS DEATH In the beginning It's December 12 2011 my dad is a veteran he just had recieved his benefits we decided to move into something better so we moved into a trailer which would be the biggest mistake of our lives,  my dad had a major drinking problem,  so with his new benefits it was nothing for him to get achohol and drugs we never knew he was a crack addict but we soon found out,  we went back to our old neighborhood to visit and there was a girl name Latrice we loved her like a sister OH and I have two sister Qua & Mini Qua is the oldest and Mimi is the youngest,  so we get there and latrice meets us outside saying she misses us she's tired of her mother's abuse and wanted to come with us,  we went through the court system got everything approved and she was our sister now.  2 months later We've got a customs to having latrice around & having a lil money in our pockets,  on this night something was different I knew something was going to happen,  we came home from school,  we were going to school in a different city because we were getting a house built down there,  so dad had brought alot of alcohol and mom was making dinner dad never came home until like one or two in the morning & that's when it happened,  we were all sleeping then we heard three loud bumps "boom boom boom" we run to our parents room and dad was beating up mom so we all jumped him that night I was choked my sister had a busted nose my baby sister finger was broken and latrice was unharmed we all thought that was a lil fishy but nobody said anything we moved on with our lives.  Trouble in sisterhood  Dad took us to his family's party,  he brought latrice and qua a bottle of pink vodka they drunk the whole bottle it was a big bottle at that so we came home from the party and I went to bed early I happened to wake up and I went into latrice and qua"s room and they were fighting I called my dad and mom so they came and broke them up latrice starts yelling and cursing out my mom my mom slapped the piss out of her and put her in a cold shower so she could sober up the next day she apologized and we went on with our lives,  two weeks later they're fighting again but they were sober they were fighting over who was moms favorite so , days go and and latice and qua continued the bickering  , lattice went to school and we received a call that lattice had gotten into some trouble by this time mom and dad had split up,  latrice was being disrespectful to her teacher and also had bad grades dad called and said he was in the hospital and we all went up there mom had dads phone and it went off when mom looked at it it was a message from latrice keep in mind latrice is not dads reall daughter so mom steps out the room and confronts her come to find out latrice had been secretly meeting up with him,  we got home that day latrice stayed in the room because she was ashamed we went to bed that day and when mom was waking us up for school latrice woke up but she was drousy and mom called the ambulance,  latrice had overdosed on my dad's medication,  after she recovered we sent her ass home to her birth mother.  Dads home It's now 2012 we are living in a house not the house we was getting boiled because dad didn't pay the taxes on it so we lost it,  dad came home at like 3 in the morning he pooped on hisself keep in mind when your on CRACK COCAIN you will use the bathroom on yourself,  it's now Christmas Eve dads outside with his crack head friend mom had dads phone it goes off its a message from my moms cousin stating that she was pregnant with his child mom confronted him by that time me and my sisters had come outside mom said I'm leaving you,  so he said your going to leave me I got something for you,  he runs in the house my oldest sister tried to fight him but he pushed her down,  he comes back out with a gun loaded and cocked he says I'll kill you the kids and my self idgaf....  To be continued   Publication Date: February 10th 2017 https://www.bookrix.com/-msalwayspretty

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-brittany-c-finney-the-awakening/

Brittany C. Finney The Awakening Book one Chapter One The awakening was happening. Tonight. The Meshens would come out to hunt and if we were there, he would shoot us with an arrow or stab us with a sharp fish spine. I held out crumbs of bread in the palm of my hand and fed it to the boney dog that was probably going to die soon. Ribsey. The Meshens had cats. Golden furred cats that would leap out and tear up your flesh. They were taught to fight. Hunt. Those cats were awful. Would do anything to harm a Pioneer. One like me. My mother came running out of the house in ragged clothes and yanked my arm. "There is no time for messing around. We shall be prepared. It's happening tonight." And I stepped heal to heal with my head dropped down as I walked in our tiny house. Chapter Two Our house was cold. No heaters. I dispised being poor. There was nothing we could do though. My mother could get a job but she already watched my six other siblings Hazel, who's 14, Mabel, 12, Linda, 9, Carly, 8, Elizabeth, 5, and Jimmy, who's 3, while I work 4 hours planting, harvesting, and cooking. My five sisters would do the same as Jimmy would play with his toy train and hug his soft bear. I hated this life. But wishes are useless. I grip a loaf of bread in my hands not noticing and look down to see that it's all crumpled up. How would Pete ever accept me? I've liked him since I was 15, now at the age of 18, we're enemies. "Hey loser got my bread?" he smirked. "Oh um ya here." Wished I could've put poison it it but a minute wasn't enough. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. A man about 19, 20 years old bangs a long wooden stick on a symbol. God what time is it? *10:00 PM* "Honey don't be afraid. Shh." my mother comforts Jimmy and Elizabeth, the two that don't know what's going on but are shaken. Hazel, Mabel, Linda, Carly, and I glance back and forth at one another. They're here. Chapter Three I suddenly feel faint. Everything turns black. When I wake up what seems like 3 hours later, my house is quiet and very dark. I turn around to see gushes of blood and arrows through the cushions. I pace back and forth. No no no no no. It can't be. But it is, there lay 7 bodies on the floor. I scream so loud my ears start ringing. Tears flood down my cheeks. Wait a second... 7.. There was 8 of us.. "JIMMY!!! JIMMY!!!!" I yell. There he is, pale faced crying silently and rocking back and forth in the corner of the room. I run over to him. I hug him tightly in my arms and then we get up. "Look Jimmy, we need to stay calm, and silent, now did you see anything happen?" I ask him and he looks terrified. "Tall guys boom boom and hit mommy and girls." He sighs and then cries. I can't help but feel petrified. I'm alive, when I fainted they must've thought I was already dead. "Jimmy, come on." His little feet follow me slowly as we step around the dead bodies. Publication Date: January 16th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-beautybrittany24

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-by-khyeasha-bowden-thick-thin/

by:Khyeasha bowden Thick & Thin For brandy, chevarea, anthony , and all my readers lastly my haters, who inspires me to be better everyday. thnx loves, xoxo, star chapter 1 - roll with the homies "Me charlet adrana , and katie walked flawlessly into the school lunchroom.we were popular the badest chicks in school if i do say so myself. we sat where the populars always sat in the back , across from the jocs , on the right from the cheerleaders , and infront of the pagent qweens. theres a hudge diffrence in the popularity charts , were jst popular becuase were beautiful, talented , an of course are sense of fashion . Me an katie have been friends since first grade, but me adrana and charlet all start chillen two years ago they talked about almost everyone but they were cool. But katie shes nice, shes real pretty her hair is dark brown here eyes are real light hazel in the sun shes kinda short with nice boobs and butt, n/h but shes mi best friend in the world and are friendship is unbreakable. Now me im kinda tall for my age im carmel skinned, black hair an avarage boobs and butt . me and katie are cool people with similar personalities , except im way funny-ier shes picky and slightly more pretty but people mistake us for sisters. Ive always envied her but i was never jealous , we both are smart and pretty and were best friends to the end. the lunchroom door opened and in walked mr.newkid , he had already joined the basketball team he was ugly to me. "hes so sexy" katie says . " Gross no he aint." i reply in shock. "well he lives down the street from me and me and him talked and hes very kewl, like hes real laid back.....too bad im taken" Katie said. "Well whateves cum on nikki lêts go say hi..." adrana says n i follow of ourse he did kinda look kute .he looked mad ."eww n who arre yhu?"i asked "get out mi face" he said "uh....oh yhu must not know who i am .. .i fyte boys'isaid "well yhu must not know who i am' he aaid " 'course i dnt yur a new student."isay chapter1-rollin with the hommies Publication Date: November 24th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-star13

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-charles-dufresny-the-forfeiture/

Charles Dufresny The Forfeiture CHARACTERS: GERONTE, father of Isabelle ISABELLE, lover of Valere BELISE, Valere's older aunt ARAMINTE, her younger sister VALERE, nephew of Belise and Araminte FRONTIN, Valere's valet A Lackey 4 men, 3 women (Enter Isabelle and Valere from opposite directions without seeing each other) VALERE: What! Unable to reason with my two aunts! ISABELLE: I can never return. What extravagants! VALERE: Yes, the more I think of it the less I see of a way out. ISABELLE: To have such revolting procedures for a nephew. VALERE: We shall get nothing out of it. ISABELLE: Oh Gods! VALERE: Cruel Aunts. For more than ten years always new injustices. ISABELLE: (seeing each other) What unpleasantness-- But-- VALERE: What cruelty! To be desolated side by side without finding any way to placate these crazies. ISABELLE: My father has spoken sharply to them and is going to threaten them again, separately. For each stays in her own apartment. VALERE: Yes, from the little I see the two avoid each other, speak only a few words in passing and leave each other. As for me, when I am speaking to them they turn their backs. Their hardness towards me appears on every occasion. ISABELLE: Their hardness towards you condemns them. Ah, Valere, they push their ill natures too far. To not love you! VALERE: I hoped that through you, my two aunts would do something for us, and that having seen you, adorable Isabelle, they could be counted on. ISABELLE: Their barbarity is such that they speak of you with aversion. VALERE: What unpleasant spirits not to approve my tender passion. ISABELLE: To be capable of hating Valere. Their evil hearts make me tremble. I despair over it. VALERE: Your father is still going to press them. Thus we may still hope. He's going to meet us here. ISABELLE: Yes, give us at least a moment of hope. But I am indignant when I think of their latest remarks. VALERE: You should count on them for they showed you a hundred signs of friendship yesterday. ISABELLE: It's from that that I see they have scorned me. For only in embracing did they refuse me. The Prude scorned me with her haughty airs, took a soft tone mixed with disdain, affected caresses and vapid joking. You die in flattery. "My tenderness for you," she told me very loudly, "makes me not want you to marry so soon. That is to say to give to a nephew who presses me some wealth to satisfy a mad passion; no I would become your accomplice in authorizing it." And a hundred like remarks, in a somewhat pleasant tone, made against marriage. "Be like us, a forfeiture makes you wise. Imitate our strength of character. One refusal will keep you at least from any forfeiture." VALERE: What stupid remarks. Always the same rubric. But nothing comes from their gothic spirit. Without worldliness, visiting no one except her sister who is less hard than she is, but crazier from misfortune. ISABELLE: I am a little less furious with Araminte. For a few moments I thought I'd won her over. But her character is subject to change. Agitating itself with several passions at the same time, in her burning and turbulent vivacity. Here's what was told me by this aunt. "I rave from time to time but I have some sentiments. I love love but I hate lovers. Abhor them, too. I intend it, I order it. Without cease I promise but I never give, I hate my nephew a lot but I love you a great deal." From this balderdash I still conclude that she will do more for you than her sister.-- My father's coming. VALERE: I am going to learn my fate. ISABELLE: I tremble. Oh, I see him overwhelmed with chagrin. VALERE: His approach seizes me. My misfortune is certain. (Enter Geronte) GERONTE: You perceive by observing my sadness that I have received only a refusal. My goodness, my fondness spoke loudly for you on this occasion. Take your leave daughter. ISABELLE: Must we part? GERONTE: Yes, daughter. VALERE: What can I think? ISABELLE: Oh. What blow to Valere. GERONTE: Your aunts have made this separation imperative. VALERE: What, charming Isabelle, I mustn't see you any more? What, sir, do you wish to put me in despair? You are going to tear me from Isabelle! GERONTE: Yes, Valere. VALERE: Ah, at least beg your father to stay in Paris several more days. ISABELLE: No, Valere. VALERE: Oh, sir. GERONTE: Useless words. VALERE: Oh, if it is your wish, adorable Isabelle. GERONTE: I don't wish it, but through care of her. She wishes that which it is her duty to wish. To return to the country immediately without seeing you any further. VALERE: And you consent to this? ISABELLE: It's better so, Valere. I gave you my heart by order of my father. I obeyed him. He now intends, wisely, that I separate from you. It must be admitted frankly that I am not sure of a like obedience. But I am going. VALERE: What, sir, deny me all hope? GERONTE: Better to give you no hope when I have none. You hoped to get 40,000 ecus restitution from your aunts. I tell you again, these two extravagants intend to keep that forfeiture, saying you cannot get it from us unless one of us marries. They're both over fifty. It's a joke to believe that will happen. I need money. My wealth is perishing. Expenses are ruining me. So, as a wise man, I ought to go back to the country and contract a marriage that will get me out of this financial trouble. VALERE: True, but-- GERONTE: Let's break it off, then. It's with great shame, but tomorrow we part, that's certain. ISABELLE: Oh, Valere; if I'm under orders from my father, be sure that in parting-- GERONTE: (taking Isabelle by the arm) Let's shorten the goodbyes. When one must leave, the shortest is the best. (Exit Isabelle and Geronte) VALERE: I am in despair. This parting kills me. (Enter Frontin dressed as a cavalier, passing before Valere who is in despair) FRONTIN: Sir. VALERE: What is it then? FRONTIN: It's Fortune greeting you. VALERE: What do I see? FRONTIN: You see Frontin who was wearing livery this morning. VALERE: What are you talking about? Why are you dressed this way? FRONTIN: You will never guess, I bet. VALERE: Whose clothes are you wearing? It's one of mine, I believe. FRONTIN: Could well be, cause it's none of mine. VALERE: And my wig. FRONTIN: Good. Have I bought it. I found this under my hand, quite ready. And your most handsome lace, and largest jewel. VALERE: I've seen you do crazy things before, but nothing touching such insolence. FRONTIN: It's come right on time, sir, this opulence. VALERE: Scoundrel, you've picked a bad time to joke. FRONTIN: I picked my time just right, I dare to boast. To know how to manage times for a master. VALERE: To dare appear like this! FRONTIN: Sir, till now, I've been careful to conceal my scoundrel like and insolent traits. That's why you hired me! Only working first on my own affairs, I have taken care to hide my traits with all necessary skill. You would have prevented me from acting as I have done. To deceive cleverly is virtue in a valet. You will have it that it's a vice in a master. I must tell you you are scrupulous to a fault. What I have done for you was done unknown to you. VALERE: What have you done for me? FRONTIN: It's a mere nothing. I'm working on marrying you to Isabelle. VALERE: Frontin, my dear Frontin. You are working for me. In what way? How? Explain quickly! FRONTIN: Let me explain first how I am to be rewarded. That's how I get to be zealous. If I get your Isabelle for you-- VALERE: Well? FRONTIN: Lace, clothes, diamond. I won't return them. If the outfit is too short, too long, for better or for worse--I get it. As for the diamond. It's made for me. VALERE: I will give you all. FRONTIN: Listen to my story. With a little money, this brilliant outfit and finding a place at a card table and some winning cards, and ogling some of the old girls playing, with one especially, I got in deep. She has a sterile wit but babbles constantly. Always joking she is more crazy than funny. Do you recognize her, sir? She's your aunt. VALERE: It's herself. Well, you are telling me you won money from my aunt at cards? FRONTIN: A little. But I won more of her heart. She adores me. VALERE: She loves you! FRONTIN: Yes, sir. And better yet. She wants to marry me. VALERE: Great. FRONTIN: Your valet Frontin could become your uncle or uncle in law tomorrow. VALERE: What! Seriously? FRONTIN: The lady is serious. I have the looks to make an old woman amorous. FRONTIN: Without doubt. But still, to marry you must know the man. FRONTIN: She knows me extremely well. A month of card playing causes you to know a chap extremely well. Saying I'm from a land between Paris and Rome, I took a name; a name half-known there. As in taking those that have never been. VALERE: What name? FRONTIN: The Chevalier de Cique. Noble name She believes I'm from an ancient family. VALERE: I cannot get over my astonishment. FRONTIN: Good! But that's nothing yet; I have done even more. VALERE: What? FRONTIN: Seeing that fortune gave me one aunt, still there remained another-- VALERE: Well? FRONTIN: A difficult, astonishing, a hazardous plan. In the same house I see them both. It's true, I know that since she became amorous, Araminte is ashamed, fearful of her sister. For more security against the other, I take a different name, character, arms, clothes. From a grave Senechal, I adopt the character, a composed air, grave tone, cold face, saying nothing like she does in a sententious tone, and like her a fastidious censor of marriage. My name as Senechal is Groux. I present myself. Similarity of character charms the prudish aunt. And in a word, sir, I succeeded. VALERE: What's this? My other aunt? FRONTIN: She's going to marry me, also. VALERE: Singular fact. But from their benevolence how do you propose to extract--? FRONTIN: From their extravagance I believe we will get some money for a forfeiture. But tell me how was their double forfeiture written? VALERE: Here's how. You know their cruel tricks. I have been unable to get any restitution from them. The only thing they would agree to was that if they should marry, in order that I would not lose my claim to the inheritance, they would each give me 100,000 francs. However, they have sworn never to marry and they've kept their oath constantly so far. These forfeitures are under seal. FRONTIN: Then that is how I'll get the money. But I intend-- Ah good, it's a lackey of mine. (Enter Lackey) LACKEY: Time passes, sir. To the notary and explain. Disguise yourself. All will be lost. (Frontin puts on a brown coat and a black wig) FRONTIN: It's necessary that I first be Senechal Groux. Wait for me upstairs at Aunt Araminte's. She's getting ready to leave. There I can go without fear and instruct you in everything. VALERE: I am going there. FRONTIN: I will rejoin you. (Exit Valere) FRONTIN: (to Lackey) I thought I'd have two days time at least. But both of them taking the money to the notary are going to discover the trick. We'll have to speed up the affair. (Exit Lackey, enter Belise) FRONTIN: Good. The prude is leaving. By having imitated trait for trait her insipidity, her cold gravity, I pleased her. There's no other way to please this foolish woman except by echoing her vapid whims.------- Madame BELISE: Ah, Senechal. What! You are here. I see you again. FRONTIN: You see? As for me, I see you again, too. BELISE: Once more I see the happiness of an unfeeling woman. FRONTIN: I see again the happiness of a fire-proof man. BELISE: Who looks with frigidity on the most charming of men. FRONTIN: Who views with disdain the most loveable object. BELISE: Preceded by terror, considering my love. I am astonished to see this extreme change you've wrought in me in less than two weeks. FRONTIN: I see with a kind of horror that you have effected a metamorphosis in me. BELISE: Both of us, at the same time, think the same thing? FRONTIN: The same thing, and always sympathy between us. BELISE: What a coincidence! Oh, heaven! To take you for a spouse. That makes me tremble. FRONTIN: I quiver, Madame, on account of the step I am going to take, by taking you for my wife. BELISE: I, who by my example have kept my sister in the vow she made to guard her heart. She respected me as the most perfect. I must blush before my little sister. FRONTIN: I who to my elders reprimanded passions, forcing even my sisters to celibacy, I who in history to distinguish my name would have gloried in the title of extinguisher of my race-- BELISE: I who abhorred even the name of marriage and would have become famous for it. FRONTIN: I, Senechal Groux, caustic philosopher who jested at suitors, insulted them, apostrophized them. BELISE: I called marriage a myth, a stumbling block. FRONTIN: The prison of desires, the coffin of the living. BELISE: (tenderly) The abyss. Now see what an unfeeling fondness-- FRONTIN: Towards the abyss, a slope-- BELISE: Yes, sweet-- FRONTIN: Imperceptible-- BELISE: Leads me to the brink-- FRONTIN: The foot slips and here I am. BELISE: Here I am. But at least the world agrees I have chosen you from taste, from wisdom. FRONTIN: Our marriage is the wisest type. BELISE: But all my embarrassment is, that by marrying, I must--here's the trouble--, I must pay this forfeiture. What to do? This forfeiture note that I gave to Valere. That crazy sister of mine invented the forfeiture. We made two promissory notes to this cursed nephew. All falls on me, since I am marrying, so I will have to pay up all by myself, and I'm going to have to put up with all kinds of jesting from her. Blush to death. FRONTIN: While our love remains secret, compose yourself and retrieve your promissory notes from Valere. BELISE: That's my intention. I am going to my notary to take some money to my nephew. Without a doubt he will instantly return my promissory note to me. But if my sister should learn of it, oh, my heart palpitates. From reason and from shame, I avoid her carefully. After seeing you, I dare not see her. (Exit Belise) FRONTIN: We shall get to tap that money she's going to receive. (Enter Lackey) LACKEY: Sir, change clothes or hide yourself quickly. Araminte has returned. FRONTIN: I ought to avoid her. But no. Let's pull it off! I am going to wait for her here. Time presses. Wait, take this wig. By knotting it this way, I will have the most comic look. Playful, negligent. It's the Chevalier Cique. To charm a madwoman you have to rave. (Exit Lackey, enter Araminte) ARAMINTE (assuming all passions, one after another) I run in thoughtless. They've just been plotting against me. I tremble; I still have a hundred things to say to you. And jests. First, I am going to make you laugh. But no. The serious is more pressing. My sister, seeing me there, passed by proudly. I was trembling. It's of this we will speak first. Let's begin by you admiring my conduct, the softness and complacency with which I hide my shame. Now, in secret, I hoped, but I fear. At the same time I sense an infinite joy. You are going to deliver me from the tyranny of my sister. And the more I hate that nephew, the more I going to settle everything for you on that score. But tell me first: what part should I take? Speak slowly, for I love to hear you. When you breathe I listen. Speak of your love and let me reply. Speak. FRONTIN: If I am silent it's because the crowd of my passions is rolling in me, as in you, and are preventing me from speaking. For in vivacity, I dare equal you. But my love has reduced me to silence. I was unable to say a word, 'cause you were speaking. ARAMINTE: You are all wit, although you are quiet. For you, your manners, your looks, all speak loudly. All speak your heart, my dear Chevalier de Cique! FRONTIN: Everything in you is beautiful. All of me loves you. Everything in me, everything in you, a charming agreement that demands marriage. ARAMINTE: It's true. But I fear this forfeiture which preoccupies me. And I fear still more this severe sister who believes that, alas, it is a crime to have a heart; she made me take a vow of indifference when I would have broken it in my childhood. That is to say from the age when my discernment had been able to distinguish you, to choose you for my lover. Yes, my dear Chevalier, yes, I repeat it to you, I love you, I love you too late. I regret without cease the years I have spent without knowing you. FRONTIN: I'm only twenty five but I would have come into the world twenty years sooner to know you. Yes, time is dear to us, as it ought to be. Let us see quickly. Let's decide. Have you resolved? ARAMINTE: I've looked, looked again, decided, determined, concluded. Ought I to be in fear of this savage sister who hates marriage for herself and for me? You will be my husband from tomorrow, from this evening. FRONTIN: But to the essential. You must be able, before declaring our business to your sister, to get rid of those promissory notes to Valere. Reach an agreement with him. Is your money ready? ARAMINTE: Yes, I've withdrawn everything. It is in my interest this forfeiture be taken care of, alas, before my sister learns of my marriage. I am prudent and wise. FRONTIN: Haste! I am going to see my illustrious relatives to tell them the role I am taking. (Exit Frontin) ARAMINTE: Let's quickly send a lackey to Valere. But what do I see! My sister returning from the notary. She's going to be irritated about the money I've taken out. He's just informed her. (Enter Belise. They don't speak to each other at first.) BELISE: Yes, my sister is going to see the Notary. She's going to guess the mystery. ARAMINTE: I see she's upset. Oh, I hear her rage. Where shall I tell her I intend to place the money? BELISE: Ah, I see that she knows it. What it will cost me to say that this money is for my marriage? ARAMINTE: Sooner or later my sister must confide in me. BELISE: I tremble. Dare I make her my full confidante? Let's try. Let's talk to her. ARAMINTE: (aloud) Sister. BELISE: (aloud) Sister, I think-- (aside) Oh, fear seizes me! ARAMINTE: (aside) Shame smothers my voice. BELISE:(aloud) To put money when the law-- ARAMINTE: When one disposes of joint funds by oneself-- BELISE: One ought to warn of taking it, but one dares not-- ARAMINTE: One ought to confide in her sister. BELISE: Yes, of course-- ARAMINTE: One ought-- BELISE: One is afraid-- ARAMINTE: It's I.-- BELISE: I admit it-- ARAMINTE: I was wrong. BELISE: One ought to ask pardon-- ARAMINTE: A fault so huge-- BELISE: Yes, when one is promised-- ARAMINTE: Sister, I ask your pardon-- BELISE: Pardon, sister-- ARAMINTE: Pardon. BELISE: Pardon. ARAMINTE: What? We are asking each other for pardon? BELISE: But truly, you ask me. What is your offense then? ARAMINTE: I believe it was you who asked first. What have you done to me? BELISE: But you, too, sister? ARAMINTE: Tell me your secrets. BELISE: Open your heart to me. ARAMINTE: Oh, well. You will doubtless have learned from the notary that I have taken this money. BELISE: Your business. You are right to take your wealth. For each can dispose of hers as she pleases. ARAMINTE: To place it elsewhere, I thought I had the right to take it. BELISE: You don't owe me any accounting. I have taken mine as well. ARAMINTE: So much the better, sister, so much the better. On that account I calm my curiosity. BELISE: You have good sense. You are not being irritating. ARAMINTE: One is liberal with you because you are charming. BELISE: Alas, I never irritated you about anything. Except about marriage and that was for your good. If boredom at being a maiden made you do it, I would be compassionate, like a tender sister--for a weakness. ARAMINTE: You will never have such a weakness. If you come to that-- and the wisest have--far from condemning you I would be complaisant about it. BELISE: Ah, be sure of my condescension. ARAMINTE: Sometimes, we must be humane to each other. BELISE: Alas, I, in getting married would authorize you to do so, without wishing you ill for it. ARAMINTE: Yes, marry quickly, yes. I would be ravished, for then I could-- BELISE: What? Why? ARAMINTE: But, sister-- BELISE: Could you have been capable of letting your heart be surprised? ARAMINTE: And you? BELISE: But you-- ARAMINTE: But you-- BELISE: Eh! ARAMINTE: But yes. BELISE: Me, too. ARAMINTE: Embrace me, sis. BELISE: Sis, how I love you. Yes, we are truly sisters today. ARAMINTE: You know, good hearts are always made for love. You would have stayed a maid. What folly! BELISE: Like you, I wonder how we made that imprudent vow thirty years ago. ARAMINTE: The one you love, you have freely. Without doubt, dear sister, wise as you are, you have meditated over the choice that you've made. BELISE: You whose taste is so fine, so exquisite, undoubtedly you made your choice with discernment. ARAMINTE: Lively, playful, humorous. He's an amiable young man. BELISE: The one that I love is young and yet respectable; wise, grave, self possessed. ARAMINTE: Mine always has the air-- BELISE: A solidity-- ARAMINTE: Brilliant like a flash of lightning. BELISE: Who rarely speaks but with weight and measure. ARAMINTE: Mine talks ceaselessly and about everything. But always well. BELISE: Like you, I see you and I have chosen our spouses according to our characters. ARAMINTE: It's prudent. BELISE: It's wisdom. Mine has wealth, birth, esteem. He's the Senechal Groux. ARAMINTE: That's a man who is known. Like you, I have found a noble spouse. But of ancient nobility. A distinguished man. He's the Chevalier Cique. BELISE: They speak well of him. Your vote, sister, and the voice of the people honor him. ARAMINTE: The public ought to praise us for our choices, But, in other respects, we've had strange obstacles. This forfeiture, for example-- BELISE: Yes, this forfeit, right. ARAMINTE: Our promissory notes. BELISE: Our promissory notes. ARAMINTE: We've suffered a great wrong. To promise this nephew a hundred thousand francs each. BELISE: I have just refused this importunate demand and I believe he's unaware of our plans. For a little money he will return our notes to us. ARAMINTE: But to discharge them, what trick can we employ? (Enter Geronte, Valere, Isabelle) VALERE: (to Geronte) Take advantage of the opportunity. Better not wait. They are pushing their explanation a long way. (aloud) Isabelle didn't leave my aunts happily. And I've learned some good news. GERONTE: I come to rejoice for the sake of Isabelle's love. ISABELLE: I come with all my heart to congratulate you and I saw immediately it was in joking that you always declaimed against marriage, for you yourselves-- ARAMINTE: We ourselves-- BELISE: Ah, sis, what language-- VALERE: You are both going to get married. ARAMINTE: (low) So as not to pay out, sister, we must deny it. BELISE: The rumor is false. ARAMINTE: Very false. VALERE: Aunties, I believe it's true. BELISE: What? You takes us for some extravagants? Us, marry! Us! ARAMINTE: We, no, no. It's no longer time. BELISE: No, don't think it. I am past forty. VALERE: You're not. ARAMINTE: And I am more than fifty. VALERE: No. BELISE: We are-- ISABELLE: No. ARAMINTE: The dispute is funny. I believe we know our age better than you. He's joking. And, sister, the notes he has from us are worthless. Worth nothing. It's a vain hope. BELISE: They are worth nothing. But, sister, Isabelle and Valere have a tender feeling for each other. Their legitimate flames make me pity them. Can they, like we, hate marriage? No. We must do something to their advantage. They move me. ARAMINTE: Yes, we are moved. VALERE: You will be moved. Your notes will be fine. BELISE: Let's not joke further. We will give Valere 10,000 ecus in all. ARAMINTE: Yes. That's what we must do. VALERE: No, no. We will wait for it all. BELISE: Huh? ISABELLE: Nothing presses us. ARAMINTE: Take advantage of the opportunity. VALERE: We will wait for you. ARAMINTE: Because I am generous: Fifty thousand franks. BELISE: That's too much. But I will equal it from generosity. VALERE: Fifty thousand ecus. We shall wait. BELISE: Oh, I won't keep more for you. ARAMINTE: My nephew, my nephew, ISABELLE: Manage them Valere, because fifty thousand francs is enough for my father. GERONTE: Yes, that's enough. ARAMINTE: So as not to dispute further, give them. BELISE: Come then, we will execute-- ARAMINTE: I have on me what I got from the notary. BELISE: He has given me some to end this business. VALERE: Let's see if by chance I don't have your promissory notes. Yes, truly, I believe they are here. GERONTE: The business seems to me easy to finish. VALERE: Let's see. BELISE: This is my note. ARAMINTE: Here's my signature. BELISE: Forty thousand francs on my banker and ten. ARAMINTE: Thirty thousand in bills of exchange plus fourteen and six. VALERE: What happiness. ISABELLE: I breathe. VALERE: With great pleasure I tear up your forfeitures. (Enter Frontin with a cape, a short wig and a cap like Pasquin) FRONTIN: Our lovers are satisfied. We must amuse them. ARAMINTE: Oh, it's you Chevalier. Why are you dressed like that? BELISE: Oh. It's the Senechal. What is this mystery? Why aren't you wearing your usual clothes? FRONTIN: Here I am only a servant-chevalier. ARAMINTE: He's playful. BELISE: But Senechal-- FRONTIN: Although Senechal, I often wear livery. BELISE: Have you gone mad? ARAMINTE: Drunk on pleasures, my sister sees in you her lover, the Senechal, dear Chevalier. BELISE: Sister we are misunderstanding each other. He's the Senechal Groux. ARAMINTE: But I think you are dreaming. He's my Chevalier Cique. FRONTIN: Yes, from complacency to please the younger, I am playful, lively and to please the elder, stern. But unable to be two except in appearance I must admit that Frontin is neither Cique nor Groux. BELISE: What? ARAMINTE: How's that? VALERE: It's Frontin himself. BELISE: Where are we? VALERE: A scoundrel of a valet to pretend to be such a person. ARAMINTE: A valet? BELISE: A valet. GERONTE: The wisest thing would be to ask us about this matter in private. ISABELLE: Pardon the nephew for the valet's sake. BELISE: Oh, sister. ARAMINTE: Oh, sis, let's hide our shame from them. (Exit Araminte and Belise) VALERE: The fear they have of making the subject of a fine story perhaps may make them less unjust to me. FRONTIN: In comic moral, it is, I believe, permitted, for Frontin to punish the aunts' avarice and to make fun of these broken down lovers. CURTAIN Publication Date: May 20th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dufresny

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-rwby-lover-kirito-039-s-surprise-part-2/

RWBY lover, naruto lover11 Kirito's Surprise part 2 for everybody narutolover11 problems stir between kazuto and yuki kazuto woke up the next morning as it was a saturday but he felt like he couldnt move as he lifted the blanket he saw both yuki and gal hugging him "What are you both doing here" asuna woke up and explained her self as she saw gal in the bed "and her i dont know how she got here i fell asleep and she must have came in the room after i did" she said, gal awoke then looking at kirito she'd hug him and not caring about asuna "dont just hug my bf you small little girl you" asuna said angrily, as soon as she said it kazuto and gal were gone already " huh where did they run off to "gal please stop running why are we running" kazuto said outta breath, "well i wanna be alone with you since i havent seen you since we were kids when mom and dad died", she said with a trembling look on her face. "well you coulda just told me that and why were you sleeping next to me when i woke up this morning" he said looking at her with a curious look, "oh that well you see i didn't want to lose to yuki asuna, you see im in love with you". she said it while blushing. "but were brother and sister and she is my girlfreind after all. "Kazuto i am going to kill you!" yuki yelled as she ran outside the house towards them. Kazuto grab gal by the hand and ran like crazy trying to get away from yuki. "why are you running im not going to hurt you to badly" yuki screamed as she was running after them. " gal then pulled him into an alley as yuki ran past them. "wow that was a clos" as he said that gal kissed him on the lips telling him shes been looking for him all her life "kazuto i love you" gal said with a blush on her cheek. Kazuto just stared at her as he got mad and walked away from her and went back home. gal just watched him as she started to cry with no noise. part 3 will be out on thursday Publication Date: October 8th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-dnf10382a424525

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-shaelyn-ray-angelic/

Shaelyn Ray Angelic Angelic I heard noises from downstairs and got up to go check."You know that girl will decide it was you!"I heard my mom whisper angrily."STOP!!!!!"I heard my dad hiss in a whisper.He grabbed her shoulders and shoved her to the ground."You stop!!!!I need you to keep me living!you kill me and Miranda will be alone,and scared,and die from starvation cause you can't cook!!"my mom pleaded.He grabbed her arm and pulled her int the kitchen."MIRAND-!!!"he put duct tape over her mouth."Mom!"I pleaded in a whisper.I walked down a few more stairs until I could see into the kitchen."The brat won't know anything if you keep your mouth shut.....now will she?"he pulled her hair and repeated:"Will she!?"he whispered loudly.He took off the duct tape."Nooooo!!!"she cried sobbing and weeping."She won't!"she stood up and took off towards the stairs.He grabbed her ankle and pulled it she fell to the ground twisting in horror."PLEASEEEE!!!!!!!"she begged.He hit her in the head a few times which made her scream louder."AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!PLEASEEEEE!!!!MIRANDA!!!!!!!!!!!!"she screamed as loud as she could.He finally let go and she took off running.She knocked me over and stopped,"Miranda!?!?"she scooped me up and ran out the door with me."Oh no you don't!"he grabbed her ankle,pulled her ankle until she fell,and I went flying across the ground."OWWW!!"I screamed as I hit a tree and flung some glass out of my hand."MOM!?!?"I screamed looking around for her but she was gone.I got up and walked around....on the other side of her car her and my dad lied there...dead!"NOOOO!!!!!"I screamed,"NOOOOOO WHYYYYYYY?!?!?!WHOOOOOO!?!?!"I screame until my lungs hurt."MOMMMMM DADDDDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"I couldn't believe they both murdered theirselves.I wiped my tears and kicked my dad."THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"I swallowed and went inside.My story ends here,this is my story of how my parents died.....wasn't it angelic? Publication Date: January 20th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-jasperismine00

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-rachel-renteria-vanessa-and-janessa-the-beginning/

Rachel Renteria Vanessa and Janessa: the beginning Text: rachel15462 Images: rachel15462 Editing: rachel15462 Translation: rachel15462 All rights reserved. Publication Date: April 20th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-rachel15462

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-marisa-redhead16-fresh-revenge/

Marisa Redhead16 Fresh Revenge Stupid Blond Idiot "OH MY GOD! I HATE HER SO MUCH!" screamed Rebecca Finalli, my best friend and half sister.   "She's a royal pain in the neck," I agreed. Rachel Skippers had just told Rebecca that she was too fat to try out for cheerleading.   "Her friend Mary is fat and she's a cheerleader!"   "Mary is a Rachel wannabe." Rachel is the meanest girl anyone's ever met. Publication Date: June 4th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-redhead16

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-tina-g-the-kidnapping/

Tina G. The Kidnapping Jack's POV Jack's POV   We were heading to the airport to leave to Houston from Dallas. We had a day off so we decided to take the day tomorrow and hang out around Houston. We were getting out of the airport when we saw a big black van and we got in thinking it was to keep the fans away. We all got in and I texted Logan cause he said was going to met us. Logan called but my phone didn't ring but I answered. He started to yell, "What van? You're support to be in a car!" I look at Zach who was sitting by my side and his face went pale. I see Daniel and Jonah trying to open the door while Corbyn kept an eye out for the driver. Then out of nowhere the van stops and I hear someone speaking in spanish and then they were on the phone. I hear to driver say 'yeah we got them we just need the girl. shes here with some family members. Yeah her family will be too busy with the birthday party. yeah its the 5 year old. so it will be easy.' I hear someone getting out and then the other opens also. We stayed in horror not know what this will come to....     Errlantina's POV Errlantina's POV   I was waiting for the clowns and well I see a big black van and ignored it because my cousin was with me. He was a few months older then me and he said the clowns were close. I see Ruben make a face and said 'I'll be right back' I smile and nodded. I sat on the corb and saw two men coming to me and said 'finilly are you the clowns' they nodded and saw my cousin walking from behind me. I was only there because he know the clowns. 'Tina they arnt the clowns!!!' I look back at the guys and everything went black.   Ruben's POV   Ruben's POV   I told Tina I was going to the restroom and there was a line. I called Ryan and asked where he was at. He said they were almost here and I got out of the line and see Tina in view. Something felt wrong so i walked to her. I see the two guys and I see there faces. She asked them 'finilly are you the clowns' they nodded and I yelled 'Tina they arnt the clowns!!!' I see Tina turn back to come face to face with the tall ones fist. I started to scream for them to let her go. I ran after them and see them throw her in the back of a big black van. I hear yelling once they open the door. There were about five other guys yelling 'HELP HELP US!!!' I took pictures of it. I put my phone away and ran to one of the men and another one hit me on the head. I fell on the floor in pain holding my head while they drove off. My dad and uncles came and asked where was Tina. I cried and said 'They took her' while my family members cried for her. It's the first time that we see them and someone decides to kidnap Tina a day before her birthday. I look at the time and say '5 more hours til her birthday.' I've seen the other five before. My family walked us into the house and called the cops too. Most of them were busy because someone kidnapped this famous band. Only one officer can and asked me questions. The officer asked me if i saw the kiddnappers and anything else. I nodded and saw my little cousin Tina's sister wearing the other guys that were in the back of the van. I pointed to Chelsea's PJs 'thats the other guys yelling for help. they got kidnapped like Tina did.' the officer ran to the police car and said into the radio 'they were here. same kidnapper.' in less then a minute there were cars everywhere.     Logan's POV Logan's POV   The police had my number and were saying there was another kidnapping of a girl and they say my boys were kidnapped by the same people. I had to see for myself. I walked into the room and see loads of people crying and I see the sadness fill the room it made my heart sink and shatter into a million pieces. I walked over and asked who saw everything. They pointed to a kid pacing. I walked over to him and said 'You saw everything.' he nodded and said 'yeah. I have pictures but the police are just looking for the band.' i look into his eyes and see worry and guilt. I asked 'why do you feel guitly.' He said 'last year everyone forgot her birthday and look at her now shes gone and her birthday is in less then 4 hours' this family has gone through so much. I look around and hear 'mom wears Tina? I want her to sing me a song for my birthday.' I had to get out of there. I felt every heart shatter in that room once her little sister asked that question. I ran to the police and said 'you need to fine all 6 of them' I ran to the car and called every police department for a heads up.     Jack's POV Jack's POV   All we see is a girl in boots and blue jeans with a tight blue shirt tucked in and a belt that matched her boots. I look at her weird and said 'Thats weird isn't she cold.' i see her waking up and she asked 'where am i?' she made eye contact with all of us. she smiled and said 'Great what time is it.' i checked the time and said 'well at least we can say tomorrow is christmas.' she hugged her knees and said 'Great Happy Birthday to me. finilly 18 what a great thing.' I dont think she knows we all hear. i found a blanket and motioned her to move close to me and she sat on my lap and said 'thanks but have yall tried to get out?' we all nodded and told her everything. I hear the truck stop and we all stayed quite and hear laughing. we hear the guys door open and close. I see her move to the door window and she said 'stay quite.' She stood and started to kick the window and then we hear the back door open. It was to late. they grabbed by her feet and we started to pull her back in. She started to kick again and started screaming. I guess they figured they would hear all the nosie and slamed the door shut and started the van. You can see the fear in her eyes and we hear the van move. Why is this happening to us and what will happen to any of us.   Errlantina's POV Errlantina's POV   The next stop called my cousin 'Ruben'. I told him that, "Ruben!!! We are all okay. I'm with Jack, Zach, Corbyn, Jonah, and Daniel. We have been driving for hours and I don't know where we are going but do you remember Raul? Well he's one of the drivers and I think we are going back to the valley I'm not sure but I'll text you where I am going to be at. Okay. Bye. Oh wait. The guys told me for you to tell Logan that they are okay. Ruben please if I don't make it back home make sure my mom is okay."   Ruben's POV Ruben's POV   I was getting a call and it was Tina. "OMG are you okay. Do you know where you are. Yeah I remember Raul. What the fuck. Okay. Yeah I'll tell Logan." I didn't have to tell Logan because I had it on speaker.   Logan's POV   Logan's POV   I knew they were okay but where are they.   Jack's POV Jack's POV   We were all asleep and I can get a peek of the outside. I read 'You are now in Pharr, Texas.' I don't know where we are. I wake Tina and said, "Tina we are in Pharr, Texas. Do you know where we are." She smiled and said, "Yes and I know who took us."   Errlantina's POV Errlantina's POV   So first I took out my phone and called Ruben, "Ruben, we are in Pharr and i'm pretty sure Ulises set this up. I think we are going to where it all started. Meet me in the school and I will call Manny to help you." I hung up and dialed Manny's number but when he answers he said, "Who the fuck is this." I smiled, "What can't I call my bestfriend." He said into the phone and said, "Oh its you mensa. Where are you? Are you in town?" I laughted softly and said, "More like kidnapped into town. Met me in school where we met." He smiled and said, "yeah wait what your kidnapped and who did you piss of now." I made a mad face and said, "He was your friend and I told you I didn't like him, but I dont know why he got a boy band." He smiled, "Ransome probably." "Do you think he would kill me?" He said, "I'll meet you are our spot but be careful." "bye" I smiled and looked at the guys and said, "So you guys are safe but when they get us out dont say a word. Zach said, "Why?" I looked at him and said, "Cause I'm your punching bag, so please dont do anything stupid cause I'm trying to get out of here." I hear us coming to a stop and I memorized the turns and all. I look at Jack and said, "We are at the back of Juarez near the football field and Baseball field." I think to myself. Fuck its a school day here. The guys came to a complete stop and they come to the back and tie all of us up. They put tape of the guy but not me. They walk us into the guys locker room in the football side. I see some old friend. I hear some guy say, "Get rid of the van." I see Isaac and I yelled, "Isaac run!!!" He turned to me and was about to run when he stopped and saw where someone punched so hard that I lost all my breath and landed infront of him. I looked up trying to catch my breath and see Mauro, Esau, Elias, Chino, Raymond. They all had there lockers next to each other. The bad guys directed all six of us into each locker because we fit in them. I was in Isaac's locker while the guys looked themself in the closet that looks through the outside. I looked at Isaac and said, "Get us out please." He locked the door and ran to get us all out and said, "Who the fuck did this to you?" I smiled, "You know the truth hurts more then this." He said, "I told you to stop doing that. Now hurry cause they have to get out sooner or later and I think they know how to pick locks. I untied the guys and said, "Lets go now." They followed and I ran to the stair well between 100 and 200 hall. I ran in and see kids and then i saw Manny. He ran to me and hugged me. He said, "Lets go. I brought your car so your welcome." I hugged him and said, "Well lets go." We ran through the music hall and into the student parking lot and got into the car. Zach said, "Are we gonna fit?" I looked at him and said, "Look Zach I dont mean to sound rude but you can either stay and wait for them to come or get your ass in the car so I can get the fuck out of here. Simple as that." Manny looks at me and said, "Your still a total bitch, Tina. I missed you and Zach she will leave you. Shit she left her mom in Dallas for a whole week cause she would stop fighting with her." Zach sprinted and jump into the backseat and landed on all the guys.   Zach's POV   Zach's POV   I was a little scared of Tina. Well a lot and I dont plan on getting on her bad side. Once I was in the backseat, she didn't let the door close but drove of speeding so fast. My shoes almost fell off. I just laid there waiting to see here we were going. Manny's POV    Manny's POV   "We can go to my house. I live alone now." I looked at Tina and said, "My new house that nobody knows about." She looked at me and said, "When were you going to tell me?" He smiled and said, "When you came home, I was going to ask you to move in." I see her smile and said, "Is the offer still up cause I could use a hide out." I smiled and said, "For you of course." I look to the guys and said, "You guy will have to stay cause those guys are probably looking for you right now." They all nodded and said, "Sounds like a plan." I looked back at Tina and saw here concentrating on the road. I remember I had turned her down and she played it off as a joke. Then after that she was everywhere and she wouldn't look at me the same. I fell in love with her after blowing her off. I lost something that I didn't know was worth much more. She used to be chubby and know she is thin with curve in all the right places but I'm not the only one who likes her but the kid with curly hair. I know I lost my chance but once I saw her again all the feelings came back. She still looks great and I know she only thinks of me as a friend. I regret blowing it off like that and now I see the love of my life fall for someone else and it hurts. Why was I such a jerk to her.     Errlantina's POV Errlantina's POV   "Manny," I was saying for over 20 minutes. I smiled and said, "I love you." Manny looked at me and said, "What?" I smiled, "Its the only way to get your attention. I'm sorry." Publication Date: April 8th 2018 https://www.bookrix.com/-sf809f15b309495

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-daniel-scott-suddenly-it-became-a-man/

Daniel Scott Suddenly it became a man Chapter One: Snakes and bladders   Beside the rabbit hole, sprung, battered-hot, the snakes cold deliberate form was no more and in stillness its forked tongue loosed, admitting death stubbornly as it once did life. I looked into the earthy hole from where I stood several paces away from the sweating concrete road drenched in the heat of the day and wondering if there was still a rabbit somewhere inside when his encroaching footsteps behind me vocalised confidently.     ‘Let me tell you about radical change, its gone, you accept society to find an identity, but find no identity that can survive without breathing in its smoke.’   I looked inwardly for an opinion acceptable to Tom, found nothing and quickly agreed ‘That sounds about right.’ He didn’t like it one glance back at his horrible eyes told me so and i suddenly felt the urge to fill the awkward silence. ‘How’s the engine now?’ I asked but he answered nothing. I turned to Tom abruptly, he turned away dismissively, paused a minute and stared at the sky then strolled back to my cars open bonnet.   I didn’t want to upset him, I have always been more patient than interested in what my friends told me and accepting of talkative strangers I’d later forget or quote. Then there was Tom, when he had something to say I listened and remembered because he was different, and terrifying. By chance he’d passed me broken down on the causeway, later returning with jump leads to help me get back on my way. It seemed like kindness at the time. ‘Okay she’s ready’ Tom announced as he shut the bonnet. It was time to go, my attention briefly came back to the dead snake, the hole then swiftly returned to the road ahead with hope for the rabbit crystallised. Though it was later shattered as we passed the animals fluffy body a short while after, stretched violently atop the concrete road.   We first met inside a hospital sometime in June Tom insisted, I was the most mobile patient of the long stay ward. I remember feeling almost completely fine after spending more than a week propped up on white linen sheets by bleached white polyester pillows, awaiting the head physician and his coveted final verdict.   Already in bad stead due to a spilt bed pan the Nurses contempt for me grew in the heat of the days that followed like a bacteria that multiplied into hate. It wasn’t long before they were changing my sheets aggressively and whenever I was in earshot passing biting comments to each other about how abusers of the system ought to be punished. “It’s not a Hotel” “My husband says loafers should be strung up and beaten” “Did you know they’re shot in the army that’s how wrong it is you know?” “Huh, the shame of it laid out on a much needed bed, not a thing wrong, in the nude, shame on them.”     There was a morning when Fred; the oldest man I’ve ever seen two beds across offered me his cereal, as was the Thursday routine. I stood at his bedside as he went on about the war and I went on eating and nodding at the crucial moments in his story. “It was the Great British Air Force!” “There were thousands of them!” And so on, when I heard a great gasp let out behind me, I span around with my mouth still full only to see three Nurses at the entrance to the ward looking absolutely mortified, so much so that a passing Doctor stopped what he was doing took up his stethoscope and hurriedly doubled back.   During nights if I was spotted out of bed returning from or going to the toilet I received a repetitive and deliberately vexing inquisition. My favourite Nurse Ester made it her personal mission to watch me at night, whenever even so much as one of my toes touched that cold floor she’d have at me with a bed pan. I’d then lie wondering why it was so important that I should be in bed. Beginning to suppose she assumed I had intentions to meddle with the other patients at night which were incapacitated, feverishly sick or both and being innocent I made a habit of staring back indignantly.   That’s when it happened.   A hot stuffy day had curdled into hot stuffy night leaving the entire ward hot and devoid of real air. Every breath in felt like the last one let out. I couldn’t sleep when I noticed a murmuring, a low desperate cry stifled by the thick air, falling short, reaching no one but me. Compelled by the cries I slid out of bed and followed the sound to an isolated bed with closed curtains, I walked straight in. ‘Are you okay?’ He wasn’t okay, he was neck deep in plaster ‘Struck by a car’ I thought as I recalled a goby Nurses laborious rant about dangerous roads, road rage and domestic violence. Submerged in grief the young mans bruised eyes opened slowly and looked through me, I looked back sympathetically at all pipes going in and out of his nose and mouth then next to the machines I noticed a window. His battered eyes darted to the window with mine and remained there until moved toward it. ‘Want this open?’ I asked rhetorically, of course he did, the poor fool was being boiled in his shell. My fingers took firm purchase at the bottom of the windows frame, it was painted shut but the paint was cracked and rotten, clearly decades old. My first mediocre attempt was enough to send it flying open letting in a great gust of fresh, nutritious air. The expression on his face changed, he looked pleasant and I walked away assured the good deed was administered in time. I hopped into bed, lulled by the gift of cool air, I slept like a hero. The next morning I woke to a squall of frantic nurses rushing from bed to bed, temperatures had skyrocketed and the old man two beds across was dead. That day I was removed to another ward, where the stormy head physician finally came at a fast pace to deal with me. I knew the verdict before he got through the door.   Two and a half years later here he was, out of his shell and returning a favour, he said his name was Tomas Baker.      Chapter Two: Appreciation   Our journey together along the concrete road was meant to meet its end when I signalled into a lane that led to the car park of the hotel I reserved a room in. When Tom saw it he slowed up behind me, I rolled down the window and waited for him to pass by but instead he stopped, got out of his car and walked over to my window.        I wasn’t sure what he was going to say. ‘Tom, thank you, what can I say? You’ve been a big help.’ He leaned in ‘Join me for a drink’. What could I say?   Tom bought me a beer and for himself a still water with ice from the hotel bar, we picked a quiet spot to sit down of which there were many, it wasn’t a busy place, more a relaxing corner of the world with hard seats and tired furnishings. I raised my glass and Tom did likewise but unlike me he didn’t drink from it, he just sat there holding it steadily, lowered it again and started asking me questions. He was very interested in my career; I told him all about my movie roles and that I wanted bigger ones. I didn’t realise until after half an hour when I felt it was time to say our goodbyes, that in this whole time I had learned nothing about him, so took a moment to look him over. Thick black beard and matching moustache no lips, a crooked peaked cap that appeared to have been worn over night cupped his head I could see his brown eyes clearly. I kept noticing how horrible they were while we spoke, slightly off set and sunk into his face. The bar was almost vacant, except for a few slow mechanical drinkers like Tom. ‘That’s enough’ I thought, my appreciation was conveyed and I felt it was time to go. ‘Listen Tom it’s been-‘ He interrupted me suddenly with his hand, abruptly producing a crammed leather wallet. ‘This is the family.’ he boasted. He looked young in the picture, a short boyish adolescent with strong shoulders, proud smile. ‘What happened to you?’ I thought. His drivers licence was the same, he was a little older though but the same proud smile, he must have been about nineteen when it was taken; he’d clearly gained height and girth with age, kept the shoulders, lost the looks. Tom noticed my interest and offered me the wallet. I held it for a moment re-examining the family portrait. ‘Still see them?’ I asked. ‘Yes.’ He lowered the glass again ‘There are nights when I try to sleep. I shut my eyes and all I see are their faces.’ He looked at me with expectation in the midst of his shaded eyes. I grimaced ‘Did something happen to them?’ He answered nothing. Then from under his hats crooked peak a deep frown sank down into his face, his brow furrowed taut and creased tightly into an expression comparable to hate. ‘Sounds about right’ I knew instantly they were the words I used earlier being spewed back at me. The mood had changed. He sat hunched, croaked and hissed inaudibly into his full glass, tipped it back against his dark facial hair and started to swallow it down with a kind of drowning desperation. The excess spilled out the sides of his mouth and dripped down his beard onto the table. I looked away with tempered disgust, recoiling from each of his loud breathy gulps. His emptied glass came back down with a gentle thud and he offered out his hand ‘Shake it’ he said with a smile, the frown had vanished. My hand automatically reached into his grip, I felt it close tight like an iron trap without teeth. ‘I still feel like I owe you.’ He confessed, but it sounded like a question. ‘Don’t feel that way. We’re even’ ‘No were not’ his grip was getting tighter. ‘Well thank you for what you did. I don’t know what I’d of-’ ‘Thank you is enough’ he interrupted. ‘Okay you’re right, Tom it’s been’ He interrupted me again, louder and tighter. ‘Thank you, is enough’ ‘Thank you.’ The moment I said the words the handshake relented. With blood freely racing back into my fingers I gave Tom a meek nod of respect mingled with relief as he got up and left the bar through the main doors. When I was sure he was gone, I wiped my face with my other hand and relaxed into the chair puzzled as to what went wrong. Suddenly a thought came into my head that cheered me up the rest of the evening ‘If that mad display was Tom saying thank you and returning a favour, what happens when he’s got something to be vengeful about?’ I retired to my reserved room in the hotel with a smile and laughed to myself to sleep, wondering which poor Nurse closed that old window I opened. I hoped it was Ester.   Benjamin Stanes long time friend and agent drummed feverishly at my hotel door, I didn’t realise it was him but thought it was the neighbours beds backboard thumping the wall again until I heard them shouting the noise down. I shot up to answer it ‘Ben it’s five thirty in the morning’ ‘Yes and do you know what today is?’ ‘Too early’ ‘It’s the screening of Jacky Mendisa, you cameo for the upcoming sequel why aren’t you aware? This is your life I’m talking about, you don’t get anywhere without being seen lets go.’ We arrived early to take our middle lying seats to avoid any hassle, the journalists and magazine people had theirs, the stars including Jenna Phillip’s who was dripping ear to ankle with so much gold that no one so much as lay hand on her for the fear she’d ‘Buckaroo’, she sat luxuriously at the front. The film played, Benjamin clapped hard and loud, Jenna cried as if she was watching herself for the first time, I thought it was boring, and for my six hours work on the film I didn’t even get a decent mug shot and they dubbed my voice with Barry White’s audio double. Everyone spilled out of the viewing room into a lounge where refreshments were being served. I made an effort shake hands with anyone who’d shake hands and was slowly passed from hand to hand into a corner next to a plant and an empty sofa. I was about to give up and get very drunk when Benjamin came over with some good news at last. ‘Kyle Lesley wants to screen test you!’ ‘You’re kidding, is it a movie?’ ‘Yes it’s a movie, he said he really liked your voice and wants to screen test you for the lead in his new movie, “An October Lightning Storm” ’ ‘I really do hope you realise that that wasn’t my voice?’ ‘He doesn’t, look this is your shot, take it.' Chapter Three: Aftershock   I felt like a film star. The set had an air of freshness to it I imagined it could easily sell for a high mark if it were showcased to the public. Everything was clean and minimal, except for the bath and a jumble of toiletry props and empty bottles that sat on a small table awaiting the director’s selection. I walked over to the bath excitedly ‘I’m supposed to die in here’ I noticed a curve in the base that promised to hurt my back. I climbed into the bath trying to figure out how to lie comfortably dead, while still disguising that I’m not actually naked when Kyle Lesley walked in with parade of camera men and actors in tow. I knew it was him, the words expensive and benefactor oozed from his attire and his reputation according to the media encapsulated them. ‘Here he is’ he announced with authority ‘lets get started’ though his nervous shifting eyes and defensive expression belied it. The director jogged over to me and crouched at my side as I lay startled in the bath and started urgently reading aloud from a collection of loose notes. ‘The bath scene, okay cameras here, here and here are watching you there, there and over there keep your back off them. Boom is on you but speak up I need annunciation, don’t shout the levels won’t balance. You’ll face one edge up slowly to where you are now, slowly turn to two, that’s the sad lean really earn it. You’re sad, you’re sad you hear the door then break to three, you see your brother he’s jealous he hates you, you hate that but you really love him though. Wait, you see the gun then say the line. Remember you see the gun before delivering it “Shoot me, we both know I deserve that bullet, but if you do it, you’ll always just be my… little brother” okay first take in ten’     The last part stood out, ten minutes wasn’t very long. ‘The first take is in ten minutes?’ ‘Yes make sure you’re solid and remember to see the gun first’ ‘The gun first, okay but ten minutes isn’t-’ ‘Yes of course improvisation that’s fine I’ll be back’ Leaving me in limbo he jogged over to Jean Parson another member of the cast stood with a lighting operator close to the set toilet. They then closely spoke together while nodding at the same notes that were read to me, I soon realised we were competing for the role and I wasn’t happy.   Jean was small time, he had an attitude face and arrogance to the point of stupidity; he rubbed everyone up the wrong way, especially my agent Ben, in fact I didn’t know anyone who liked him. Ben had told me stories about when he used to be his agent, at that time he didn’t know Jean was prone to wild and vocal nightmares and one night he woke up hearing one, Jean was shouting “Get off me!” naturally thinking he was in trouble rushed up to his room to help. He found Jean crying in the dark tangled in a bed sheet shouting and punching the air. The lights go on and there’s no one but Jean, short of breath, looking dazed, stinking and covered in his own filth. Ben asks “What happened here?” Seeing that no one was around and nothing was taken Jean went on in a backward attempt to save face to try and convince Ben that actually he had been in a super natural fight with a ghost.   Jean Parson was a clown and there he stood giving me looks from the side of his face as the director fed him my lines and not ashamed of him self either, though that shouldn’t of surprised me. In the last B film he had anything to do with which was to all intents and purposes about a neurotic cat getting into fights, he did the voice of a dog. And not the main dog either. I on the other hand was an Actor trying to build a reputation worth noticing, that made me very susceptible to shame and I knew full well that there’d be far too much to bear losing out to the likes of him. Ben had really stuck his neck out for me this time the pressure was on to get it right. Ten minutes wasn’t long. Kyle Lesley watched my performance through the lens of camera three. ‘Shoot me’ I said. ‘No, no louder’ demanded Kyle. ‘Shoot me!’ I shouted ‘The levels’ the director moaned ‘Shoot me!’ I cried ‘No what are you doing? Use your voice’ Kyle advised painfully My throat went dry, Parson smiled like a villain, I filled my lungs and ‘Shoot me, shoot me, shoot me!’ bayed like rabid donkey. Kyle pulled away from the cameras eye piece horrified, then signalled the director who came jogging swiftly over to usher me out of the bath. ‘Let’s go, let’s go’ he told me waving his clipboard as if fanning away a bad smell. ‘Sorry, I don’t know what happened. Can I give it another go?’ He wasn’t interested and seemed to have been nodding along the whole time I spoke like a tacky car ornament waiting for me to stop talking and to spew out his own lines. ‘No we’ve got a lot to get through, out now let’s go’ ‘Listen honestly that wasn’t me at my best’ ‘No we’ve got a lot to get through, let’s go’ ‘You’ve said that already I’m asking for another chance’ ‘I heard now, get, out’  His malicious tone provoked me ‘Who do you think you’re talking to?’ ‘Stand up, and, get, out’ I stood up. Suddenly the new bath scene had every ones attention, to the extent that Kyle himself felt the urge to intervene. He called out to me. ‘Thank you good man I have everything I need from you, would you mind joining rest of the cast off set now? Good man.’ I was as professional about it as I could be; which wasn’t very much at all. After giving the director the finger and exiting the bath with a stumble I glared at Jean who tended to an itch on a part of his face that required him to turn it away. The locking catch of the stage exits closed door sounded a click with me on the other side before anyone dared to start laughing. I can guess who was the first.   The journey back to the hotel was agonising, my train of thought traversed a looping torrent of infuriating words, menacing images and faces all of them pleased at my bitter rejection and Jean Parson’s triumph. After neglecting every road sign that whizzed by at an even twenty miles above the forty limit, until I met the turning for the Kipper Hotel at which I stayed. A stray cat lost a life as I came screeching into the car park and to an abrupt halt, at that moment I half noticed something out of place. The loose seat belt button had no belt to release when I pressed it in “that’s how you get yourself killed” I thought though I didn’t dwell on it for long the consuming ambition for an alcoholic resolution was still hurrying me. Wallet and keys in hand I flew out of the door with rhythmic pace, confirmed my crooked placement possessed more than its allotted parking space, smirked ‘So what’ and marched toward the main doors with single mindedness, but someone had been watching me the entire time, steps from where I stood and paying close attention. As bad things were for me at that moment, I never reached my room, the bar or even the hotel that night.     Chapter Four: Hammering it home   Ambushed! Three sudden men burst out from the unseen dark borders of my vision and seized me fiercely by the arms. Held captive and swirling down to the ground I heard sirens, saw their uniforms and yielded my unnoticed struggle with regret and great surprise, I was being arrested. Memories of the speed limit stammered my cries of injustice, as did my tires rubber trail left on the ground as I was carted into the Police marked van I had undoubtedly screeched passed.   Inside the Police station the conditioning cell walls condoned my every discomfort; the dark high ceiling supported a closed circuit camera at one of its corners, it sat inside protective casing positioned above a small metal toilet. The toilet was cold, sensor operated and devoid of any water, on its left side a hand a sanitizer was affixed, I had no intention of using either. The bed come chair in the middle of the room was bolted to the floor, against one of the dull magnolia walls with two thin woollen blankets folded on top of it. Both blankets were made of itchy industrial quality synthetic material; they matched the colour of the black floor and the texture of loft insulation.   I was already over two hours trapped on all sides with nothing to eat or drink, I couldn’t sit or stand without feeling nauseous for lack of substance. Anticipation followed boredom followed mental turmoil that manifested over time into a physical pain in my lower back. The aching pain increased the longer I waited, the longer I was patient, and the more I listened for some sign of life and heard nothing. Another hour hungry with an aching back bored away and then another and another in the same painful fashion, the constant dim light adding a painful headache to my list of torments. ‘What’s going on?’ I banged my open palms against the steel door. ‘What is going on? Someone speak to me’ Loud and strong my voice carried powerfully the way I knew Kyle Lesley wanted, I don’t know where it came from but I was pleased as seconds later there came footsteps toward my cell, keys rattled into the lock and at last the door opened. There was a man on the other side dressed in a dark suit and tie next to the officer with the keys and the handcuffs that awaited me.   They led me into a bright room with a large mirror set into the wall, one table two chairs a camera and a tape recorder, after I sat down I was freed from the handcuffs, the suited man sat facing me at the table. ‘Am I in trouble? I don’t understand what’s happening.’ He held up his hand for silence while ejecting a tape from the machine and putting it back in and pressing record. He read out a short statement for the benefit of the recording then addressed me. ‘You were picked up at Kipper hotel. Who were you travelling with?’ ‘That’s right I’m staying there, I’m not travelling with anyone’ ‘Where were you last night?’ ‘I was at the hotel’ ‘Alone?’ ‘Yes’ ‘That’s not my information’ ‘I’m sorry yes I was with some one, I went to the bar for a few drinks before bed with someone I met on the way to the Hotel’ ‘Right, did he have a name?’ ‘Tom Baker, I don’t really know him’ He looked away from me to mirror and made a hand gesture. ‘You don’t know really know him, did you two have drinks?’ ‘Yes, I’m sorry I thought this was about my speeding?’ ‘What happened to Mr. Baker after you had drinks?’ ‘He left I went to my room I was tired, what’s this about?’ ‘You tell me, we all want to know, you have a reputation now we’ll get the whole story in your confession, when you’re put away you’ll be famous.’ ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about or Tom if that’s what you’re thinking, I’m an Actor’ ‘Not Tomas then?’ ‘I was broke down on the roadside, he drove up and helped me we talked and we had a few beers after that’s it?’ ‘The motive was his kindness toward you?’ ‘Motive I don’t know what you mean? Where is he? I’m sure he was staying somewhere near the hotel, if you bring him in here he’ll explain everything honestly’ ‘Sadly we can’t do that, he’s dead’ ‘He’s dead?’ ‘Yes he died from his injuries’ ‘Injuries, what happened?’ ‘Bludgeoned, lots of blood, no prints, well there were no prints until you decided in the aftermath - which we’re all grateful for - to prize out his wallet and drivers licence. Why did you do that?’   ‘No the only time I touched Tom’s wallet was when he showed me pictures of his family! I’m shocked he’s dead it’s terrible, I’ve got nothing to do with it, I wouldn’t dare raise my voice to that man he was twice my size, I don’t understand why you think I’d attack him?’ ‘A man twice your size? He made another hand gesture at the mirror and an officer came in with a group of files and handed them to him, he opened the first on the table in front of me and began peeling out horrific photographs of a bloody scene. First a hammer stained thickly with dark blood, then one of a ruined man bloody and dead, the top of his head concaved as if it were as pliable as a rubber dolls pressed in by thumbs. It was hard to look. ‘What is that? Why are you showing me this?’ Mortified I tore my eyes away from the gruesome images, swallowing back the bile that had crept into my mouth involuntarily. By the time I recovered the next picture came, I looked at it for a moment the young man pictured was eerily familiar. ‘I can see you do recognise him.’ Slowly I realised exactly who I was looking at, the boy with the proud smile it was Tomas Baker young, about twenty years old now, more pictures came but strangely none of which did he look any older. ‘Tom went missing on Friday, this is most recent photograph’ He showed me the last picture Tom draping his arm over the shoulder of a pretty girl. One look and the reality of the situation dawned on me all the images meshed into one another like a jigsaw melting together in a mental forest fire. Tom was dead, he was a boy not a man, he was a generous helpful boy a cheerful soul but I never met him, I held his wallet, I saw his family and I shook the hand of the man that killed him.   ‘Tom was five foot eight, nineteen years old, which means he was shorter than you, everyone who met him said he was a pleasant boy but not you, you murdered him.’ The battery of questions continued, I answered them all reiterating and spewing detail, explaining why’s and where’s and when’s, adamantly fighting for my innocence. It went on and on, the suited man was referred to as Detective by the other officials that came in and out of the interrogation room, all of which gave him a great deal of reverence and I endured.             Chapter Five: Anticipation     Gradually the nature of the man I was suspected of being was revealed through the long list of his victims. They clearly knew a lot about his movements but nothing about his appearance as I in no way physically resembled Tom Baker’s killer. He left the room part way through a loaded question about my preference to travel for work when an officer called him out. After a short time he came back in and continued his interrogation focusing on my background and my career. I felt the ordeal coming to a close when he after stepping out of the room brought me back a cup of coffee, I hated coffee but thirst had already knighted the sickly sweet, and crowned any drink that could quench it a godsend. The detective’s change of heart felt false and his expression cunning. He stopped the tape. ‘Times up’ I was escorted out to the main desk and released as spontaneously as I was taken in, Benjamin was waiting for me, it turned out he’d been fighting my corner on the outside since he found out I had been arrested. He rejoiced when he saw me emerging lethargically from the Police station, he grabbed me by the arms like a father. ‘Let’s get out of here are you unwell, what’s wrong with your back, were you beaten?’ ‘Where have you been?’ ‘Looking for you, I couldn’t find you at the Hotel, the Police were impounding your car, you didn’t have a phone and the police wouldn’t speak to me what do you expect?’ ‘Well it’s good to see you.’ ‘What did you do?’ ‘Remember Tom that Mr. Helpful I told you about? He was murdered’ ‘No?’ ‘Yes, tell you everything later, got anything to eat?’ ‘I have a bit of sandwich in the car are you hungry?’ ‘Sounds great, lead the way’ It was late and cold and I didn’t have my jacket since I’d left it in my hotel room, I didn’t expect to be walking anywhere. ‘I’ll take you to my house after cook you some toast’ ‘Fine, thanks Ben, so the police wouldn’t speak to you, how did you find out where I was?’ ‘Yes, I was about to leave but you’re friend at the hotel told me what happened’ ‘What, which friend?’ ‘He told me all about it he said he saw the Police taking you and knew which station was closest, he was right’ ‘Ben I asked you which friend?’ ‘I don’t remember his name, what’s the matter with you?’ ‘Ben it’s important what did he look like?’ ‘Why is it important? If you want to thank him he’s in the car’ ‘He’s in the car, your car? Ben I need you to think carefully, did he say his name was Tom?’ ‘No, definitely not I’d remember that’ ‘Did he have a beard?’ ‘What did they do to you in there? You sound like a paranoid no he hasn’t got a beard, what are you planning to do kiss him or shake his hand?’ We walked another thirty seconds to the car each step arduous and heavy like those of a ladder leading up to a high wire or a diving board set over shallow water. Ben popped his door open jumped straight in and started searching the compartments like a ferret for the sandwich he promised. Outside I gazed in at my mysterious friend slouched in the back through the window and condensation hoping not to alert him. ‘It’s open’ Ben opened my door for me confused by my hesitation. I leaned in gingerly but the view gave nothing away, he was asleep with his face turned onto his palm. I couldn’t make out his face completely, he wore thick spectacles, had neatly combed brown hair not black, and just like Ben said didn’t have a beard. He held vague resemblance of someone I met at the Jacky Mendisa Screening and though I couldn’t accept it completely I was satisfied that he wasn’t that Tom Baker I met and finally took a seat in the car. Ben stared at me with an improving smile and a crust of bread wrapped clumsily in cellophane, he glanced into the back at the sleeping passenger, looked back at me, then the road shook his head with a sigh and turned his keys in the ignition. The mild vibration of the engine played with my seat and hummed delightfully into my sore back, I relaxed into its jiggling motion. He opened my window slightly with a button on the dashboard and nodded up at me for approval. I gave it. The chilling air hit my face while hunger squeezed my stomach, at graceful miles an hour with the wind in my face the distant view of an open restaurant was glowing like a beacon in the distance while I contemplated the value of my freedom.   ‘Think they do toast there?’ I jested. Ben half smiled at me noticing my mood had changed ‘I heard the audition went well’ ‘Don’t go on about it Ben… It did for Jean’ He was smiling, trying to play my failure down by teasing me, it was typical of course for Ben not to know when to stop and typically he meant well, but even knowing that didn’t make it any less annoying. ‘For Jean you say? Okay yes that’s right he got the role. I was shocked he’s not even good, I spoke with Kyle he said you looked like an angry dog.’ ‘What does that mean?’ ‘I know I laughed he’s a funny man.’ ‘You’re a good agent, laughing at me while I’m having a rough time’ ‘I’m just saying Jean got that part, it’s okay there are other roles’ ‘So what’ I exclaimed ‘I’ll tell you, I should never have offered you that role as Duke’ ‘Do you think this is helping?’ ‘Listen, he dies eight scenes in and’ Ben’s concentration switched to his careful driving, we had arrived at the restaurant; after parking he turned and continued. ‘I asked Kyle about you, why you didn’t get it etcetera, one word “Gregory” Gregory is Duke’s jealous brother the killer and a leading role with good screen time, that’s what I was coming to tell you before all of this.’ He switched off the engine with style waiting for my reaction ‘Ben I can’t believe it, that’s-’ ‘A leading role and you get to shoot Jean Parson’ ‘If only I could.’ I said laughing ‘Ben I feel-’ ‘I know you feel great, so do I you’re going to actually pay me for a change, come on wake him up you owe us.’   Chapter Six: Connections     That news signalled the change, a professional existence that ended another of cameos as non-characters. A change everybody will see, who doesn’t love a villain? Benjamin got out energetically taken by the mood ‘I’ll get the tables I know a man on the inside wink-wink, sit tight ok we’re getting premier seating’ He slammed his door while I still stunned by the news sat in awe of my new fortune.   As I waved Ben away into the restaurant the cars ceiling light had temporarily activated, it shone into the back and brightly onto the sleeping stranger. I turned out of my seat to get a good look at him and watched as he began stirring from sleep. After casually sitting up with puzzlement he checked both wrists for a watch, found it cursed at it quietly wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his thick coat, a second later he adjusted his thick glasses and looked at me ‘Ben?’ I angled my face further into the light then he noticed me. ‘Yes, of course. Hello again, apologies in advance I’ve been known to drool’ ‘That’s fine it’s not my car, also I think it’s me who should be apologising for all this trouble, clearly I’ve kept from your bed to say the least. Ben’s inside getting us seats we’re at a restaurant’ He nodded his head yawning and zipped down his big coat. ‘Forget about it. That’s the best sleep I’ve had in weeks, must be the weather and this car, it smells good.’ He sat forward staring at me expectantly, as if to say “It’s me?” ‘Hey friend this is embarrassing I’m sorry I don’t quite remember your name.’ ‘You don’t like Jean Parson do you?’ he smiled ‘I overheard you two talking on the way here, congratulations on the lead.’ ‘Excuse me I didn’t know you know him and thank you a little luck‘  He cut in. ‘Yes and luckily I was at the hotel when you were taken in. They were saying you killed a man I almost thought you did’ ‘No it was a big mist-‘ ‘Mistake I know, when Ben turned up all was revealed, I still thought what if, but he cleared the smoke obscuring you and here you are freedom.’ The interrupting drone of his patter was beginning to irritate me on top of that I was ravenous, the smell of food was in the air calling out to me, potatoes, chicken, curry, stuffed peppers with cheese. He sat up and reached around in his coats inside pocket, I hardly recognised his face but his voice sounded familiar. ‘Yes you’ve done me a great favour and if you’re hungry I’d like to repay you’ ‘Don’t you thank people who help you?’ As calmly as I could I decided to reiterate my grateful offer but found myself waiting for him to finish speaking again. ‘Don’t worry I know all about you, you’re decent I just thought, but it’s okay.’ ‘Well if you listen to me, I’m saying thank you right now and I’d like to buy you dinner Mr.?’ ‘That’s very kind but no, I’ve intruded enough ’ ‘No It’s fine were here and it’s it the least I can do honestly’ ‘No you don’t understand at all. Thank you is enough.’ He offered out his unoccupied hand as he continued to root in his pocket. ‘Shake it’ The sound of those words were ingrained into my psyche, I hesitated without thinking cradling one hand in the other and I didn’t know why. I heard myself thinking ‘It’s still feels bruised. It’s the one he squeezed…Who squeezed?’ The displeasure of my hesitation had rotted away his former kind expression and with the bizarre nostalgia of my childhood trepidation when sitting on, what was my Fathers lap at Christmas, I recalled the stunning revelation that followed and with it in mind looked once more at the stranger inside of the car. The obvious deception was inescapable now; I suddenly knew why his voice was so familiar, why I couldn’t remember his name or face. Too late I saw passed his purposefully thick glasses and met the snake brown sunken, offset eyes that glared through mine at the roadside and in the hotel bar and with every sinking moment they emerged from the depths of his stony face like a cobra from a basket.   I twisted back for the door but one of his quick thick fingered hands wrapped itself around my neck and clenched tightly and snapped me back into my seat with strength. ‘What do you want?’ I cried. He answered nothing. Using his firm grip he levered himself closer me, his voice had changed now, it slithered through the air like a snake on sand, lisping into my ear. ‘Thank me.’ ‘I’m sorry. Thank you’ ‘Is that all?’ ‘Thank you very much I’m grateful for everything you’ve done’ ‘You asked me a question at the bar didn’t you? About my family? ‘I didn’t mean to insult you in any way, I am truly sorry, I don’t know what happened and I shouldn’t’   ‘Be quiet and listen. I used live in a house, it was as small as this car, I cooked in it, ate in it, I kept it clean. I knew someone who had a friend who fed her soup, even when she didn’t want it. A day came when she got very sick, do you know what he did? He stopped feeding her. She died and he buried her in my house. I could smell her rotting, first it was sweet like hot pork, it smelt like her skin was sizzling. Then another smell came it was thick, stifling, swallow or breathe that rancid odour filled my mouth.’   His anger flared his shivering face came so hard against mine his teeth squashed my ear, then a gush of words and spittle with rage seethed out. ‘That’s what happened! That’s “Something” you nosey pig you murderer!’ Incredibly his anger relented, vanishing into a bizarre serenity. The car light dimmed. ‘I meant what I said before about congratulating you.’ ‘You did? I mean thank you’’ ‘You’re welcome’ His grip had loosened after he spoke as he seemed to contemplate something, perhaps feelings of remorse. Seizing the moment carefully, timidly I asked him ‘Why are you doing this to me?’ ‘Bored, dumb, vengeful, insane, I know I’m none of those things, but anyone who could describe me and what I have done to get here would use at least two of those words. I have killed, that is true. You saw the pictures. Whatever it is you recognised about me, I think after this, you’ll tell it to the police.’ It sounded like a question. ‘I won’t, I won’t say anything to anyone’ He was still calm but like the one before a storm. ‘When you say that I want to believe you. I heard you’re a good actor.’ ‘This isn’t an act, I won’t, I don’t want to’ There was a long silent pause. The fear I felt in that moment was worst than the first, the level of tension in me from terrible suspense had peaked. Sounds approached from behind us and materialised with lights, another car was reversing into the restaurants small car park one space behind, the sounds of it grew increasingly in the backdrop, gravel underneath tires, the handbrake, the engine put to sleep and finally the door. Desperation consumed me and I began considering a frantic bash of the horn to warn the hungry diner to my danger. I glanced into the rear view mirror, saw the maniac looking down, then at the horn on the stirring wheel. Suddenly his voice croaked. ‘Don’t look at it’ My eyes entered the mirror a second time and I saw his other hand, it was revealed from out of his coat, elevating a steely hammer. Without thought I blurted it out ‘Please don’t do it!’ ‘Shut up, and shut your eyes too.’ I thought about my father again and all the promises I’ll never keep, then I closed them. I heard a drawing of breath, one loud hiss in, he held it a moment then quietly, almost to himself he said ‘I still feel like I owe you.’ Trembling now, my muscles sighed out any fight they had in them, it had liquefied like boiling fat and emptied down into my bloating bladder. At that moment I tried to convince myself I wouldn’t feel it, that death was painless. However the contradicting images of poor Tom’s concaved skull dramatically resurfaced, crushing the naive idea with clarity. There was nothing left to do but to beg. ‘Don’t do it, please I won’t say anything!’ With anger he puffed out the air he had drawn in and with temper warned ‘I don’t know how much more I have in me to help you like this. Think about that boy Tom and Enjoy this brief intermission!’ His grip released me with a shove, I jerked forward my head cradled in my own hands anticipating incredible pain.   A time passed with my eyes shut, braced for a blow but it never came. Nothing happened. Ben opened his door. ‘I booked the table lets go. Where’s your friend?’ I opened my eyes, he was gone. The back door was opened I didn’t even hear it. ‘He’s gone’ I said. Ben’s hand came down and rested on my shoulder ‘Are you okay?’ A warmth on my legs ran cool then wet, from the waist down w was soaked with urine, as I gaped down at myself pain shot up the back of my neck, the dull ache in my back returned, my stomach moaned, I covered my face with my hands and in that shallow pit of darkness cried.                         Chapter Seven: Invisible   A week later…  Dark sea clouds were watching me through the windows of the new house I rented, looming with their lightning amassed. The weather had changed. Since I moved in I’ve been falling to sleep by the window sat on a leather armchair I had revealed from under a white linen sheet in the living room, then painstakingly took up to the bedroom and having the crocodile dream. Although the massive unobstructed view of the field, the main road and the long drive leading down to this place gave me comfort, the sight of the wet ground, wind battered bushes, trees and rain wet tarmac left a dire chill inside me. It was a big Edwardian house with lots of room, fully furnished and lived in. It belonged to a family who owned a number of properties in the area and abroad. They let this little number out seasonally and from the window I could tell why. A high view like this one on a clear night would be astounding. The crocodile dream was born the night I spent in Ben’s spare room, after my brush with death, grew in obscurity and persistence and followed me here. Benjamin’s sympathy ran its course when I arrived here at my new lodgings but the dreams continued, they were dreadful, confusing dreams but not nightmares exactly. They all start when I answer a knock at the bedroom door in the dream. As I’m opening it the crocodile tries to rush in snapping its savage jaws but I close it on its head in time to stop its wriggling body from getting in. A short fight later with the door wedged on its wild head the croc realises its stuck and starts talking, trying to convince me that it had calmed down, that it was a joke and that I should let it in before “it’s too late”. The dreams varied slightly but every one I had had that crocodile in it, I didn’t know what the relevance was. What confused me more was that I never dreamt of the man who claimed to be Tomas Baker. No nightmares, no momentary flash backs. I couldn’t for the life of me remember anything about how he looked, except that he had horrible eyes. I spent hours in the day, days at a time trying to visualise him but nothing ever came and what frustrated and provoked me was that I knew I could, deep down in the pit of my stomach I was sure I recognised him from somewhere else beside the roadside bar and Ben’s car but where? All the people I had met over the years in plays and interviews and nights out clouded any semblance of an idea I might have with jumbled and threatening memories and abstract images, no sounds just noises, yellow teeth and blurred faces.   I told Benjamin what happened that night in his car under strict warning. Knowing the maniac had stalked me using elaborate disguises and that he now knew more about me than I’d ever of told him disturbed me, in so much that the incident became a matter of secrecy between us, even the name Tom Baker was taboo outside of our confidence. We decided not to contact the police with our new information about the case they were working on even though I was clearly still a suspect in it. An odd man had taken to reading magazines outside Ben’s place while I was there, nothing wrong with that of course.   Ben as usual suspected nothing of the man but both agreed to let police do their job, there was no sense in risking the safety of our brains to help them. We were sure they’d catch him soon enough, until then it pleased me on one level that I was being followed as I could never again be sure that that monster wasn’t cleverly hidden among those who surrounded me, listening in wait with his hammer the moment I chanced to break my promise. Then it’d be the photos in my wallet being ogled at by the next hapless passer-by who kindly befriends him, having no clue he’s about to be spouting gratitude to no end face down in a ditch somewhere getting his head smacked in and wearing a trouser load of his own facieses.   Needless to say after that night at the police station and restaurant car park I cancelled my reservation at the hotel and relocated. In doing so I came away incurring a horrific cancellation bill and another by the same hefty standard for the door to my room the police smashed off its hinges. Incredibly those two bits of paper were enough to temporarily poison the relief I felt; after reading the grand total I had to be reminded of how fortunate I was to be alive. Ben adamantly stated at the time “Better this price than the other” and I agreed because it wasn’t hard to imagine. I won Ben over to the nature of the man he met, a maniac who masqueraded as his victims wasn’t hard at first in fact it was easy. Although after finding me the house I now occupied which wasn’t far from the movie set he seemed to stop sharing or understanding my fear. The out of town movie set I had to drive to each morning hid within the confines of private land owned by private people offering privacy, the first day there provided manic distraction from my woes and unyielding pressure from the start. Action. They shot every scene I featured in four times, two of the takes at same angles the rest captured creative background subversion from the scripted word. Through the course of the day the cast murmured recent deaths linked with my leaked arrest, had caused a media frenzy and in a cynical and suggestive way placed responsibility for the recent increased financial interest in the films publicity rights generated on it. I heard two ask each other if it was right to make money that way. No one who didn’t need to or want to know about my arrest spoke a word to me. suddenly all I could think about was Tom and his killer while a voice inside insisted I was being watched. After Ben moved me in close by he told me I’d stay there till the films finality, then took leave to support his other not so neurotic but just as needy clients, like Reece.C.Brook; a snooker hall old boy, a veteran player of the game and twice professional champion of the sport. He had clients all over the county, actors, sports personalities and a certain beautiful musician, called Lorna Robin.   The instant I saw Lorna Robin I fell forever in love. Years ago the residents of a huge house were hosting a wine and cheese party, it was in a rich and reputable area full of dukes and lords. The cheese some nibbled, some scoffed, eyes open, eyes shut, some wiggled their fingers close to their heads like antenna to detect emergent flavours, they were all probably very smart people but they looked absolutely stupid. Others with the fine whites and reds announced their fascination, confounded by the beauty of the art in the room. I didn’t know anyone except the man who brought me there Benjamin Stanes, who was getting drunk and causing me to almost chase him as he kept wondering off for more wine. ‘Ben relax on the wine okay? I get the feeling the next time you go back to that table men are going to carry you out by the arms.’ Ben winked, and put his hand on my shoulder as he always did when he’d had one too many. ‘There is someone you to have to meet, follow me’ Ben led me out of the main room and along a hall to a set of thick wooden double doors. He pulled one open wide enough to fit comfortably through and the sound of music flooded out into the hall. ‘Ben is this really okay? It sounds like they’re practicing’ Ben’s expression changed suddenly euphoric, carried off by the music that resonated in the room he danced into it, a little annoyed I gingerly followed him in.                       Chapter eight: Love     Then I saw her, she was sitting on the lap of the neat, short skirted and very impressionable Katrina Harris, playing a violin and laughing at Ben. She looked like she weighed nothing, overwhelmed by Lorna’s stunning beauty my lips gave up words that drummed in my heart with emotion spilling over, they should have been inaudible but the music had stopped. ‘You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen’ Then Katrina with an all pleasing infectious smile, devastated me ‘Why thank you, how kind. Lorna did you hear him? He said I was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen’ In an ideal world I would have corrected her there and then but instead agonisingly let the moment pass. ‘Benjamin is this snake charmer your friend?’ ‘I am, pleased to meet you Miss?’ ‘Robin, and this is Miss Harris’ We all spoke with each other a while in the room away from everyone else sharing drinks and laughter but I couldn’t enjoy it the way they were, I was too full of anxiety and want for Lorna’s magnificent attention. Before I knew it Ben was leading me out to talk with someone else, it was torture to leave. The whole night I kept bothering him to go back to them, I even went as far as to infer that Katrina was flirting with him in hope he fancied her, even though she had blatantly kept at me the entire time, putting her hands on me and sitting close with her half naked legs against mine. All I wanted was Lorna, Ben was oblivious to it and he had her ear the whole time. It began to annoy me how easily he made her laugh with his stupidity and that I was unable to speak a word for what the sight and sound of her did to me.     On the night of that cheese party Ben offered to drive me home after labouring back to his car like newborn calf. I decided no and shut him into a taxi and I drove myself, and crashed. The accident left me with server whiplash, which is the reason why I was in hospital more than two years ago, making a friend of the hammer wielding maniac that now stalked me. Although on that night after the crash I didn’t go to the hospital, I went back to the party. I took a taxi for most of the way and walked the rest, I didn’t want it to seem too deliberate, but after seeing Lorna, I had to see her again. The door was open as the last guests were leaving, one  as he passed saw the red bruising on my face took me for a whiskey man and gave me a cheerful nod. The door was open it was rude, but I just walked in. The place was already being cleaned by hired professionals all vacuums, brushes, plastic gloves and black bin bags. I wondered through unchallenged to the double doors of room I met her in and waited, listening, finally thinking about what I was going to say. Then I heard a voice, drunk and provokingly familiar, then Lorna’s, it was an argument of some kind. ‘Just leave’ she said. ‘Come on’ I heard him urge ‘I said leave’ ‘What is it?’ It was escalating with hostility in both of them, I felt adrenaline surge into me, charged I wanted to storm in. ‘Ben get the hell out right now’ It couldn’t have been my Ben. ‘I’m not leaving I can’t, I don’t want to’ ‘Ben…’  ‘You’re a beautiful women’ After listening intently, I had to admit to myself that the mans voice was Ben’s but I’d never heard it so out of character. Getting rid of me and coming back here alone must have been his intention from the start. I felt betrayed. ‘Ben my brothers are in the other room, will you please go?’ ‘Yes this was obviously a mistake, I’m drunk. Listen I’ll call you, the shows next week’. She’d put him out finally, and me too without her knowing it, I didn’t want to see Ben, be caught by Lorna or her brother’s on the way out, so made a swift exit. Outside the cold air hit me entering my back,  out of nowhere with heat enough to make my forehead sweat a shooting pain gripped my spine. I got a few streets away walking in crippling agony before falling faint, when Ben found me I was on my knees. ‘What happened?’ ‘Its my back I’m in agony’ ‘Do you need an ambulance?’ ‘It depends do you know C.P.R?’ When the heroic flashing white wagon arrived to rush me to hospital, as they shut me in one door at a time, Ben twisted his face back to Lorna’s house mysteriously, I saw a look wrought on it I’ve never seen since. He visited me in hospital two or three times, we attempted a game of chess using oddments to replace the missing pieces on one occasion, which were blacks King, both Queens, four of whites pawns; we used small balls of screwed up paper for those and blacks rook; whites spare rook turned upside down. When I told him ‘Check’ he said ‘Really? ‘Yes I think so…’ I said ‘But I thought that was the King…’ ‘No the dates the King that’s the Queen’  ‘Okay let’s go back’ we moved the pieces back a turn. ‘Was it there?’ ‘Yep, my move’  ‘But isn’t that Check?’ ‘Yep… I don’t think I can go’ ‘Just go there’ Ben said ‘I can’t look the knight’ ‘Oh yeah…Checkmate?’ ‘Yeah…Good game’ I said and tipped it back into the games drawer. Our awkward conversation avoided the later events of the party, neither of us wanted to explain why we went back to it. Katrina Harris asked about my condition and sent her warmest wishes. We got talking about her in a general way had a few forced laughs but when I asked about Lorna he admitted very little. I’ll find out more for you next time he promised but that was his last visit.       Old habits die hard I thought as I ate toast in the kitchen. Ben stayed in touch while he was away but I hadn’t seen him since last Friday though he mentioned he’d drop by in the week.   Lately the news channels were airing more information about Tomas Baker’s disappearance and possible death followed by a plea from his younger brother for any information. I couldn’t help feeling guilty for not giving up what I knew.  I hadn't expected a call at this time but my phone starts ringing, I picked it up and jogged upstairs and sat on the bed to take the call, the bed felt like the best place for me to be on the phone, it endowed my voice with an air of confidence. ‘Hey Ben’ ‘Why are you answering the phone at this time?’ Ben’s familiar voice was good to hear even in the tone of disapproval. ‘Because you’re ringing me at this time?’ ‘No why aren’t you out at the set?’ I skipped work, I was supposed to of been in today and yesterday, it felt okay before Ben knew. ‘Well that’s the thing’ ‘Are you eating again?’ ‘Yes I’m eating’ ‘What are you eating?’ ‘Listen I eat plenty’ ‘Well bloody stop it your character isn’t related to the Michelin man’ ‘Thanks for that’ ‘Seriously why aren’t you out there? I remind you all the time, did you put it on the calendar?’ I didn’t. I forgot. ‘Ben it’s not that I forgot, after what happened I don’t know what I’m going to do.’ I didn’t mean it until after I said it, I thought I was making excuses but it was true.    ‘We have to carry on’ ‘Carry on, you mean work? Didn’t you hear me? He knows all about it and he said he’ll be back’ Ben sounded sober, annoyed even. ‘I know he’ll be back but you can’t stop living because of it, we have to carry on with the film it’s your break’ Ben paused for my reply. ‘That’s not encouraging Ben. I know why it is you don’t understand maybe because you weren’t the one sat there about to have his head caved in were you?’ He sounded angry and it made me angry. ‘So shall I call Kyle now, tell him the phantom of the opera has warned you not to perform?’ It was an argument now ‘I almost died’ ‘I almost died to get you the part you have, now what shall I say when he asks where you are? And how long before Jean comes back?’ ‘Jean’s left?’ ‘Yes that’s what I heard, get down there’ ‘What for why?’ ‘I’m your agent not his, stop eating and go to work’ ‘I need time, tell him we need time arrange things’ ‘Time for what, arrange what? Kyle is expecting you tomorrow you can’t turn up and not know what’s happening.’ ‘I know that’ ‘Are you going then?’ ‘Not yet, I can’t’ ‘No?’ ‘I just need time to think can you ask him for a little time. Please?’ ‘No you’re going, be there tomorrow and don’t piss me off, I worked hard for you!’ ‘I know that but’ ‘Look make sure you get down to the set, I’ve ordered you a decent bed and a few cabinets for your clothes and things, the owners don’t want you using theirs.’ ‘Like I would.’ I said with indignantly with the living room arm chair staring back at me. ‘The things will arrive in the morning make sure you sort it, I’m sending two of my other clients up that way, you remember Lorna.’ ‘She’s lodging here?’ ‘Lodging? Her family owns those houses didn’t you know? Look I’ve got to go.’ We exchanged a casual goodbye and hung up. The phone dead down on the bed, caused contemplation within about Benjamin acting more employee than friend. After what I had been through I wasn’t sure why he expected me to have inhuman resolve or was distancing me for what he thought was the best, perhaps for himself and I didn’t blame him. A while passed on the bed, tired again, though I’d already slept through to midday. Ben’s lecture had no affect, I was still in no mood to leave the house, get dressed or do anything except go back to sleep thinking about Lorna. I bowed over the foot of the bed holding my toast, wanting to release it, instead the thought of doing so stirred me up and back to the chair at the window where I sat and finished eating it. There I listened with closed eyes to the sound of the rain against the glass becoming more and more interesting, the heavy clouds were weeping with dark exuberance. The distant demonstrations of their awesome power I heard boomed the distant earth. I imagined the colour of that wet soil electrified in light, burning bright black and blue in the boom, hushed to death beneath a roar of invisible thunder. Sleep came with a dream of rushing water. Brilliant white water that washed away everything but the rocks beneath and its embankment. With a giant leap I dived in and was carried away on my back by the rushing current. Impossible buoyancy took me up from the bottom, then the crocodile splashed in and changed it all. Its scales were slick with oil that churned in the current till finally it was all brown murky sludge sucking me down into the cellar of a rotten house. It stopped its flow inside the cellar, I climbed out onto a set of escalators that appeared before me, there was a thick wooden door at the top.  It opened before me and on the other side was the crocodile floating in a beautiful lake of serene blue water it said ‘Stop telling Ben about us.’ ‘I don’t, what’s your name Crocodile?’ ‘You know’ Gently it submerged and I awoke to another cold afternoon.  Seeing a delivery van was already stopped outside the house made myself decent to answer the door. There was more furniture than I expected, as if the floor walls were the only things in the house the owners were okay with me using. The removal men lumbered through the door with complete cabinets and lots of flat packed items along with my clothes from Ben’s tucked away into several boxes till the big hall was filled, I shut the door and got started. Lorna arrived soon after in the week, by that time I’d moved everything from the hall upstairs. She was staying in one of the opposite houses on the same land that encompassed the one I was in. I saw her from a far from time to time through windows milling about the house and outside, I hadn’t yet found the courage or a good enough excuse to go over and make my self known. Ben didn’t call the rest of that week. Chapter Nine: Murderer   The move was exhaustive, all of the furniture old and new was in and finally the double bed too. Taking up the Alan keys that I used earlier, I carefully meandered through my jungle of boxed possessions to give the fastenings of the bed a final inspection; but instead, at the last moment decided that it would be better to just sit down, then shortly after that, to collapse back onto the bed and as soon as I did my heavy eyelids closed. Eased away, I felt reality ebb; vanishing into sleep, I saw the beginnings of a dream.   I swam down a well deep into a dry cavernous labyrinth where I saw a great machine, a hunk of iron tended to by a man clothed in brown oily overalls trailing the same brown oil in the wake of his every movement. He seemed to lose control and the machine began oozing a scarlet puddle of molten matter from beneath and out of the scorching mechanical heat it emerged, a monster with eyes, looking into a mirror suddenly it became a man, it gazed again pleased with itself and I was very afraid.   Stirring with prevailing restlessness I awoke late into the evening. It was around ten o’clock and with nothing to do but sleep the window view had found me again. The light in Lorna’s room was on again late into the evening. It filled her room and streamed out through the window in one long orange beam that stretched across the muddy walkway, confusing winged insects with cold illumination. I often stirred in bed, changing into different shapes of frustration, eyes shut, awake inside, tonight was no different. I thought about the times I’d seen Lorna, often with pink boots on washed in mud and a loose leaf notepad in her hand, tending to the house, painting a new coat of varnish onto the wooden outer panels with her friends and raking leaves in the front garden. There was character in her face that charmed me it belied the glamorous mess of the clothes she wore and the untidy rose pink make up smeared about her cheeks like Indian war paint, the shade possibly by no coincidence matched the boots. ‘Where are you?’ I said staring out of the bedside window. ‘What if she caught me?’ I thought maybe she’d of thought it romantic that I watched her, then again. Mid thought a strange sound came from downstairs suddenly. I fell silent and waited, then a moment later a whisper hissed out that span me round muted.   Alert I stared back into the dark room and listened scrutinizing every sound, analysing shapes, coaxing breath gently in and straining it mutely out. The light from Lorna’s room went out and the tension in me the seemed to dissipate, I sat down letting out a sigh full of relief and bizarre disappointment. Even travelling this many miles away wasn’t enough to free me from the haunting paranoia the maniac instilled.   As I attended the window suddenly from out of the darkness in the muddy walkway a whisper came again, this time I heard it. A strange voice restrained and menacing “I don’t care I’m doing him.” Suddenly I felt my heart swell beating faster inside my chest and my ears throbbed as a disturbing steady dull thud downstairs became audible.   Compelled, I took the dreaded step through the threshold of my room out on to the landing, I didn’t stop walking until I reached the top of the winding staircase. Instinctively I stared down into the darkness, petrified of what lurked beneath   My vision was weak, the only thing I could clearly see was the bottom half of the thick front door. It was open and still swinging languidly on its steel hinges like an insolent child, and as I stared at it angrily it slowly stopped open, as if unashamed of its thick locks inglorious deception.   There isn’t darkness like that which conceals a predator.   Unable to see enough of the room I edged down two of the steps without a sound and watched for movement below but saw nothing but the small cabinets and coats hung against the wall. As I my eyes scrutinised the shadows they became focused and fully adjusted, my breathing quietened too, the hallway was perfectly devoid of life but I couldn’t see into the rooms that the hallway led to so decided to take one more step down. As I moved slightly the floor moaned, automatically my ears followed the sound with my eyes. To my horror they snapped not to my feet but to the stairs, the one place I realised my attention had neglected because of the broken front door and the dark the hall. And there I saw it, a black oily figure stooped over, it was a man, he was there, no more than a few metres away, close, low on all fours, motionless at the curved concealing middle of the staircase. He had been watching me looking for him and creeping closer to surprise me, and now he knew I had seen him. I spoke out without thinking ‘I can see you! What do you want?’ He reached for something from behind his lower back ‘You shouldn’t have woken up. Recognise this?’ It was a hammer, the second I saw it I ran for the bedroom, he gushed up after me like living oil, with the hammer stiff in his stride.   The door I tried to fling shut behind me didn’t lock and he was coming to kill me. If he caught me by his strength alone he could smoother me but worse with a hammer he’d snuff me out with jarring pain, smooth down my head and spread it across the floor boards like human butter. I dashed clumsily madly scrambling past and over loose boxes to get to the window to jump out, I heard him closing in doing the same mad dash but seeking me.    I saw the window and sprang over the bed but it was shut and no time to open it. I turned and he was there, falling toward me, his hand fighting back the hammers weight from the last missed swing only a breath from reaching me because of the bed. I couldn’t allow another, I dived on him off the bed he managed to brace himself except the boxes below scupper his bracing step back and he fell onto his back with me on top.   Constricting his dangerous hammer hand cost me I somehow restrained it as he threw frantic withering punches off his back at my face but I absorbed the punishment. Fear became incredible fury, I strengthened as he seemed to weaken and I fought the fight out of him with fist and elbow bashing him down flat and breathless. He tried he couldn’t get me off him, at last I grabbed the hammer with both hands trying to wrestle and wrench it from his, he scrambled to stop me but being on top I had greater leverage to win it and then keep him below clawing like a desperate animal. I raised the hammer up ‘stop it!’ I cried. The violent clawing reached my face tore into my eye ‘Stop it!’ I cried and threw my head back in hot stinging agony I felt my weight come off him and in panic blindly I swung the hammer down and it struck him hard. Its connection made a haunting noise like dry tree bark breaking away. Our battle ceased suddenly and utterly, he lay flat and still. He wasn’t dead but he wasn’t moving either, but neither he or the hammer was important anymore only my bloody eye as I stumbled away out to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror too angry to cry, just as I thought, it was gone, lost in the blood. When I rang for an ambulance, they asked me if I needed the police I said yes, then I said no.                           Chapter Ten: Identity crisis     One small water wet towel stemmed the bleeding enough, but for all the pills I swallowed from inside the medicine cabinet, the sickly pain that engulfed my eyeball only spread deeper in behind the socket. Enflamed on the same side my cheek had become puffy and fluid swollen, its brow also and all of it numb except for the heat, it was like fire. Of it all the throbbing headache was the most troubling. It ached as an angry rotten tooth does, burrowed deep frustrating me with an itching pain there was no freedom from. I wanted to so much to sit down, stay relaxed and wait for the ambulance to arrive, I’d already told them the emergency, described my injuries the watery blood was an obvious concern to them. Surely they’d be coming as soon as possible but I couldn’t relax, something didn’t sit right about the fight, the maniac I remembered was much stronger than the one I fought in the bedroom. I knew instantly I shouldn’t have been able to over power him the way I did. I began to doubt my self, did the adrenaline affect my mind? I’d heard about what it can do, desperate mothers bending car doors open to save their children trapped in the wreckage. Thinking back when I took the hammer from him, his hands were smaller than mine or was I imagining that too, maybe the adrenaline made them seem smaller, maybe that’s how it worked to cancel out the fear, but then maybe it changed other things too, like whether he was knocked out or just dead. I had to go back into that bedroom turn on the light and be sure once and for all. With the hammer in hand I walked back in the room still nursing my eye with the other and hit the lights switch on with my elbow. The room was a mess, trampled boxes and clothes soiled by my own blood trail. Brushing a few items aside with my feet I went to the bed where I left him, I needed to know, and make sure he stayed put. Surprise was the first reaction, the man lay there was not who I expected him to be, because he was very young. He was in his twenties and worst of all he had normal eyes there was no way he was the Tom Baker maniac, though I recognised him. His face stood out, the memory jumped into my aching brain. He had been on the news pleading, asking for his brother’s killer to hand himself in, Tom Baker’s brother. The surprise preceded a familiar dread inside me, the kind I used to feel walking into an unlit room on my birthday. The lights were on, the pain, guilt and dread increasing, the blood everywhere mine and his, I thought about how to wake him up, but he was lay exactly where I had left him, paused in the final animation of the struggle, his eyes were open his head was split open and his body looked dead. He was dead. I think I had already realised it the moment I saw him, my adrenaline killed him. What next and why was this happening to me, the only suspect in an ongoing murder investigation? This is out right murder, a jury wouldn’t see it any other way. It was self defence but who’d believe me? Faint blue and red sirens distant outside the window the ambulance was near, probably coming down the long drive as I stood over a dead body. The minute they find out what happened they’d inform the police, I’ll be arrested the second I’m well enough to leave the hospital. That means incarceration; locked a cell like the one at the police station but worse this time it will be full of real criminals, real murders, rapist and evil men. Everyone would know I went down for killing a boy, two boys, brothers and whoever else they pin on me. I’d become a target and the guards wouldn’t help, they’re supposed to protect the inmates but child killers get what they deserve that’s the real motto. Any sentence is the death sentence and I’m innocent this was self defence but who’d believe me that is the most important thing. I am an actor that’s what they’ll say, and their right I am an actor. What if when they pick me up I’m in too much agony to tell them what happened, delirious even. That would give me enough time to figure out what I needed to do next because I was smart enough to know they couldn’t find out what I did, no one can. After the dust settled, there wouldn’t be anyone to remember any of this and if the memory of him remains to haunt in my dreams, I’ll feed the crocodile.                                           Chapter Eleven: Accident and Emergency   Inside the ambulance, bright light and a clean white inner sanctum, its three man crew attended me with haste. They removed the blood soaked towel carefully poker faces engaged, straight away replaced it with a sterile bandages, I saw gauze come down on my cheek and with enough tape to keep it in place, then I felt the sting of the antiseptic from the cotton swabs after they brushed my wounds and every bump in the road till the doors opened again at the hospital. I transitioned from bed to wheelchair, from wheelchair to driven bed surfing the corridors to the emergency eye clinic with an entourage of doctors, nurses and a surgeon who was very concerned whether or not I’d signed a waver. Of course then I did and her priorities shuffled back again to my well being, she gave her orders and took me into surgery. They wouldn’t put me to sleep, but gave me something intravenous to ease the pain. Staring into the bright light above, images formed and flowed out like bubbles. Friendly faces began to form out of the light, funny voices moaned out of their strange mouths. I forgot what was happening listened more to the loudening voices from memories tainted by my imagination. Father struck us till we saw stars, with the same hands at the picnic he handed out sandwiches and pats on the back. The stars are beautiful, they begat the aspiration of stardom that eluded my brother Aleck who failed at all things academic. When I walked in the footsteps of his failure fathers hands became a pair of remorseless tools that kneaded into me the reproach for both our short comings. Father’s face reminded me of Aleck’s, fierce and loving and he had a heart equal in both qualities, but he saved all of his love for Aleck and alcohol and showed me the ferocity they both proved in him. He loved the drink as much as he loved the fat girl he brought home each night, but truly never nearly as much as he had loved our mother. With two arms I grabbed that fat girl from behind and pulled out her body from her spirit. I ran off with it hoisted up on my shoulders, Aleck was calling me to come back and so was the fat girls spirit but I was having too much fun to stop. I hid behind an empty house with the body and caught my breath. I thought about handing her body back but her spirit was shouting threats so instead I ran off again scaling roof tops to get away. I looked through a window and my school friends were inside talking about how sad the girl was and I shared their remorse for her. I decided to bring her back the quickest way there was, through the woods but as I went I tripped in the undergrowth and the fat girl’s body flew hurled into the air and landed in a muddy swamp. A crocodile burst out of the mud, it was that crocodile I hated and he knew I hated him. In spite of me it started devouring her, I dived in ferociously to save her and wrestled the crocodile but my strength faded as its improved. Finally it prevailed and continued to gobble what was left of the girls body, then its tail emerged from the mud and it was a snake, a black snake with horrible brown off set eyes and when I saw it I was afraid. The instant it bit me I burst into tears crying because I knew its venom was in me and I was going to die. The crocodile swam down into the mud and I was left to face the fat girls spirit who was distraught. I told her with tears that her body was eaten, she cried too but with anger and despair. Waiting to die from the snake bite, I felt comfort, lay down and I saw my father, he said ‘Son I’m proud of you.’   I woke up in a hospital bed it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, my eye was wrapped in bandages along with half my head and face. I needed to leave, the nurse at desk caught my eye. ‘I’d like to be discharged please’ ‘Yes that’s fine but you’ll be discharging yourself and that means we take no responsibility from this point on.’ I rushed through the forms signed every dotted line and slid the form back to her bemused nurse. ‘This is for your course of medication hand it in at reception, if you notice any excessive bleeding or bad smells come straight back to A&E with this letter it can be a sign of infection’ ‘Thank you I will’   I looked to the exit there were police outside guarding the wards doors, two officers armed and waiting, it had to be for me. They must have investigated the emergency call I made even though I had made it perfectly clear in the call that I only needed an ambulance. It was happening like I thought it would, first I’d be arrested, questioned and if I made one mistake it’d be all over for me. My best chance was to act natural, skulking away to for a fire exit would be the same as a confession to the police, but I couldn’t help looking around for one.   ‘Hi there’ His voice came from behind me, when I turned I saw it was the detective from the Tom Baker case who called out to me. He was sat in a chair next to one of the empty beds shielded by a half closed curtain, he was wearing the same suit from last time unlike before it was creased at the knees and his jacket was hung over the back of the chair, clearly he had been waiting for me to wake up and discharge myself. ‘Looking for another way out?’ ‘No, why are you here?’ ‘Okay lets go this way then, join us I’d like to ask you some questions’ ‘Questions about?’ ‘At the police station’ ‘Am I being arrested?’ ‘That’s right’ I walked out with the two escorts and the detective leading from the back, I said nothing till we arrived at the police station. Another session in the bright mirrored room started, this time with a digital camcorder pointed at me recording every heavy breath, expression and sound I made.     ‘Steven Baker’ ‘I didn’t know Tomas Baker, why am I going to know him?’ ‘That’s right the brother of Tomas Baker, the young boy who was murdered I thought you’d remember him’ he handed me a recent photo, I tried to hide what I knew, that he was dead in my bedroom. ‘You may recognise him he’s been on Television.’ ‘I don’t watch the news I go to work and I come home, I don’t know him’ ‘Fine Since you don’t, I’m going to enlighten you with the information we have perhaps you can help us solve this mystery. Steven Baker the young man in the photo was reported missing yesterday, and we have a written statement from a reliable witness, stating that the last time he saw him he was breaking into your home, with the intention to attack you. The statement seems to coincide with the date and time you were admitted to hospital and makes some sense of your injuries. My question to you is; what does that mean?’ ‘Nothing because I didn’t mention anything about any boy in my attack’ ‘And I didn’t say anything about him on the news until you did?’ His face changed and so did mine, I’d slipped up and we both knew it but if they knew he was dead, he would have announced it. All the questions he’d asked none of them had been about the attack until now. They didn’t know, it was the only explanation. Then it occurred to me they couldn’t have searched my home without a warrant, and the attack wasn’t reported as an official crime, they didn’t know. ‘I need to speak to my lawyer because you’re harassing me with this, I don’t know anything I’ve told you, if he broke into my house and attacked me he left after.’ ‘Let’s speculate, what could be his motive?’ ‘With all the media maybe he thought I had something to do with his brother being murdered’ ‘After the attack what happened then?’ ‘He must have realised he was wrong and left I don’t know where, I rang for an ambulance that’s all I know’ ‘I believe you one question though. Why didn’t you press charges? Look at you’re face, I’d press charges’ That’s what he wanted and as soon as I did they’d find out everything. ‘I just want to leave’ ‘we’re keeping you in custody for now’ ‘But why?’ Suddenly another suited officer opened the door and leaned into the room. She had a high ponytail, colourfully painted nails and still looked more masculine than both of us, not because of her shoulders, missing neck and bulldog face, but the bad tempered expression that was spread across its great width insisted so. ‘Lance we’ve been contacted by Steven, need you in here’ The detective was clearly in shock, as was I. ‘He did?’ he asked with disbelief. ‘Need you in here’ ‘Fine’ He took one long incriminating look at me and stood, the female officer left with the door open. ‘Okay you’re free to leave; I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I’m sure we’ll meet again. An officer will drive you home inconsideration of your injuries’   For a short time after I left the station I didn’t understand what was going on, that dawned on me later. When police drove me home searched the house and found nothing but my blood. Steven was gone, there was no way he left on his own power, I saw him dead, his head was open there was no confusion in me about the facts. The police left the scene that corroborated my lies, I found the closest seat to me and sat in wait for the maniac to appear but this time I really was, very grateful.              Chapter Twelve: Infamy   That Tuesday was another empty mark on the calendar, another day in anticipation of the maniac, it was he that moved the body and I wanted to believe he did it to save me from incarceration, I wasn’t sure why living under the threat of blackmail and bludgeoning seemed any better to me than prison, but it did. The police response after the arrest was to observe and belie the normality of anything I did. A beacon like invitation to the dogged media already in tow, putting spin on spin, they span everything, inexplicably trying to unify me with the character I played on screen. I’d stayed indoors since returning from the hospital, I was told in so many words that I was lucky to still have an eye and even luckier to have any vision in it when the bandages finally come off. It’d been a week Ben was still away, I told him I was attacked but couldn’t bare to tell him what he had done to me. A career ending wound.   The production team kept ringing me, everything that happened with Steven was on the news and insanely I heard my scripted character was being morphed by it. Ben caught wind of it and reassured me it was good news. That he and Kyle already agreed that the murder of Tom Baker and the disappearance of his brother Steven would work only to boost the popularity and future ratings of the movie. I didn’t agree all the hype only put me in danger and continually under the spot light. The walls of the house weren’t thick enough to block out the noises outside, a small group of protesters arguing with the ground keepers, they kept getting louder and evolving tactics to ruin my day. At first it was cursing alone then I heard accusations and possibly bottles smashing against my walls. They were starting up again, I could hear a scattering clatter of glass and angry voices building. There was no way I was leaving the house, I hadn’t been to work for weeks now but I was still on the payroll. In ignorance of the uproar outside I rooted for the televisions remote control and settled into a comfortable position on the bed. Every channel at this time; which was the beginning of any normal evening, aired programs about bargains and celebrities. They bought food, they bought booze, reinforced their image with charity, essentially buying their celebrity. Everything they did was hollow and self important. The only thing I wanted to see was never on, I couldn’t understand it Jacky Mendisa was a new release, not an absolute blockbuster but surely better than half of the cosh they had on the movie channel. The news was my best bet, every few hours it aired a report that featured a short story about me with a picture of my face before it was ruined by that boy.   My mobile was ringing out its tune suddenly, Ben hadn’t rang me since last week, he’s probably found out I’ve not been to the set since the attack, he’s got to be angry, but I thought it’d still be good to hear from him, being alone wasn’t. ‘Hi Ben’ ‘Hi’ ‘Who is this?’ ‘You know.’ It wasn’t Ben probably a prank caller or an attempt to frame me. ‘Steven Baker?’ ‘That’s good. Did you want to thank me?’ It was the maniac, I sat up instantly  ‘Yes’ ‘Thought so, tell me did you enjoy it, did you see his space gas flood out, was it like slow dry burgundy or red resin? Whatever he did to you, you’re taking your shyness too far, I never heard of an actor whose camera shy, go back to work. Next year there will be more deaths that means more films for you because only you can play Gregory’   Would this maniac ever have his fill of blood, was he insatiable by violence? His murderous compulsion couldn’t be explained or reasoned out within me, nor could his need to interrupt my life with his but if he wanted me dead I would be by now, something else was happening and I needed to know what. Carefully I asked ‘Why are you doing this?’ I heard his voice soften ‘Come down stairs lets talk, I’m in your kitchen’ The phone went dead. Footsteps echoed off the kitchens tiled floor in the apparent silence. I didn’t know how he got in, but there was no freedom from him anymore, no where to go no one to save me from his will and what he knew and what I knew was inevitable. I’d do what he said or I’d die or go to prison an innocent man blamed for all the evil things he’d done. That much I knew. Solemnly I journeyed to the kitchen where he stood in plain sight. He was huge like I remembered, six foot something and broad, who knew how he was so hard to miss. He showed me his horrible eyes waiting for me so say the words like the psycho he was. ‘Thank you… I have to ask, who are you?’ Finally he answered something. ‘I’m sorry I lied to you when we met it, the truth is I don’t actually know who I am. Two years ago I woke in hospital from a catatonic state with no recollection of who I was or where I was from. Your face was the first I saw, you did that kindness I owe you for. After leaving ahead of me I couldn’t find you but it took more than a year before I gave up and concentrated on putting back together a life for myself, an identity. Then one day you were there in front of me, caught up in crowd inside a film store, signing autographs for a movie.’   That was the announcement promo for Jacky Mendisa. I waited until he was completely finished instead of confirming it was clear he had more to tell me.     ‘After that I followed you for eight months, whoever I was before was good at that, and also at killing. Right now people are mourning Tomas Baker like he’s a saint, but that girl friend of his, she was about to get a dose of what he gave to the last one, except this time I stepped in. I’ve been the paparazzi, a loyal fan, your co-star, Benjamin’s employer and he knew what I had done, but he didn’t know I wanted a chance to repay my debt. He kept me well fed with information about you, updates, times and places you went, what you ate, your health. Call it an obsession, call it whatever you want. In return I put people like Jean Parsons in line for him, he really hated that man. Then he left you with me that night at that restaurant, it’s a bitter pill to swallow but that night he wanted you to die. When I didn’t do it, he made sure your friend Steven found out you were a suspect and moved you out here on your lonesome, think about it, who else could have leaked that information? The Baker family have a history of relentless aggression. There’s something else too, about a women but I don’t owe you that. For that, you have to owe me and I am not a burden, anyone should bare.’   At the end of his revelation I didn’t know what was he offering, whether I could refuse or how much truth was in it beside only Ben knowing about the arrest at the Kipper Hotel. The few staff there that night didn’t know who I was because I’d signed in under an alias to avoid stalkers like the that one stood in my kitchen telling me I didn’t know my oldest friend. Ultimately torn, in that moment I had to decide an answer to the question of whether he was lying. The problem was when I did that, another question arose. Why would he be?     Publication Date: September 10th 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-xi58f1a51bd1d25

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-chalen-d-039-s-makaylyn-d-rampage-joey-039-s-view/

Chalen D.&#39;s Makaylyn D. Rampage Joey's view THIS BOOK WAS WRITTEN BY MY LITTLE SISTER MAKAYLYN D. NOT ALL THAT ARE SMALL ARE IN THE DARK. (:RAMPAGE:)~joey's point of view My life consisted mostly of money,friends,and popularity. My mother was a professional photographer and was gone most of our free time. And by us I mean my older sister Riley and I. We lived with our mom but every other weekend we spent two days with our father at his house in ohio. My parents split a long time ago. So we had to deal with the changes in our life. Riley was out partying almost every weekend with her best friend Danni. She'd say im going to spend the night at Danni's but we both knew what she was really doing. She gave me her allowance from chores to keep qiute and not say a word about her's and Danni's life outside home. Our mom had no idea of what we did when she was gone and sadly Riley didnt really know what I do either although she thought she did. She thinks im some kind of good girl but having a sister like her and seeing her actions of partying and getting drunk, i kind of experimented myself a few times but stayed at home alone. One day after school I had decided to invite a friend over to keep my mind off things and plus my mom wasn't going to be home till tomorrow afternoon.So I texted my friend Blake, I had just met him a few weeks ago in my 5th period english. We have been pretty close since then. Oh and I forgot to mention, Blake is gay but keeps it on low key. He's afraid of people judging him which I dont know why because we are one or the most popular kids in our grade. After i sent the text out to come hang out , he arrived 30 minutes later. I opened the door for him and we went upstairs to my bedroom. I showed him around and we sat on the ground and asked each other questions. Then Blake wanted to play the game truth. So I agreed and we started the game after he gave the rules. ''Is it true you are really gay?'' I asked with a smirk on my face. ''Well duhh ...'' He said smiling. ''Okay just making sure'' I said. ''Is it true you think im cute'' He asked. ''Oh come on Blake youre like a brother to me'' I said, knowing i had a slight crush on him. ''That doesnt consist of the rules, now answer the question'' He commanded. ''Well.. I'll put it this way, who ever gets you is very lucky and better treat you right or ill rip off his dick and feed it to Kirby'' I said. ''Oww! thanks for the information'' He laughed. ''Is it true you can be turned straight?'' I asked. ''Well I dont plan on it but I guess I cant really say its not true'' He said. '' Ahh! I see'' I said. ''Is it true Blake is getting bored?'' He shouted out loud .''Yes!!'' He answered himself. I looked at him and he looked over at me and we started laughing. Blakes the kind of friend i could tell everything to and we understand eachother even if it meant not even talking. Just the expressions on our face told it all. ''How about we go downstairs and finding something else entertaining?'' I asked. ''Omg yes! hey do you think you have alcohol down there'' He asked. I paused and looked at him with a sarcastic look on my face. ''Oh..wait you have drank before right'' He asked. ''Well no shit ! I'm not that innocent'' I told him. ''Good.. you got me worried now lets see if you have some Malibu'' he said. We raced downstairs and then to the fridge. Blake slipped right as he turned the corner of the kitchen. He grabbed onto my jacket and yelled ''Omg! He's got me'' I fell with him and we laughed at the line he repeated off of one our favorite videos. He opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Malibu. I grabbed out some mango juice to mix it with so it didnt taste so strong. He mixed them together and tested it. ''That good enough?'' He asked. ''HELLATANK!'' I shouted. We had a race to see who could finish their drink first, it was a tie. We had a few more glasses and then we got hungry. We are both always hungry, but neither of us gain any weight. We are too skinny according to other people and they swear we are bulimic. We just laugh at them and eat the night away. ''Hey... I brought something with me but im not sure if your in for it'' He said. ''Hmm what is it this time.. a dildo,a hooker ,a skyscraper.'' I laughed. ''Promise you wont get mad at me or yell?'' He said. ''I promise, it can't be that bad anyways'' I said. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small clear bag which had some kind of spice looking stuff which appeared to be marijuana. ''Whered the shit you get that Blake!'' I said laughing. ''Ahaha! you see .. I got it from my older cousin Jake'' He said with a smirk. ''Well what do you say.. lets toke it up'' I said. ''Really?'' he asked''I never knew this day would come'' ''Well theres no parents,no sister ,nothing to do and its just us for the night'' I said. ''Oh damn your right Joey '' He said. He took some of the weed and packed it in a bowl into his rainbow pipe. ''let me guess... thats Jake's pipe too?'' I added. ''Nope! its mine silly why would I use his pipe?''He said ''I dont know just asking'' I said. He grabbed the lighter out of his pocket and just before hit lit the pipe he asked ''Have you ever tried marijuana?'' ''Nope..''I said. ''Well i dont know how your bodys gonna react to it..'' He added. ''So.. whats the worst it can do to me?''I asked curiously. ''Well probably nothing big just memory loss or you might just pass the hell out but if your anything like me, you will be hyper as fuck and get even hungrier and do crazy shit you wold never expect yourself to do.'' He said. ''Wait, so this isnt your first time ?'' I asked confused. ''HA! No, I do this practically all the time with Jake .'' He said. ''Oh, well we might as well try this and see what happens.'' I said. ''Okay. Your sure you wanna do this, I dont wanna be responsible for your death." He laughed. ''Yes Blake I'm sure and if anything happens I dont gotta tell my mom I can tell Riley.''I said. He lit the pipe ,took a hit and let out a slight cough afterwords. I watched him as he took another hit. He handed me the pipe and I took a small hit to get the feeling. We stared at eachother for a few seconds ... then I took another hit and another. ''Woah! slow down kid. excited much'' He asked. ''Oh right..'' I shrugged. ''Haha its okay guess you like it huh''He said. '' Its alright.'' I said. We took a few more hits. We found everything funny for the past hour. Our eyes were blazed and our minds blank. Plus we had drank that alcohol earlier which made us even more hyper. ''HEEEY! hey Joey'' Blake said. ''Yes'' I said and looked over at him. ''You know the funny thing is we're HIGH as a motherfucker'' He said giggling. ''Well we did smoke that green stuff'' I said sarcastically. ''I know but do you know what that means?'' He asked. ''Uhhh its time to set the pipe down'' I guessed. ''We are faded Joey..gone ,blazed,high, this is soo much better when you do it with a friend''He shouted. ''Shh! keep it down .'' I smiled. He looked at me and scooted closer . I looked at him a little freaked out cause hes never like this. He leaned in towards me as if he was trying to kiss me. ''Woah! Blake'' I shouted and pushed him away. ''What?'' He said. ''What are you doing'' I said. ''Well i guess im just trying to try something out.'' He said At that point I knew the marijuana had really hit him hard. I knew he was gay, and gay guys dont try to do these kinds of things with girls, and not just any girl , a best fried at that. He must of just been too high to care what gender it was all he knew was he wanted a little something more than a friend at the time. I mean whats so bad about kissing a gay guy anyways? Its just trying new things out and experimenting. Besides the kiss wouldnt mean anything anyway, hes too much of a friend to me to like him like that.I looked at him and he was sitting there staring at the floor. ''Blake?..'' I said. ''Yeah?'' He said looking up at me. ''I know we're high and everything but if you want to try anything, i wont mind.'' I told him. ''Really?'' He said. ''Sure why not i mean I know your gay and all...'' I said. He leaned in toward me and placed his hand on my cheek. I smiled at him knowing whatever he was going to do would be harmless. He kissed me and I kissed him back. ''Well.." He said. ''Well your a good kisser for being gay'' I snickered. ''Joey.. promise me you wont say anything.''He said. ''I wont and you can keep my word.''I said. He kissed me again as if it was normal. I kissed him back and wrapped my arms around him. He picked me up and layed me down on the bed.And just before things got out of control Blake found himself again. He realized what he was doing and he was no longer out of his normal mind. ''Joey!'' He screamed at me. ''What?'' I said startled. ''What the hell are you doing?!'' He said. ''Ahem. mee? Im not doing anything it was all you.'' I said ''Well you could've stopped me, i was high i wasnt in my right mind.'' He said. ''Well I wanted to try something new.'' I said. ''That was stupid.'' He said. ''What was?'' I aksed. ''I mean you for going along with it but me for just..never mind.'' He said. ''Look we can just pretend like nothing ever happened. Who's gonna find out?'' I said. ''Your right. And i found my answer'' He said. ''Answer to what''I asked. ''To the truth question. I guess i cant be turned straight cause eventually I'll realize what im doing.'' He said. ''Well , I dont care I accept the fact your gay and to be honest I dont really wanna change you..In other words I like you being gay''I said. ''Really?'' He asked. ''Yeah! I find gay guys adorable'' I said. ''Alright then.. Well I never planned on being straight anyways.''He said. ''Well we should probably find something else to do''I said. ''Yeah.. we should.'' He said. We picked up the pipe and took a few more hits. Then the door opened downstairs and I heard footsteps coming upstairs. ''Shh !'' I said. ''What?'' He said. ''Just be quiet I hear something.''I said. ''Oooo someones toking it up''Someone shouted most likely Dani. ''What the hell was that?'' Blake asked. Riley opened my door and saw me and Blake sittin on the beanbags. ''Joey! What the hell are you doing?'' She said. Then I heard Danni running up the stairs with someone and I hoped to god it wasnt mom. ''Uhh. Experimenting."I said. ''With weed?'' She screamed. ''And sexual intercourse.'' Blake shouted. ''Ahh the lies.'' I said. ''Wait who the fuck are you?'' Riley asked. ''Oh this is Blake.'' I told her. Then Dani poked her head around the corner. ''Whats going on''Dani asked. She looked down and saw the rainbow pipe in my hand. ''Where the hell did you get that pipe?'' Riley asked. ''Thats a dope ass pipe!'' Dani said reaching for it. ''Dani what the fuck are you doing your not supposed to say that. Oh thats a pretty dope pipe lets go toke it up homie'' She said in a sarcastic way. Danni looked at Riley ''Can we?'' she asked. Riley looked at Danni and then to me and Blake. She looked out to the driveway then pushed Danni and a guy that I now know as Kyler into the room. ''Lets smoke this shit.'' Riley said. Dani took my lighter and smoked some. ''Alright now kiddies if a stranger ever offers you drugs, you best be taking that shit. Drugs are expensive these days.''Danni said. After we were done having our fun we had to take Danni home. The next weekend Blake invited me over to his house cause he was having a few friends over. He said he knows a guy he thinks would be perfect for me. He said hes really nice and layed back. He also said that this guy is everything I've been talking about, as in he has the personality of a gay guy but is straight and he is exactly how I had described my dream guy the previous week. At first I didn't really want to meet someone to be in a relationship with. I was kind of focusing on school now and didn't want a relationship and plus all my relationships never last. The longest I've been with someone was one month. Usually I can't stay tied down for too long with one guy cause according to mom I get bored and wanna play everybody. So sure enough my nickname was ''Hearbreaker'' .But after that I kind of settled down and just flirted around. But apparently to Blake over here, that was about to change. Blake txted me and said the guy isn't the kind I would leave. He said he's one to keep and treat right because he treats girls better than anyone at our school. Oh and Blake also mentioned he's sexy and he would tear that up in two seconds if he was gay. So I decided to go over to Blake's , what could be so bad about meeting a new friend? I guess I could really use one anyways, my old friends are getting kind of boring. When I arrived at Blake's house he sat me down on the couch next to some guy. The guy had light brown hair and brown eyes and he was kind of pale, with a piercing on the bottom left of his lip. ''Joey.. This is Aiden and Aiden, this is my wonderful best friend Joey and if you try anything I'll kill you.'' Blake said with a smile on. I reached out to shake Aiden's hand. He shook my and our eyes met. ''Hey. how's it going.''He said. ''Pretty good and you'' I asked. ''I'm doing great.'' He said. ''See look you guys are doing just fine already.'' Blake said and walked into the kitchen. ''So, what do you like to do for fun?'' I asked Aiden. ''Oh you know, I like to skate, listen to music and just chill.'' He replayed. ''Oh that's cool.'' I said. ''What about you?'' He asked. ''Oh I just hang out with Blake most of the time.''I said. ''Oh that freak huh.'' He laughed ''Hey I can hear you.'' Blake shouted as he ate a piece of cheese. Me and Aiden told eacother about our life and our past. We talked for about and hour. Then Blake went upstairs to go play MW3. ''I like you.'' Aiden said. ''You do?'' I said. ''Well yeah I mean you seem cool.'' He said. ''We should so hang out more often.'' ''Yeah that would be great.'' I said. The past month Blake Aiden and I hung out. We switched back and forth from eachothers house. We grew really close over the weeks. We called ourselves the 3 stooges because we each had our own unique style and creative minds. A few days after hanging out non stop , none of us hung out for a few days. I found it kind of weird not even Blake txted me for those few days. So I let it go like it was nothing. I'm sure they are just spending time with out me. The day passed by and I decided to go to sleep. I got a txt at 3 o'clock in the morning. It was from Blake? It read: ''Joey...you need to come over to my house or I'm coming over to yours, Aiden has something serious to talk to you about. So when you get this txt message me bck! (: Love ya <3'' I woke up once I heard my phone go off and I read the txt Blake had sent.I didn't think anything of it because Blake sends txts like that all the time just to get me out of the house. But something was telling me he was serious this time...I stared at the phone for a few minutes and replyed to the txt: ''It's 3 in the morning Blake -__-'' ''I know what time it is but Aiden was bothering me to txt you, so are you cominging or what?'' ''Well I dont have a ride, Riley's at Danni''s tonight.'' ''Fine we'll walk over there to get you.'' ''Who's we?'' ''Me,Aiden and Zach.'' ''Who's Zach?'' ''My boyfriend now we're coming over kay.. kay thanks bye (;'' I waited for them to come. Thirty-five mintues later sure enough there Blake was with his loud mouth banging on the door.I opened the door and greeted them. We sat down on the couch and I stared at Aiden while he looked at the ground. ''I believe Aiden has something to ask you Joey.'' Blake said patting Aiden's back giving him a look. ''Oh right..'' Aiden said shyly.''Can we go in another room?'' ''Sure.''I said walking into the guest room. I sat down on the bed and he stared at me. ''Uhh I dont know how to say this.''He said. ''Just spill it.''I told him. ''Will you go out with me?'' he said. I sat there for a mintue and stared at the ground. ''I'd love to Aiden.'' I said wth a smile. ''Hey!! Did it work Aiden.''Blake said with a smirk, coming into the room. ''Shh Blake get outta here.''I yelled and giggled. Publication Date: April 27th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-chalen

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M. M. She's A Monster (Characters) Emma West Caden Noel Eli Noel Carson Justice   Zoey Perkins   Jasmine West Text: My mind. Images: Google/Facebook Editing: MiKayla (me) Translation: Bookrix All rights reserved. Publication Date: June 11th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-ndc08dc19c28445

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Reylinn Sutcliff Willow ~Dedicated to Jennifer Powers, the best mother a person could ask for~ Birth "Congratulations, Mrs.White. She is a beautiful baby girl." The male doctors strong voice fills the room. A woman with dark hair, eyes, and skin lies on the hospital bed, her thick black hair messy and her face covered with sweat. She breathes in through her mouth deeply and cradles her newborn baby to her chest. Her eyes become damp as she looks down on her baby girl. "Nichole...." She whispers. The baby girl yawns and grabs her mothers pinkie. The woman laughs lightly, and the doctor smiles as he cleans up the bloody sheets. The new mother rocks back and forth slowly, pressing her daughter close to her chest. The small child squirms back and forth, but then finds herself comforted by her mothers warmth. A man walks in, dressed in a pair of stained jeans and a rumpled shirt. His light brown hair looks wind blown, and he has dark circles under his eyes. "My baby girl..." He says, walking over to the woman and child. With a light touch, he strokes his newborn daughters face. The baby- Nichole- pulls away from his touch, seemingly uncomfortable with her own fathers presence. Sorrow crosses the mans face. The woman looks up and sighs. "You should have been here for her birth, John. Maybe she would accepted you as her father if you had actually bothered to show up the day she came into the world." The man, John, glares at the woman. "Traffic was a bitch, Marie." He tells her. The woman, Marie, shakes her head and looks back down at her baby. "Save it." She mutters, not looking at John. "No, you listen to me, damn you. I would have made it sooner, but-" He starts, but is cut off by Marie. "John, you'll frighten the baby, raising your voice like that! I know you were off with that other woman. Don't try to lie. I know you got my message last minute. Traffic was perfect today, my mid-wife even said so about an hour ago." "Bull shit, Marie. That lying mid-wife is out to get me." "Out to get you, John? Everyone is out to get you nowadays, aren't they? Because you are scared someone will find out that you are a pervert. A pedophile who should be locked up. So you live your life in fear that everyone has it out for you." Marie snaps at her ex boyfriend. John's face twists into a look of anger. He raises his hand in a fist, as though he is about to hit Marie. Marie wraps her arms around Nichole and hunches over, her eyes closed, preparing for the impact of the punch. After a few minutes, though, nothing happens, and Marie looks up. John is gone. Nichole starts to fuss, and a nurse walks in and takes her from Marie. "We just have to do a few check ups, make sure everything is okay. You'll have her back within the hour, I promise." The nasally voiced nurse says with a forced-looking smile stretched across her face. Marie nods and turns to look out of the window next to her, locked in a daze. She is a new mother, with no husband, boyfriend or parents to help guide her through the first steps of motherhood. She is poor, and only sixteen years old. She lives in a one bedroom apartment, which she could possibly lose soon if she doesn't find a way to make her house payment on time. Marie starts to sob. This is all John's fault. If he hadn't impregnated me, I wouldn't have been kicked out by my parents. I wouldn't have had to use all my money for doctors appoinments. And Nichole... she could have just died. She is ruining everything. The life I wanted to live. The life I could have lived. Nichole's life is the end of my life. Marie thinks to herself. She wipes her tears and makes a spitting sound. She doesn't deserve this. Nichole and John deserve to be crying and unhappy. They are the bad ones in this equation. Text: Reylinn Sutcliff Images: Google Editing: Erik Powers Translation: N/A All rights reserved. Publication Date: September 20th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-rs1eab1d2e9ec55

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Teylor Tunechi Too Much To Handle The Death Series CHAPTER ONE "Teylor your always getting into some kid of trouble." "I shrugged my shoulders as a indication of "I don't give a care" to my principal. "Young lady don't shrug your shoulders at me." She's my principal...and also my mom's sister. Bummer. "Auntie...I'm so so so so sorry. But Jordan and I didn't write on the bathroom walls." I pasted a fake smile on my face.Twitching every two seconds from controlling my self from laughing. "Teylana-" "Don't call me from my first name." She shifted in her seat and stuck a pen in her stuiped little mouth. "Its Publication Date: January 19th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-teylor

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Oscar Wilde The Picture of Dorian Gray The Picture of Dorian Gray   Th Picture of Dorian Gray Oscar Wilde   Chapter I The studio was filled with the rich odor of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden there came through the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate perfume of the pink-flowering thorn. From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was lying, smoking, as usual, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-colored blossoms of the laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to bear the burden of a beauty so flame-like as theirs; and now and then the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window, producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of those pallid jade-faced painters who, in an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the black-crocketed spires of the early June hollyhocks, seemed to make the stillness 2 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   more oppressive, and the dim roar of London was like the bourdon note of a distant organ. In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty, and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago caused, at the time, such public excitement, and gave rise to so many strange conjectures. As he looked at the gracious and comely form he had so skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his face, and seemed about to linger there. But he suddenly started up, and, closing his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids, as though he sought to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he might awake. ‘It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done,’ said Lord Henry, languidly. ‘You must certainly send it next year to the Grosvenor. The Academy is too large and too vulgar. The Grosvenor is the only place.’ ‘I don’t think I will send it anywhere,’ he answered, tossing his head back in that odd way that used to make 3 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   his friends laugh at him at Oxford. ‘No: I won’t send it anywhere.’ Lord Henry elevated his eyebrows, and looked at him in amazement through the thin blue wreaths of smoke that curled up in such fanciful whorls from his heavy opium-tainted cigarette. ‘Not send it anywhere? My dear fellow, why? Have you any reason? What odd chaps you painters are! You do anything in the world to gain a reputation. As soon as you have one, you seem to want to throw it away. It is silly of you, for there is only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about. A portrait like this would set you far above all the young men in England, and make the old men quite jealous, if old men are ever capable of any emotion.’ ‘I know you will laugh at me,’ he replied, ‘but I really can’t exhibit it. I have put too much of myself into it.’ Lord Henry stretched his long legs out on the divan and shook with laughter. ‘Yes, I knew you would laugh; but it is quite true, all the same.’ ‘Too much of yourself in it! Upon my word, Basil, I didn’t know you were so vain; and I really can’t see any resemblance between you, with your rugged strong face and your coal-black hair, and this young Adonis, who 4 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   looks as if he was made of ivory and rose-leaves. Why, my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus, and you—well, of course you have an intellectual expression, and all that. But beauty, real beauty, ends where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself an exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid. Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions. How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the Church. But then in the Church they don’t think. A bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was told to say when he was a boy of eighteen, and consequently he always looks absolutely delightful. Your mysterious young friend, whose name you have never told me, but whose picture really fascinates me, never thinks. I feel quite sure of that. He is a brainless, beautiful thing, who should be always here in winter when we have no flowers to look at, and always here in summer when we want something to chill our intelligence. Don’t flatter yourself, Basil: you are not in the least like him.’ ‘You don’t understand me, Harry. Of course I am not like him. I know that perfectly well. Indeed, I should be sorry to look like him. You shrug your shoulders? I am telling you the truth. There is a fatality about all physical 5 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   and intellectual distinction, the sort of fatality that seems to dog through history the faltering steps of kings. It is better not to be different from one’s fellows. The ugly and the stupid have the best of it in this world. They can sit quietly and gape at the play. If they know nothing of victory, they are at least spared the knowledge of defeat. They live as we all should live, undisturbed, indifferent, and without disquiet. They neither bring ruin upon others nor ever receive it from alien hands. Your rank and wealth, Harry; my brains, such as they are,—my fame, whatever it may be worth; Dorian Gray’s good looks,— we will all suffer for what the gods have given us, suffer terribly.’ ‘Dorian Gray? is that his name?’ said Lord Henry, walking across the studio towards Basil Hallward. ‘Yes; that is his name. I didn’t intend to tell it to you.’ ‘But why not?’ ‘Oh, I can’t explain. When I like people immensely I never tell their names to any one. It seems like surrendering a part of them. You know how I love secrecy. It is the only thing that can make modern life wonderful or mysterious to us. The commonest thing is delightful if one only hides it. When I leave town I never tell my people where I am going. If I did, I would lose all 6 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   my pleasure. It is a silly habit, I dare say, but somehow it seems to bring a great deal of romance into one’s life. I suppose you think me awfully foolish about it?’ ‘Not at all,’ answered Lord Henry, laying his hand upon his shoulder; ‘not at all, my dear Basil. You seem to forget that I am married, and the one charm of marriage is that it makes a life of deception necessary for both parties. I never know where my wife is, and my wife never knows what I am doing. When we meet,—we do meet occasionally, when we dine out together, or go down to the duke’s,— we tell each other the most absurd stories with the most serious faces. My wife is very good at it,— much better, in fact, than I am. She never gets confused over her dates, and I always do. But when she does find me out, she makes no row at all. I sometimes wish she would; but she merely laughs at me.’ ‘I hate the way you talk about your married life, Harry,’ said Basil Hallward, shaking his hand off, and strolling towards the door that led into the garden. ‘I believe that you are really a very good husband, but that you are thoroughly ashamed of your own virtues. You are an extraordinary fellow. You never say a moral thing, and you never do a wrong thing. Your cynicism is simply a pose.’ 7 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Being natural is simply a pose, and the most irritating pose I know,’ cried Lord Henry, laughing; and the two young men went out into the garden together, and for a time they did not speak. After a long pause Lord Henry pulled out his watch. ‘I am afraid I must be going, Basil,’ he murmured, ‘and before I go I insist on your answering a question I put to you some time ago.’ ‘What is that?’ asked Basil Hallward, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. ‘You know quite well.’ ‘I do not, Harry.’ ‘Well, I will tell you what it is.’ ‘Please don’t.’ ‘I must. I want you to explain to me why you won’t exhibit Dorian Gray’s picture. I want the real reason.’ ‘I told you the real reason.’ ‘No, you did not. You said it was because there was too much of yourself in it. Now, that is childish.’ ‘Harry,’ said Basil Hallward, looking him straight in the face, ‘every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. The sitter is merely the accident, the occasion. It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the colored canvas, 8 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown with it the secret of my own soul.’ Lord Harry laughed. ‘And what is that?’ he asked. ‘I will tell you,’ said Hallward; and an expression of perplexity came over his face. ‘I am all expectation, Basil,’ murmured his companion, looking at him. ‘Oh, there is really very little to tell, Harry,’ answered the young painter; ‘and I am afraid you will hardly understand it. Perhaps you will hardly believe it.’ Lord Henry smiled, and, leaning down, plucked a pink-petalled daisy from the grass, and examined it. ‘I am quite sure I shall understand it,’ he replied, gazing intently at the little golden white-feathered disk, ‘and I can believe anything, provided that it is incredible.’ The wind shook some blossoms from the trees, and the heavy lilac blooms, with their clustering stars, moved to and fro in the languid air. A grasshopper began to chirrup in the grass, and a long thin dragon-fly floated by on its brown gauze wings. Lord Henry felt as if he could hear Basil Hallward’s heart beating, and he wondered what was coming. 9 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Well, this is incredible,’ repeated Hallward, rather bitterly,— ‘incredible to me at times. I don’t know what it means. The story is simply this. Two months ago I went to a crush at Lady Brandon’s. You know we poor painters have to show ourselves in society from time to time, just to remind the public that we are not savages. With an evening coat and a white tie, as you told me once, anybody, even a stock-broker, can gain a reputation for being civilized. Well, after I had been in the room about ten minutes, talking to huge overdressed dowagers and tedious Academicians, I suddenly became conscious that some one was looking at me. I turned half-way round, and saw Dorian Gray for the first time. When our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale. A curious instinct of terror came over me. I knew that I had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself. I did not want any external influence in my life. You know yourself, Harry, how independent I am by nature. My father destined me for the army. I insisted on going to Oxford. Then he made me enter my name at the Middle Temple. Before I had eaten half a dozen dinners I gave up the Bar, and announced my intention of becoming a painter. I 10 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then—But I don’t know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that Fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I knew that if I spoke to Dorian I would become absolutely devoted to him, and that I ought not to speak to him. I grew afraid, and turned to quit the room. It was not conscience that made me do so: it was cowardice. I take no credit to myself for trying to escape.’ ‘Conscience and cowardice are really the same things, Basil. Conscience is the trade-name of the firm. That is all.’ ‘I don’t believe that, Harry. However, whatever was my motive,— and it may have been pride, for I used to be very proud,—I certainly struggled to the door. There, of course, I stumbled against Lady Brandon. ‘You are not going to run away so soon, Mr. Hallward?’ she screamed out. You know her shrill horrid voice?’ ‘Yes; she is a peacock in everything but beauty,’ said Lord Henry, pulling the daisy to bits with his long, nervous fingers. 11 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘I could not get rid of her. She brought me up to Royalties, and people with Stars and Garters, and elderly ladies with gigantic tiaras and hooked noses. She spoke of me as her dearest friend. I had only met her once before, but she took it into her head to lionize me. I believe some picture of mine had made a great success at the time, at least had been chattered about in the penny newspapers, which is the nineteenth-century standard of immortality. Suddenly I found myself face to face with the young man whose personality had so strangely stirred me. We were quite close, almost touching. Our eyes met again. It was mad of me, but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce me to him. Perhaps it was not so mad, after all. It was simply inevitable. We would have spoken to each other without any introduction. I am sure of that. Dorian told me so afterwards. He, too, felt that we were destined to know each other.’ ‘And how did Lady Brandon describe this wonderful young man? I know she goes in for giving a rapid précis of all her guests. I remember her bringing me up to a most truculent and red-faced old gentleman covered all over with orders and ribbons, and hissing into my ear, in a tragic whisper which must have been perfectly audible to everybody in the room, something like ‘Sir Humpty 12 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Dumpty—you know—Afghan frontier—Russian intrigues: very successful man—wife killed by an elephant—quite inconsolable—wants to marry a beautiful American widow—everybody does nowadays—hates Mr. Gladstone—but very much interested in beetles: ask him what he thinks of Schouvaloff.’ I simply fled. I like to find out people for myself. But poor Lady Brandon treats her guests exactly as an auctioneer treats his goods. She either explains them entirely away, or tells one everything about them except what one wants to know. But what did she say about Mr. Dorian Gray?’ ‘Oh, she murmured, ‘Charming boy—poor dear mother and I quite inseparable—engaged to be married to the same man—I mean married on the same day—how very silly of me! Quite forget what he does— afraid he— doesn’t do anything—oh, yes, plays the piano—or is it the violin, dear Mr. Gray?’ We could neither of us help laughing, and we became friends at once.’ ‘Laughter is not a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is the best ending for one,’ said Lord Henry, plucking another daisy. Hallward buried his face in his hands. ‘You don’t understand what friendship is, Harry,’ he murmured,—‘or 13 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   what enmity is, for that matter. You like every one; that is to say, you are indifferent to every one.’ ‘How horribly unjust of you!’ cried Lord Henry, tilting his hat back, and looking up at the little clouds that were drifting across the hollowed turquoise of the summer sky, like ravelled skeins of glossy white silk. ‘Yes; horribly unjust of you. I make a great difference between people. I choose my friends for their good looks, my acquaintances for their characters, and my enemies for their brains. A man can’t be too careful in the choice of his enemies. I have not got one who is a fool. They are all men of some intellectual power, and consequently they all appreciate me. Is that very vain of me? I think it is rather vain.’ ‘I should think it was, Harry. But according to your category I must be merely an acquaintance.’ ‘My dear old Basil, you are much more than an acquaintance.’ ‘And much less than a friend. A sort of brother, I suppose?’ ‘Oh, brothers! I don’t care for brothers. My elder brother won’t die, and my younger brothers seem never to do anything else.’ ‘Harry!’ 14 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘My dear fellow, I am not quite serious. But I can’t help detesting my relations. I suppose it comes from the fact that we can’t stand other people having the same faults as ourselves. I quite sympathize with the rage of the English democracy against what they call the vices of the upper classes. They feel that drunkenness, stupidity, and immorality should be their own special property, and that if any one of us makes an ass of himself he is poaching on their preserves. When poor Southwark got into the Divorce Court, their indignation was quite magnificent. And yet I don’t suppose that ten per cent of the lower orders live correctly.’ ‘I don’t agree with a single word that you have said, and, what is more, Harry, I don’t believe you do either.’ Lord Henry stroked his pointed brown beard, and tapped the toe of his patent-leather boot with a tasselled malacca cane. ‘How English you are, Basil! If one puts forward an idea to a real Englishman,— always a rash thing to do,—he never dreams of considering whether the idea is right or wrong. The only thing he considers of any importance is whether one believes it one’s self. Now, the value of an idea has nothing whatsoever to do with the sincerity of the man who expresses it. Indeed, the probabilities are that the more insincere the man is, the 15 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   more purely intellectual will the idea be, as in that case it will not be colored by either his wants, his desires, or his prejudices. However, I don’t propose to discuss politics, sociology, or metaphysics with you. I like persons better than principles. Tell me more about Dorian Gray. How often do you see him?’ ‘Every day. I couldn’t be happy if I didn’t see him every day. Of course sometimes it is only for a few minutes. But a few minutes with somebody one worships mean a great deal.’ ‘But you don’t really worship him?’ ‘I do.’ ‘How extraordinary! I thought you would never care for anything but your painting,—your art, I should say. Art sounds better, doesn’t it?’ ‘He is all my art to me now. I sometimes think, Harry, that there are only two eras of any importance in the history of the world. The first is the appearance of a new medium for art, and the second is the appearance of a new personality for art also. What the invention of oil-painting was to the Venetians, the face of Antinoüs was to late Greek sculpture, and the face of Dorian Gray will some day be to me. It is not merely that I paint from him, draw from him, model from him. Of course I have done all 16 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   that. He has stood as Paris in dainty armor, and as Adonis with huntsman’s cloak and polished boar- spear. Crowned with heavy lotus-blossoms, he has sat on the prow of Adrian’s barge, looking into the green, turbid Nile. He has leaned over the still pool of some Greek woodland, and seen in the water’s silent silver the wonder of his own beauty. But he is much more to me than that. I won’t tell you that I am dissatisfied with what I have done of him, or that his beauty is such that art cannot express it. There is nothing that art cannot express, and I know that the work I have done since I met Dorian Gray is good work, is the best work of my life. But in some curious way—I wonder will you understand me?—his personality has suggested to me an entirely new manner in art, an entirely new mode of style. I see things differently, I think of them differently. I can now re-create life in a way that was hidden from me before. ‘A dream of form in days of thought,’—who is it who says that? I forget; but it is what Dorian Gray has been to me. The merely visible presence of this lad, —for he seems to me little more than a lad, though he is really over twenty,—his merely visible presence,—ah! I wonder can you realize all that that means? Unconsciously he defines for me the lines of a fresh school, a school that is to have in itself all the passion of the romantic spirit, all the 17 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   perfection of the spirit that is Greek. The harmony of soul and body,—how much that is! We in our madness have separated the two, and have invented a realism that is bestial, an ideality that is void. Harry! Harry! if you only knew what Dorian Gray is to me! You remember that landscape of mine, for which Agnew offered me such a huge price, but which I would not part with? It is one of the best things I have ever done. And why is it so? Because, while I was painting it, Dorian Gray sat beside me.’ ‘Basil, this is quite wonderful! I must see Dorian Gray.’ Hallward got up from the seat, and walked up and down the garden. After some time he came back. ‘You don’t understand, Harry,’ he said. ‘Dorian Gray is merely to me a motive in art. He is never more present in my work than when no image of him is there. He is simply a suggestion, as I have said, of a new manner. I see him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and the subtleties of certain colors. That is all.’ ‘Then why won’t you exhibit his portrait?’ ‘Because I have put into it all the extraordinary romance of which, of course, I have never dared to speak to him. He knows nothing about it. He will never know anything about it. But the world might guess it; and I will 18 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   not bare my soul to their shallow, prying eyes. My heart shall never be put under their microscope. There is too much of myself in the thing, Harry,—too much of myself!’ ‘Poets are not so scrupulous as you are. They know how useful passion is for publication. Nowadays a broken heart will run to many editions.’ ‘I hate them for it. An artist should create beautiful things, but should put nothing of his own life into them. We live in an age when men treat art as if it were meant to be a form of autobiography. We have lost the abstract sense of beauty. If I live, I will show the world what it is; and for that reason the world shall never see my portrait of Dorian Gray.’ ‘I think you are wrong, Basil, but I won’t argue with you. It is only the intellectually lost who ever argue. Tell me, is Dorian Gray very fond of you?’ Hallward considered for a few moments. ‘He likes me,’ he answered, after a pause; ‘I know he likes me. Of course I flatter him dreadfully. I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I know I shall be sorry for having said. I give myself away. As a rule, he is charming to me, and we walk home together from the club arm in arm, or sit in the studio and talk of a thousand things. Now and then, 19 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   however, he is horribly thoughtless, and seems to take a real delight in giving me pain. Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to some one who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer’s day.’ ‘Days in summer, Basil, are apt to linger. Perhaps you will tire sooner than he will. It is a sad thing to think of, but there is no doubt that Genius lasts longer than Beauty. That accounts for the fact that we all take such pains to over-educate ourselves. In the wild struggle for existence, we want to have something that endures, and so we fill our minds with rubbish and facts, in the silly hope of keeping our place. The thoroughly well informed man,— that is the modern ideal. And the mind of the thoroughly well informed man is a dreadful thing. It is like a bric-à- brac shop, all monsters and dust, and everything priced above its proper value. I think you will tire first, all the same. Some day you will look at Gray, and he will seem to you to be a little out of drawing, or you won’t like his tone of color, or something. You will bitterly reproach him in your own heart, and seriously think that he has behaved very badly to you. The next time he calls, you will be perfectly cold and indifferent. It will be a great 20 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   pity, for it will alter you. The worst of having a romance is that it leaves one so unromantic.’ ‘Harry, don’t talk like that. As long as I live, the personality of Dorian Gray will dominate me. You can’t feel what I feel. You change too often.’ ‘Ah, my dear Basil, that is exactly why I can feel it. Those who are faithful know only the pleasures of love: it is the faithless who know love’s tragedies.’ And Lord Henry struck a light on a dainty silver case, and began to smoke a cigarette with a self-conscious and self-satisfied air, as if he had summed up life in a phrase. There was a rustle of chirruping sparrows in the ivy, and the blue cloud- shadows chased themselves across the grass like swallows. How pleasant it was in the garden! And how delightful other people’s emotions were!—much more delightful than their ideas, it seemed to him. One’s own soul, and the passions of one’s friends,—those were the fascinating things in life. He thought with pleasure of the tedious luncheon that he had missed by staying so long with Basil Hallward. Had he gone to his aunt’s, he would have been sure to meet Lord Goodbody there, and the whole conversation would have been about the housing of the poor, and the necessity for model lodging-houses. It was charming to have escaped all that! As he thought of 21 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   his aunt, an idea seemed to strike him. He turned to Hallward, and said, ‘My dear fellow, I have just remembered.’ ‘Remembered what, Harry?’ ‘Where I heard the name of Dorian Gray.’ ‘Where was it?’ asked Hallward, with a slight frown. ‘Don’t look so angry, Basil. It was at my aunt’s, Lady Agatha’s. She told me she had discovered a wonderful young man, who was going to help her in the East End, and that his name was Dorian Gray. I am bound to state that she never told me he was good-looking. Women have no appreciation of good looks. At least, good women have not. She said that he was very earnest, and had a beautiful nature. I at once pictured to myself a creature with spectacles and lank hair, horridly freckled, and tramping about on huge feet. I wish I had known it was your friend.’ ‘I am very glad you didn’t, Harry.’ ‘Why?’ ‘I don’t want you to meet him.’ ‘Mr. Dorian Gray is in the studio, sir,’ said the butler, coming into the garden. ‘You must introduce me now,’ cried Lord Henry, laughing. 22 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Basil Hallward turned to the servant, who stood blinking in the sunlight. ‘Ask Mr. Gray to wait, Parker: I will be in in a few moments.’ The man bowed, and went up the walk. Then he looked at Lord Henry. ‘Dorian Gray is my dearest friend,’ he said. ‘He has a simple and a beautiful nature. Your aunt was quite right in what she said of him. Don’t spoil him for me. Don’t try to influence him. Your influence would be bad. The world is wide, and has many marvellous people in it. Don’t take away from me the one person that makes life absolutely lovely to me, and that gives to my art whatever wonder or charm it possesses. Mind, Harry, I trust you.’ He spoke very slowly, and the words seemed wrung out of him almost against his will. ‘What nonsense you talk!’ said Lord Henry, smiling, and, taking Hallward by the arm, he almost led him into the house. 23 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Chapter II As they entered they saw Dorian Gray. He was seated at the piano, with his back to them, turning over the pages of a volume of Schumann’s ‘Forest Scenes.’ ‘You must lend me these, Basil,’ he cried. ‘I want to learn them. They are perfectly charming.’ ‘That entirely depends on how you sit to-day, Dorian.’ ‘Oh, I am tired of sitting, and I don’t want a life-sized portrait of myself,’ answered the lad, swinging round on the music-stool, in a wilful, petulant manner. When he caught sight of Lord Henry, a faint blush colored his cheeks for a moment, and he started up. ‘I beg your pardon, Basil, but I didn’t know you had any one with you.’ ‘This is Lord Henry Wotton, Dorian, an old Oxford friend of mine. I have just been telling him what a capital sitter you were, and now you have spoiled everything.’ ‘You have not spoiled my pleasure in meeting you, Mr. Gray,’ said Lord Henry, stepping forward and shaking him by the hand. ‘My aunt has often spoken to me about you. You are one of her favorites, and, I am afraid, one of her victims also.’ 24 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘I am in Lady Agatha’s black books at present,’ answered Dorian, with a funny look of penitence. ‘I promised to go to her club in Whitechapel with her last Tuesday, and I really forgot all about it. We were to have played a duet together,—three duets, I believe. I don’t know what she will say to me. I am far too frightened to call.’ ‘Oh, I will make your peace with my aunt. She is quite devoted to you. And I don’t think it really matters about your not being there. The audience probably thought it was a duet. When Aunt Agatha sits down to the piano she makes quite enough noise for two people.’ ‘That is very horrid to her, and not very nice to me,’ answered Dorian, laughing. Lord Henry looked at him. Yes, he was certainly wonderfully handsome, with his finely-curved scarlet lips, his frank blue eyes, his crisp gold hair. There was something in his face that made one trust him at once. All the candor of youth was there, as well as all youth’s passionate purity. One felt that he had kept himself unspotted from the world. No wonder Basil Hallward worshipped him. He was made to be worshipped. 25 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘You are too charming to go in for philanthropy, Mr. Gray,—far too charming.’ And Lord Henry flung himself down on the divan, and opened his cigarette-case. Hallward had been busy mixing his colors and getting his brushes ready. He was looking worried, and when he heard Lord Henry’s last remark he glanced at him, hesitated for a moment, and then said, ‘Harry, I want to finish this picture to-day. Would you think it awfully rude of me if I asked you to go away?’ Lord Henry smiled, and looked at Dorian Gray. ‘Am I to go, Mr. Gray?’ he asked. ‘Oh, please don’t, Lord Henry. I see that Basil is in one of his sulky moods; and I can’t bear him when he sulks. Besides, I want you to tell me why I should not go in for philanthropy.’ ‘I don’t know that I shall tell you that, Mr. Gray. But I certainly will not run away, now that you have asked me to stop. You don’t really mind, Basil, do you? You have often told me that you liked your sitters to have some one to chat to.’ Hallward bit his lip. ‘If Dorian wishes it, of course you must stay. Dorian’s whims are laws to everybody, except himself.’ 26 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   Lord Henry took up his hat and gloves. ‘You are very pressing, Basil, but I am afraid I must go. I have promised to meet a man at the Orleans.—Good-by, Mr. Gray. Come and see me some afternoon in Curzon Street. I am nearly always at home at five o’clock. Write to me when you are coming. I should be sorry to miss you.’ ‘Basil,’ cried Dorian Gray, ‘if Lord Henry goes I shall go too. You never open your lips while you are painting, and it is horribly dull standing on a platform and trying to look pleasant. Ask him to stay. I insist upon it.’ ‘Stay, Harry, to oblige Dorian, and to oblige me,’ said Hallward, gazing intently at his picture. ‘It is quite true, I never talk when I am working, and never listen either, and it must be dreadfully tedious for my unfortunate sitters. I beg you to stay.’ ‘But what about my man at the Orleans?’ Hallward laughed. ‘I don’t think there will be any difficulty about that. Sit down again, Harry.—And now, Dorian, get up on the platform, and don’t move about too much, or pay any attention to what Lord Henry says. He has a very bad influence over all his friends, with the exception of myself.’ Dorian stepped up on the dais, with the air of a young Greek martyr, and made a little moue of discontent to 27 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Lord Henry, to whom he had rather taken a fancy. He was so unlike Hallward. They made a delightful contrast. And he had such a beautiful voice. After a few moments he said to him, ‘Have you really a very bad influence, Lord Henry? As bad as Basil says?’ ‘There is no such thing as a good influence, Mr. Gray. All influence is immoral,—immoral from the scientific point of view.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because to influence a person is to give him one’s own soul. He does not think his natural thoughts, or burn with his natural passions. His virtues are not real to him. His sins, if there are such things as sins, are borrowed. He becomes an echo of some one else’s music, an actor of a part that has not been written for him. The aim of life is self-development. To realize one’s nature perfectly,—that is what each of us is here for. People are afraid of themselves, nowadays. They have forgotten the highest of all duties, the duty that one owes to one’s self. Of course they are charitable. They feed the hungry, and clothe the beggar. But their own souls starve, and are naked. Courage has gone out of our race. Perhaps we never really had it. The terror of society, which is the basis of morals, 28 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   the terror of God, which is the secret of religion,—these are the two things that govern us. And yet—‘ ‘Just turn your head a little more to the right, Dorian, like a good boy,’ said Hallward, deep in his work, and conscious only that a look had come into the lad’s face that he had never seen there before. ‘And yet,’ continued Lord Henry, in his low, musical voice, and with that graceful wave of the hand that was always so characteristic of him, and that he had even in his Eton days, ‘I believe that if one man were to live his life out fully and completely, were to give form to every feeling, expression to every thought, reality to every dream,—I believe that the world would gain such a fresh impulse of joy that we would forget all the maladies of mediaevalism, and return to the Hellenic ideal,— to something finer, richer, than the Hellenic ideal, it may be. But the bravest man among us is afraid of himself. The mutilation of the savage has its tragic survival in the self-denial that mars our lives. We are punished for our refusals. Every impulse that we strive to strangle broods in the mind, and poisons us. The body sins once, and has done with its sin, for action is a mode of purification. Nothing remains then but the recollection of a pleasure, or the luxury of a regret. The only way to get rid of a 29 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful. It has been said that the great events of the world take place in the brain. It is in the brain, and the brain only, that the great sins of the world take place also. You, Mr. Gray, you yourself, with your rose-red youth and your rose-white boyhood, you have had passions that have made you afraid, thoughts that have filled you with terror, day-dreams and sleeping dreams whose mere memory might stain your cheek with shame—‘ ‘Stop!’ murmured Dorian Gray, ‘stop! you bewilder me. I don’t know what to say. There is some answer to you, but I cannot find it. Don’t speak. Let me think, or, rather, let me try not to think.’ For nearly ten minutes he stood there motionless, with parted lips, and eyes strangely bright. He was dimly conscious that entirely fresh impulses were at work within him, and they seemed to him to have come really from himself. The few words that Basil’s friend had said to him—words spoken by chance, no doubt, and with wilful paradox in them—had yet touched some secret chord, that 30 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   had never been touched before, but that he felt was now vibrating and throbbing to curious pulses. Music had stirred him like that. Music had troubled him many times. But music was not articulate. It was not a new world, but rather a new chaos, that it created in us. Words! Mere words! How terrible they were! How clear, and vivid, and cruel! One could not escape from them. And yet what a subtle magic there was in them! They seemed to be able to give a plastic form to formless things, and to have a music of their own as sweet as that of viol or of lute. Mere words! Was there anything so real as words? Yes; there had been things in his boyhood that he had not understood. He understood them now. Life suddenly became fiery-colored to him. It seemed to him that he had been walking in fire. Why had he not known it? Lord Henry watched him, with his sad smile. He knew the precise psychological moment when to say nothing. He felt intensely interested. He was amazed at the sudden impression that his words had produced, and, remembering a book that he had read when he was sixteen, which had revealed to him much that he had not known before, he wondered whether Dorian Gray was passing through the same experience. He had merely shot 31 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   an arrow into the air. Had it hit the mark? How fascinating the lad was! Hallward painted away with that marvellous bold touch of his, that had the true refinement and perfect delicacy that come only from strength. He was unconscious of the silence. ‘Basil, I am tired of standing,’ cried Dorian Gray, suddenly. ‘I must go out and sit in the garden. The air is stifling here.’ ‘My dear fellow, I am so sorry. When I am painting, I can’t think of anything else. But you never sat better. You were perfectly still. And I have caught the effect I wanted,—the half-parted lips, and the bright look in the eyes. I don’t know what Harry has been saying to you, but he has certainly made you have the most wonderful expression. I suppose he has been paying you compliments. You mustn’t believe a word that he says.’ ‘He has certainly not been paying me compliments. Perhaps that is the reason I don’t think I believe anything he has told me.’ ‘You know you believe it all,’ said Lord Henry, looking at him with his dreamy, heavy-lidded eyes. ‘I will go out to the garden with you. It is horridly hot in the 32 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   studio.—Basil, let us have something iced to drink, something with strawberries in it.’ ‘Certainly, Harry. Just touch the bell, and when Parker comes I will tell him what you want. I have got to work up this background, so I will join you later on. Don’t keep Dorian too long. I have never been in better form for painting than I am to-day. This is going to be my masterpiece. It is my masterpiece as it stands.’ Lord Henry went out to the garden, and found Dorian Gray burying his face in the great cool lilac-blossoms, feverishly drinking in their perfume as if it had been wine. He came close to him, and put his hand upon his shoulder. ‘You are quite right to do that,’ he murmured. ‘Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.’ The lad started and drew back. He was bareheaded, and the leaves had tossed his rebellious curls and tangled all their gilded threads. There was a look of fear in his eyes, such as people have when they are suddenly awakened. His finely-chiselled nostrils quivered, and some hidden nerve shook the scarlet of his lips and left them trembling. ‘Yes,’ continued Lord Henry, ‘that is one of the great secrets of life,— to cure the soul by means of the senses, and the senses by means of the soul. You are a wonderful 33 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   creature. You know more than you think you know, just as you know less than you want to know.’ Dorian Gray frowned and turned his head away. He could not help liking the tall, graceful young man who was standing by him. His romantic olive-colored face and worn expression interested him. There was something in his low, languid voice that was absolutely fascinating. His cool, white, flower-like hands, even, had a curious charm. They moved, as he spoke, like music, and seemed to have a language of their own. But he felt afraid of him, and ashamed of being afraid. Why had it been left for a stranger to reveal him to himself? He had known Basil Hallward for months, but the friendship between then had never altered him. Suddenly there had come some one across his life who seemed to have disclosed to him life’s mystery. And, yet, what was there to be afraid of? He was not a school-boy, or a girl. It was absurd to be frightened. ‘Let us go and sit in the shade,’ said Lord Henry. ‘Parker has brought out the drinks, and if you stay any longer in this glare you will be quite spoiled, and Basil will never paint you again. You really must not let yourself become sunburnt. It would be very unbecoming to you.’ ‘What does it matter?’ cried Dorian, laughing, as he sat down on the seat at the end of the garden. 34 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘It should matter everything to you, Mr. Gray.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because you have now the most marvellous youth, and youth is the one thing worth having.’ ‘I don’t feel that, Lord Henry.’ ‘No, you don’t feel it now. Some day, when you are old and wrinkled and ugly, when thought has seared your forehead with its lines, and passion branded your lips with its hideous fires, you will feel it, you will feel it terribly. Now, wherever you go, you charm the world. Will it always be so? ‘You have a wonderfully beautiful face, Mr. Gray. Don’t frown. You have. And Beauty is a form of Genius,—is higher, indeed, than Genius, as it needs no explanation. It is one of the great facts of the world, like sunlight, or spring-time, or the reflection in dark waters of that silver shell we call the moon. It cannot be questioned. It has its divine right of sovereignty. It makes princes of those who have it. You smile? Ah! when you have lost it you won’t smile. ‘People say sometimes that Beauty is only superficial. That may be so. But at least it is not so superficial as Thought. To me, Beauty is the wonder of wonders. It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances. 35 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible. ‘Yes, Mr. Gray, the gods have been good to you. But what the gods give they quickly take away. You have only a few years in which really to live. When your youth goes, your beauty will go with it, and then you will suddenly discover that there are no triumphs left for you, or have to content yourself with those mean triumphs that the memory of your past will make more bitter than defeats. Every month as it wanes brings you nearer to something dreadful. Time is jealous of you, and wars against your lilies and your roses. You will become sallow, and hollow-cheeked, and dull-eyed. You will suffer horribly. ‘Realize your youth while you have it. Don’t squander the gold of your days, listening to the tedious, trying to improve the hopeless failure, or giving away your life to the ignorant, the common, and the vulgar, which are the aims, the false ideals, of our age. Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing. ‘A new hedonism,—that is what our century wants. You might be its visible symbol. With your personality there is nothing you could not do. The world belongs to you for a season. 36 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘The moment I met you I saw that you were quite unconscious of what you really are, what you really might be. There was so much about you that charmed me that I felt I must tell you something about yourself. I thought how tragic it would be if you were wasted. For there is such a little time that your youth will last,—such a little time. ‘The common hill-flowers wither, but they blossom again. The laburnum will be as golden next June as it is now. In a month there will be purple stars on the clematis, and year after year the green night of its leaves will have its purple stars. But we never get back our youth. The pulse of joy that beats in us at twenty, becomes sluggish. Our limbs fail, our senses rot. We degenerate into hideous puppets, haunted by the memory of the passions of which we were too much afraid, and the exquisite temptations that we did not dare to yield to. Youth! Youth! There is absolutely nothing in the world but youth!’ Dorian Gray listened, open-eyed and wondering. The spray of lilac fell from his hand upon the gravel. A furry bee came and buzzed round it for a moment. Then it began to scramble all over the fretted purple of the tiny blossoms. He watched it with that strange interest in trivial things that we try to develop when things of high import 37 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   make us afraid, or when we are stirred by some new emotion, for which we cannot find expression, or when some thought that terrifies us lays sudden siege to the brain and calls on us to yield. After a time it flew away. He saw it creeping into the stained trumpet of a Tyrian convolvulus. The flower seemed to quiver, and then swayed gently to and fro. Suddenly Hallward appeared at the door of the studio, and made frantic signs for them to come in. They turned to each other, and smiled. ‘I am waiting,’ cried Hallward. ‘Do come in. The light is quite perfect, and you can bring your drinks.’ They rose up, and sauntered down the walk together. Two green-and- white butterflies fluttered past them, and in the pear-tree at the end of the garden a thrush began to sing. ‘You are glad you have met me, Mr. Gray,’ said Lord Henry, looking at him. ‘Yes, I am glad now. I wonder shall I always be glad?’ ‘Always! That is a dreadful word. It makes me shudder when I hear it. Women are so fond of using it. They spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever. It is a meaningless word, too. The only difference between a 38 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   caprice and a life-long passion is that the caprice lasts a little longer.’ As they entered the studio, Dorian Gray put his hand upon Lord Henry’s arm. ‘In that case, let our friendship be a caprice,’ he murmured, flushing at his own boldness, then stepped upon the platform and resumed his pose. Lord Henry flung himself into a large wicker arm-chair, and watched him. The sweep and dash of the brush on the canvas made the only sound that broke the stillness, except when Hallward stepped back now and then to look at his work from a distance. In the slanting beams that streamed through the open door-way the dust danced and was golden. The heavy scent of the roses seemed to brood over everything. After about a quarter of an hour, Hallward stopped painting, looked for a long time at Dorian Gray, and then for a long time at the picture, biting the end of one of his huge brushes, and smiling. ‘It is quite finished,’ he cried, at last, and stooping down he wrote his name in thin vermilion letters on the left-hand corner of the canvas. Lord Henry came over and examined the picture. It was certainly a wonderful work of art, and a wonderful likeness as well. 39 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘My dear fellow, I congratulate you most warmly,’ he said.—‘Mr. Gray, come and look at yourself.’ The lad started, as if awakened from some dream. ‘Is it really finished?’ he murmured, stepping down from the platform. ‘Quite finished,’ said Hallward. ‘And you have sat splendidly to- day. I am awfully obliged to you.’ ‘That is entirely due to me,’ broke in Lord Henry. ‘Isn’t it, Mr. Gray?’ Dorian made no answer, but passed listlessly in front of his picture and turned towards it. When he saw it he drew back, and his cheeks flushed for a moment with pleasure. A look of joy came into his eyes, as if he had recognized himself for the first time. He stood there motionless, and in wonder, dimly conscious that Hallward was speaking to him, but not catching the meaning of his words. The sense of his own beauty came on him like a revelation. He had never felt it before. Basil Hallward’s compliments had seemed to him to be merely the charming exaggerations of friendship. He had listened to them, laughed at them, forgotten them. They had not influenced his nature. Then had come Lord Henry, with his strange panegyric on youth, his terrible warning of its brevity. That had stirred him at the time, and now, as he stood gazing at the 40 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   shadow of his own loveliness, the full reality of the description flashed across him. Yes, there would be a day when his face would be wrinkled and wizen, his eyes dim and colorless, the grace of his figure broken and deformed. The scarlet would pass away from his lips, and the gold steal from his hair. The life that was to make his soul would mar his body. He would become ignoble, hideous, and uncouth. As he thought of it, a sharp pang of pain struck like a knife across him, and made each delicate fibre of his nature quiver. His eyes deepened into amethyst, and a mist of tears came across them. He felt as if a hand of ice had been laid upon his heart. ‘Don’t you like it?’ cried Hallward at last, stung a little by the lad’s silence, and not understanding what it meant. ‘Of course he likes it,’ said Lord Henry. ‘Who wouldn’t like it? It is one of the greatest things in modern art. I will give you anything you like to ask for it. I must have it.’ ‘It is not my property, Harry.’ ‘Whose property is it?’ ‘Dorian’s, of course.’ ‘He is a very lucky fellow.’ 41 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘How sad it is!’ murmured Dorian Gray, with his eyes still fixed upon his own portrait. ‘How sad it is! I shall grow old, and horrid, and dreadful. But this picture will remain always young. It will never be older than this particular day of June…. If it was only the other way! If it was I who were to be always young, and the picture that were to grow old! For this—for this—I would give everything! Yes, there is nothing in the whole world I would not give!’ ‘You would hardly care for that arrangement, Basil,’ cried Lord Henry, laughing. ‘It would be rather hard lines on you.’ ‘I should object very strongly, Harry.’ Dorian Gray turned and looked at him. ‘I believe you would, Basil. You like your art better than your friends. I am no more to you than a green bronze figure. Hardly as much, I dare say.’ Hallward stared in amazement. It was so unlike Dorian to speak like that. What had happened? He seemed almost angry. His face was flushed and his cheeks burning. ‘Yes,’ he continued, ‘I am less to you than your ivory Hermes or your silver Faun. You will like them always. How long will you like me? Till I have my first wrinkle, I suppose. I know, now, that when one loses one’s good 42 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   looks, whatever they may be, one loses everything. Your picture has taught me that. Lord Henry is perfectly right. Youth is the only thing worth having. When I find that I am growing old, I will kill myself.’ Hallward turned pale, and caught his hand. ‘Dorian! Dorian!’ he cried, ‘don’t talk like that. I have never had such a friend as you, and I shall never have such another. You are not jealous of material things, are you?’ ‘I am jealous of everything whose beauty does not die. I am jealous of the portrait you have painted of me. Why should it keep what I must lose? Every moment that passes takes something from me, and gives something to it. Oh, if it was only the other way! If the picture could change, and I could be always what I am now! Why did you paint it? It will mock me some day,—mock me horribly!’ The hot tears welled into his eyes; he tore his hand away, and, flinging himself on the divan, he buried his face in the cushions, as if he was praying. ‘This is your doing, Harry,’ said Hallward, bitterly. ‘My doing?’ ‘Yes, yours, and you know it.’ Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. ‘It is the real Dorian Gray,— that is all,’ he answered. ‘It is not.’ 43 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘If it is not, what have I to do with it?’ ‘You should have gone away when I asked you.’ ‘I stayed when you asked me.’ ‘Harry, I can’t quarrel with my two best friends at once, but between you both you have made me hate the finest piece of work I have ever done, and I will destroy it. What is it but canvas and color? I will not let it come across our three lives and mar them.’ Dorian Gray lifted his golden head from the pillow, and looked at him with pallid face and tear-stained eyes, as he walked over to the deal painting-table that was set beneath the large curtained window. What was he doing there? His fingers were straying about among the litter of tin tubes and dry brushes, seeking for something. Yes, it was the long palette-knife, with its thin blade of lithe steel. He had found it at last. He was going to rip up the canvas. With a stifled sob he leaped from the couch, and, rushing over to Hallward, tore the knife out of his hand, and flung it to the end of the studio. ‘Don’t, Basil, don’t!’ he cried. ‘It would be murder!’ ‘I am glad you appreciate my work at last, Dorian,’ said Hallward, coldly, when he had recovered from his surprise. ‘I never thought you would.’ 44 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Appreciate it? I am in love with it, Basil. It is part of myself, I feel that.’ ‘Well, as soon as you are dry, you shall be varnished, and framed, and sent home. Then you can do what you like with yourself.’ And he walked across the room and rang the bell for tea. ‘You will have tea, of course, Dorian? And so will you, Harry? Tea is the only simple pleasure left to us.’ ‘I don’t like simple pleasures,’ said Lord Henry. ‘And I don’t like scenes, except on the stage. What absurd fellows you are, both of you! I wonder who it was defined man as a rational animal. It was the most premature definition ever given. Man is many things, but he is not rational. I am glad he is not, after all: though I wish you chaps would not squabble over the picture. You had much better let me have it, Basil. This silly boy doesn’t really want it, and I do.’ ‘If you let any one have it but me, Basil, I will never forgive you!’ cried Dorian Gray. ‘And I don’t allow people to call me a silly boy.’ ‘You know the picture is yours, Dorian. I gave it to you before it existed.’ ‘And you know you have been a little silly, Mr. Gray, and that you don’t really mind being called a boy.’ 45 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘I should have minded very much this morning, Lord Henry.’ ‘Ah! this morning! You have lived since then.’ There came a knock to the door, and the butler entered with the tea- tray and set it down upon a small Japanese table. There was a rattle of cups and saucers and the hissing of a fluted Georgian urn. Two globe-shaped china dishes were brought in by a page. Dorian Gray went over and poured the tea out. The two men sauntered languidly to the table, and examined what was under the covers. ‘Let us go to the theatre to-night,’ said Lord Henry. ‘There is sure to be something on, somewhere. I have promised to dine at White’s, but it is only with an old friend, so I can send him a wire and say that I am ill, or that I am prevented from coming in consequence of a subsequent engagement. I think that would be a rather nice excuse: it would have the surprise of candor.’ ‘It is such a bore putting on one’s dress-clothes,’ muttered Hallward. ‘And, when one has them on, they are so horrid.’ ‘Yes,’ answered Lord Henry, dreamily, &#x2018;the costume of our day is detestable. It is so sombre, so 46 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   depressing. Sin is the only color- element left in modern life.’ ‘You really must not say things like that before Dorian, Harry.’ ‘Before which Dorian? The one who is pouring out tea for us, or the one in the picture?’ ‘Before either.’ ‘I should like to come to the theatre with you, Lord Henry,’ said the lad. ‘Then you shall come; and you will come too, Basil, won’t you?’ ‘I can’t, really. I would sooner not. I have a lot of work to do.’ ‘Well, then, you and I will go alone, Mr. Gray.’ ‘I should like that awfully.’ Basil Hallward bit his lip and walked over, cup in hand, to the picture. ‘I will stay with the real Dorian,’ he said, sadly. ‘Is it the real Dorian?’ cried the original of the portrait, running across to him. ‘Am I really like that?’ ‘Yes; you are just like that.’ ‘How wonderful, Basil!’ ‘At least you are like it in appearance. But it will never alter,’ said Hallward. ‘That is something.’ 47 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘What a fuss people make about fidelity!’ murmured Lord Henry. ‘And, after all, it is purely a question for physiology. It has nothing to do with our own will. It is either an unfortunate accident, or an unpleasant result of temperament. Young men want to be faithful, and are not; old men want to be faithless, and cannot: that is all one can say.’ ‘Don’t go to the theatre to-night, Dorian,’ said Hallward. ‘Stop and dine with me.’ ‘I can’t, really.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Because I have promised Lord Henry to go with him.’ ‘He won’t like you better for keeping your promises. He always breaks his own. I beg you not to go.’ Dorian Gray laughed and shook his head. ‘I entreat you.’ The lad hesitated, and looked over at Lord Henry, who was watching them from the tea-table with an amused smile. ‘I must go, Basil,’ he answered. ‘Very well,’ said Hallward; and he walked over and laid his cup down on the tray. ‘It is rather late, and, as you have to dress, you had better lose no time. Good-by, 48 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Harry; good-by, Dorian. Come and see me soon. Come to-morrow.’ ‘Certainly.’ ‘You won’t forget?’ ‘No, of course not.’ ‘And … Harry!’ ‘Yes, Basil?’ ‘Remember what I asked you, when in the garden this morning.’ ‘I have forgotten it.’ ‘I trust you.’ ‘I wish I could trust myself,’ said Lord Henry, laughing.—‘Come, Mr. Gray, my hansom is outside, and I can drop you at your own place.— Good-by, Basil. It has been a most interesting afternoon.’ As the door closed behind them, Hallward flung himself down on a sofa, and a look of pain came into his face. 49 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Chapter III One afternoon, a month later, Dorian Gray was reclining in a luxurious arm-chair, in the little library of Lord Henry’s house in Curzon Street. It was, in its way, a very charming room, with its high panelled wainscoting of olive-stained oak, its cream-colored frieze and ceiling of raised plaster-work, and its brick-dust felt carpet strewn with long-fringed silk Persian rugs. On a tiny satinwood table stood a statuette by Clodion, and beside it lay a copy of ‘Les Cent Nouvelles,’ bound for Margaret of Valois by Clovis Eve, and powdered with the gilt daisies that the queen had selected for her device. Some large blue china jars, filled with parrot- tulips, were ranged on the mantel-shelf, and through the small leaded panes of the window streamed the apricot-colored light of a summer’s day in London. Lord Henry had not come in yet. He was always late on principle, his principle being that punctuality is the thief of time. So the lad was looking rather sulky, as with listless fingers he turned over the pages of an elaborately-illustrated edition of ‘Manon Lescaut’ that he had found in one of the bookcases. The formal monotonous ticking of 50 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   the Louis Quatorze clock annoyed him. Once or twice he thought of going away. At last he heard a light step outside, and the door opened. ‘How late you are, Harry!’ he murmured. ‘I am afraid it is not Harry, Mr. Gray,’ said a woman’s voice. He glanced quickly round, and rose to his feet. ‘I beg your pardon. I thought—‘ ‘You thought it was my husband. It is only his wife. You must let me introduce myself. I know you quite well by your photographs. I think my husband has got twenty-seven of them.’ ‘Not twenty-seven, Lady Henry?’ ‘Well, twenty-six, then. And I saw you with him the other night at the Opera.’ She laughed nervously, as she spoke, and watched him with her vague forget-me-not eyes. She was a curious woman, whose dresses always looked as if they had been designed in a rage and put on in a tempest. She was always in love with somebody, and, as her passion was never returned, she had kept all her illusions. She tried to look picturesque, but only succeeded in being untidy. Her name was Victoria, and she had a perfect mania for going to church. ‘That was at ‘Lohengrin,’ Lady Henry, I think?’ 51 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Yes; it was at dear ‘Lohengrin.’ I like Wagner’s music better than any other music. It is so loud that one can talk the whole time, without people hearing what one says. That is a great advantage: don’t you think so, Mr. Gray?’ The same nervous staccato laugh broke from her thin lips, and her fingers began to play with a long paper-knife. Dorian smiled, and shook his head: ‘I am afraid I don’t think so, Lady Henry. I never talk during music,—at least during good music. If one hears bad music, it is one’s duty to drown it by conversation.’ ‘Ah! that is one of Harry’s views, isn’t it, Mr. Gray? But you must not think I don’t like good music. I adore it, but I am afraid of it. It makes me too romantic. I have simply worshipped pianists,— two at a time, sometimes. I don’t know what it is about them. Perhaps it is that they are foreigners. They all are, aren’t they? Even those that are born in England become foreigners after a time, don’t they? It is so clever of them, and such a compliment to art. Makes it quite cosmopolitan, doesn’t it? You have never been to any of my parties, have you, Mr. Gray? You must come. I can’t afford orchids, but I spare no expense in foreigners. They make one’s rooms look so picturesque. But here is Harry!—Harry, I came in to look for you, to ask you something,—I forget what it was,—and I found 52 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Mr. Gray here. We have had such a pleasant chat about music. We have quite the same views. No; I think our views are quite different. But he has been most pleasant. I am so glad I’ve seen him.’ ‘I am charmed, my love, quite charmed,’ said Lord Henry, elevating his dark crescent-shaped eyebrows and looking at them both with an amused smile.—‘So sorry I am late, Dorian. I went to look after a piece of old brocade in Wardour Street, and had to bargain for hours for it. Nowadays people know the price of everything, and the value of nothing.’ ‘I am afraid I must be going,’ exclaimed Lady Henry, after an awkward silence, with her silly sudden laugh. ‘I have promised to drive with the duchess.—Good-by, Mr. Gray.—Good-by, Harry. You are dining out, I suppose? So am I. Perhaps I shall see you at Lady Thornbury’s.’ ‘I dare say, my dear,’ said Lord Henry, shutting the door behind her, as she flitted out of the room, looking like a bird-of-paradise that had been out in the rain, and leaving a faint odor of patchouli behind her. Then he shook hands with Dorian Gray, lit a cigarette, and flung himself down on the sofa. ‘Never marry a woman with straw-colored hair, Dorian,’ he said, after a few puffs. 53 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Why, Harry?’ ‘Because they are so sentimental.’ ‘But I like sentimental people.’ ‘Never marry at all, Dorian. Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are curious: both are disappointed.’ ‘I don’t think I am likely to marry, Harry. I am too much in love. That is one of your aphorisms. I am putting it into practice, as I do everything you say.’ ‘Whom are you in love with?’ said Lord Henry, looking at him with a curious smile. ‘With an actress,’ said Dorian Gray, blushing. Lord Henry shrugged his shoulders. ‘That is a rather common-place début,’ he murmured. ‘You would not say so if you saw her, Harry.’ ‘Who is she?’ ‘Her name is Sibyl Vane.’ ‘Never heard of her.’ ‘No one has. People will some day, however. She is a genius.’ ‘My dear boy, no woman is a genius: women are a decorative sex. They never have anything to say, but they say it charmingly. They represent the triumph of matter over mind, just as we men represent the triumph of mind 54 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   over morals. There are only two kinds of women, the plain and the colored. The plain women are very useful. If you want to gain a reputation for respectability, you have merely to take them down to supper. The other women are very charming. They commit one mistake, however. They paint in order to try to look young. Our grandmothers painted in order to try to talk brilliantly. Rouge and esprit used to go together. That has all gone out now. As long as a woman can look ten years younger than her own daughter, she is perfectly satisfied. As for conversation, there are only five women in London worth talking to, and two of these can’t be admitted into decent society. However, tell me about your genius. How long have you known her?’ ‘About three weeks. Not so much. About two weeks and two days.’ ‘How did you come across her?’ ‘I will tell you, Harry; but you mustn’t be unsympathetic about it. After all, it never would have happened if I had not met you. You filled me with a wild desire to know everything about life. For days after I met you, something seemed to throb in my veins. As I lounged in the Park, or strolled down Piccadilly, I used to look at every one who passed me, and wonder with a mad 55 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   curiosity what sort of lives they led. Some of them fascinated me. Others filled me with terror. There was an exquisite poison in the air. I had a passion for sensations. ‘One evening about seven o’clock I determined to go out in search of some adventure. I felt that this gray, monstrous London of ours, with its myriads of people, its splendid sinners, and its sordid sins, as you once said, must have something in store for me. I fancied a thousand things. ‘The mere danger gave me a sense of delight. I remembered what you had said to me on that wonderful night when we first dined together, about the search for beauty being the poisonous secret of life. I don’t know what I expected, but I went out, and wandered eastward, soon losing my way in a labyrinth of grimy streets and black, grassless squares. About half-past eight I passed by a little third- rate theatre, with great flaring gas-jets and gaudy play-bills. A hideous Jew, in the most amazing waistcoat I ever beheld in my life, was standing at the entrance, smoking a vile cigar. He had greasy ringlets, and an enormous diamond blazed in the centre of a soiled shirt. ‘’Ave a box, my lord?’ he said, when he saw me, and he took off his hat with an act of gorgeous servility. There was something about him, Harry, that amused me. He was 56 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   such a monster. You will laugh at me, I know, but I really went in and paid a whole guinea for the stage-box. To the present day I can’t make out why I did so; and yet if I hadn’t!—my dear Harry, if I hadn’t, I would have missed the greatest romance of my life. I see you are laughing. It is horrid of you!’ ‘I am not laughing, Dorian; at least I am not laughing at you. But you should not say the greatest romance of your life. You should say the first romance of your life. You will always be loved, and you will always be in love with love. There are exquisite things in store for you. This is merely the beginning.’ ‘Do you think my nature so shallow?’ cried Dorian Gray, angrily. ‘No; I think your nature so deep.’ ‘How do you mean?’ ‘My dear boy, people who only love once in their lives are really shallow people. What they call their loyalty, and their fidelity, I call either the lethargy of custom or the lack of imagination. Faithlessness is to the emotional life what consistency is to the intellectual life,—simply a confession of failure. But I don’t want to interrupt you. Go on with your story.’ 57 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Well, I found myself seated in a horrid little private box, with a vulgar drop-scene staring me in the face. I looked out behind the curtain, and surveyed the house. It was a tawdry affair, all Cupids and cornucopias, like a third-rate wedding-cake. The gallery and pit were fairly full, but the two rows of dingy stalls were quite empty, and there was hardly a person in what I suppose they called the dress-circle. Women went about with oranges and ginger-beer, and there was a terrible consumption of nuts going on.’ ‘It must have been just like the palmy days of the British Drama.’ ‘Just like, I should fancy, and very horrid. I began to wonder what on earth I should do, when I caught sight of the play-bill. What do you think the play was, Harry?’ ‘I should think ‘The Idiot Boy, or Dumb but Innocent.’ Our fathers used to like that sort of piece, I believe. The longer I live, Dorian, the more keenly I feel that whatever was good enough for our fathers is not good enough for us. In art, as in politics, les grand pères ont toujours tort.’ ‘This play was good enough for us, Harry. It was ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ I must admit I was rather annoyed at the idea of seeing Shakespeare done in such a wretched 58 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   hole of a place. Still, I felt interested, in a sort of way. At any rate, I determined to wait for the first act. There was a dreadful orchestra, presided over by a young Jew who sat at a cracked piano, that nearly drove me away, but at last the drop-scene was drawn up, and the play began. Romeo was a stout elderly gentleman, with corked eyebrows, a husky tragedy voice, and a figure like a beer-barrel. Mercutio was almost as bad. He was played by the low-comedian, who had introduced gags of his own and was on most familiar terms with the pit. They were as grotesque as the scenery, and that looked as if it had come out of a pantomime of fifty years ago. But Juliet! Harry, imagine a girl, hardly seventeen years of age, with a little flower-like face, a small Greek head with plaited coils of dark-brown hair, eyes that were violet wells of passion, lips that were like the petals of a rose. She was the loveliest thing I had ever seen in my life. You said to me once that pathos left you unmoved, but that beauty, mere beauty, could fill your eyes with tears. I tell you, Harry, I could hardly see this girl for the mist of tears that came across me. And her voice,I never heard such a voice. It was very low at first, with deep mellow notes, that seemed to fall singly upon one’s ear. Then it became a little louder, and sounded like a flute or a distant hautbois. In the garden-59 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   scene it had all the tremulous ecstasy that one hears just before dawn when nightingales are singing. There were moments, later on, when it had the wild passion of violins. You know how a voice can stir one. Your voice and the voice of Sibyl Vane are two things that I shall never forget. When I close my eyes, I hear them, and each of them says something different. I don’t know which to follow. Why should I not love her? Harry, I do love her. She is everything to me in life. Night after night I go to see her play. One evening she is Rosalind, and the next evening she is Imogen. I have seen her die in the gloom of an Italian tomb, sucking the poison from her lover’s lips. I have watched her wandering through the forest of Arden, disguised as a pretty boy in hose and doublet and dainty cap. She has been mad, and has come into the presence of a guilty king, and given him rue to wear, and bitter herbs to taste of. She has been innocent, and the black hands of jealousy have crushed her reed-like throat. I have seen her in every age and in every costume. Ordinary women never appeal to one’s imagination. They are limited to their century. No glamour ever transfigures them. One knows their minds as easily as one knows their bonnets. One can always find them. There is no mystery in one of them. They ride in the Park in the morning, and chatter at 60 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   tea-parties in the afternoon. They have their stereotyped smile, and their fashionable manner. They are quite obvious. But an actress! How different an actress is! Why didn’t you tell me that the only thing worth loving is an actress?’ ‘Because I have loved so many of them, Dorian.’ ‘Oh, yes, horrid people with dyed hair and painted faces.’ ‘Don’t run down dyed hair and painted faces. There is an extraordinary charm in them, sometimes.’ ‘I wish now I had not told you about Sibyl Vane.’ ‘You could not have helped telling me, Dorian. All through your life you will tell me everything you do.’ ‘Yes, Harry, I believe that is true. I cannot help telling you things. You have a curious influence over me. If I ever did a crime, I would come and confide it to you. You would understand me.’ ‘People like you—the wilful sunbeams of life—don’t commit crimes, Dorian. But I am much obliged for the compliment, all the same. And now tell me,—reach me the matches, like a good boy: thanks,—tell me, what are your relations with Sibyl Vane?’ Dorian Gray leaped to his feet, with flushed cheeks and burning eyes. ‘Harry, Sibyl Vane is sacred!’ 61 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘It is only the sacred things that are worth touching, Dorian,’ said Lord Henry, with a strange touch of pathos in his voice. ‘But why should you be annoyed? I suppose she will be yours some day. When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one’s self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls romance. You know her, at any rate, I suppose?’ ‘Of course I know her. On the first night I was at the theatre, the horrid old Jew came round to the box after the performance was over, and offered to bring me behind the scenes and introduce me to her. I was furious with him, and told him that Juliet had been dead for hundreds of years, and that her body was lying in a marble tomb in Verona. I think, from his blank look of amazement, that he thought I had taken too much champagne, or something.’ ‘I am not surprised.’ ‘I was not surprised either. Then he asked me if I wrote for any of the newspapers. I told him I never even read them. He seemed terribly disappointed at that, and confided to me that all the dramatic critics were in a conspiracy against him, and that they were all to be bought.’ 62 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘I believe he was quite right there. But, on the other hand, most of them are not at all expensive.’ ‘Well, he seemed to think they were beyond his means. By this time the lights were being put out in the theatre, and I had to go. He wanted me to try some cigars which he strongly recommended. I declined. The next night, of course, I arrived at the theatre again. When he saw me he made me a low bow, and assured me that I was a patron of art. He was a most offensive brute, though he had an extraordinary passion for Shakespeare. He told me once, with an air of pride, that his three bankruptcies were entirely due to the poet, whom he insisted on calling ‘The Bard.’ He seemed to think it a distinction.’ ‘It was a distinction, my dear Dorian,—a great distinction. But when did you first speak to Miss Sibyl Vane?’ ‘The third night. She had been playing Rosalind. I could not help going round. I had thrown her some flowers, and she had looked at me; at least I fancied that she had. The old Jew was persistent. He seemed determined to bring me behind, so I consented. It was curious my not wanting to know her, wasn’t it?’ ‘No; I don’t think so.’ ‘My dear Harry, why?’ 63 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘I will tell you some other time. Now I want to know about the girl.’ ‘Sibyl? Oh, she was so shy, and so gentle. There is something of a child about her. Her eyes opened wide in exquisite wonder when I told her what I thought of her performance, and she seemed quite unconscious of her power. I think we were both rather nervous. The old Jew stood grinning at the door-way of the dusty greenroom, making elaborate speeches about us both, while we stood looking at each other like children. He would insist on calling me ‘My Lord,’ so I had to assure Sibyl that I was not anything of the kind. She said quite simply to me, ‘You look more like a prince.’’ ‘Upon my word, Dorian, Miss Sibyl knows how to pay compliments.’ ‘You don’t understand her, Harry. She regarded me merely as a person in a play. She knows nothing of life. She lives with her mother, a faded tired woman who played Lady Capulet in a sort of magenta dressing-wrapper on the first night, and who looks as if she had seen better days.’ ‘I know that look. It always depresses me.’ ‘The Jew wanted to tell me her history, but I said it did not interest me.’ 64 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘You were quite right. There is always something infinitely mean about other people’s tragedies.’ ‘Sibyl is the only thing I care about. What is it to me where she came from? From her little head to her little feet, she is absolutely and entirely divine. I go to see her act every night of my life, and every night she is more marvellous.’ ‘That is the reason, I suppose, that you will never dine with me now. I thought you must have some curious romance on hand. You have; but it is not quite what I expected.’ ‘My dear Harry, we either lunch or sup together every day, and I have been to the Opera with you several times.’ ‘You always come dreadfully late.’ ‘Well, I can’t help going to see Sibyl play, even if it is only for an act. I get hungry for her presence; and when I think of the wonderful soul that is hidden away in that little ivory body, I am filled with awe.’ ‘You can dine with me to-night, Dorian, can’t you?’ He shook his head. ‘To night she is Imogen,’ he answered, ‘and tomorrow night she will be Juliet.’ ‘When is she Sibyl Vane?’ ‘Never.’ ‘I congratulate you.’ 65 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘How horrid you are! She is all the great heroines of the world in one. She is more than an individual. You laugh, but I tell you she has genius. I love her, and I must make her love me. You, who know all the secrets of life, tell me how to charm Sibyl Vane to love me! I want to make Romeo jealous. I want the dead lovers of the world to hear our laughter, and grow sad. I want a breath of our passion to stir their dust into consciousness, to wake their ashes into pain. My God, Harry, how I worship her!’ He was walking up and down the room as he spoke. Hectic spots of red burned on his cheeks. He was terribly excited. Lord Henry watched him with a subtle sense of pleasure. How different he was now from the shy, frightened boy he had met in Basil Hallward’s studio! His nature had developed like a flower, had borne blossoms of scarlet flame. Out of its secret hiding-place had crept his Soul, and Desire had come to meet it on the way. ‘And what do you propose to do?’ said Lord Henry, at last. ‘I want you and Basil to come with me some night and see her act. I have not the slightest fear of the result. You won’t be able to refuse to recognize her genius. Then we must get her out of the Jew’s hands. She is bound to him for three years—at least for two years and eight months— 66 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   from the present time. I will have to pay him something, of course. When all that is settled, I will take a West-End theatre and bring her out properly. She will make the world as mad as she has made me.’ ‘Impossible, my dear boy!’ ‘Yes, she will. She has not merely art, consummate art-instinct, in her, but she has personality also; and you have often told me that it is personalities, not principles, that move the age.’ ‘Well, what night shall we go?’ ‘Let me see. To-day is Tuesday. Let us fix to-morrow. She plays Juliet to-morrow.’ ‘All right. The Bristol at eight o’clock; and I will get Basil.’ ‘Not eight, Harry, please. Half-past six. We must be there before the curtain rises. You must see her in the first act, where she meets Romeo.’ ‘Half-past six! What an hour! It will be like having a meat-tea. However, just as you wish. Shall you see Basil between this and then? Or shall I write to him?’ ‘Dear Basil! I have not laid eyes on him for a week. It is rather horrid of me, as he has sent me my portrait in the most wonderful frame, designed by himself, and, though I am a little jealous of it for being a whole month younger 67 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   than I am, I must admit that I delight in it. Perhaps you had better write to him. I don’t want to see him alone. He says things that annoy me.’ Lord Henry smiled. ‘He gives you good advice, I suppose. People are very fond of giving away what they need most themselves.’ ‘You don’t mean to say that Basil has got any passion or any romance in him?’ ‘I don’t know whether he has any passion, but he certainly has romance,’ said Lord Henry, with an amused look in his eyes. ‘Has he never let you know that?’ ‘Never. I must ask him about it. I am rather surprised to hear it. He is the best of fellows, but he seems to me to be just a bit of a Philistine. Since I have known you, Harry, I have discovered that.’ ‘Basil, my dear boy, puts everything that is charming in him into his work. The consequence is that he has nothing left for life but his prejudices, his principles, and his common sense. The only artists I have ever known who are personally delightful are bad artists. Good artists give everything to their art, and consequently are perfectly uninteresting in themselves. A great poet, a really great poet, is the most unpoetical of all creatures. But inferior poets are absolutely fascinating. The worse their rhymes 68 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   are, the more picturesque they look. The mere fact of having published a book of second-rate sonnets makes a man quite irresistible. He lives the poetry that he cannot write. The others write the poetry that they dare not realize.’ ‘I wonder is that really so, Harry?’ said Dorian Gray, putting some perfume on his handkerchief out of a large gold-topped bottle that stood on the table. ‘It must be, if you say so. And now I must be off. Imogen is waiting for me. Don’t forget about to-morrow. Good- by.’ As he left the room, Lord Henry’s heavy eyelids drooped, and he began to think. Certainly few people had ever interested him so much as Dorian Gray, and yet the lad’s mad adoration of some one else caused him not the slightest pang of annoyance or jealousy. He was pleased by it. It made him a more interesting study. He had been always enthralled by the methods of science, but the ordinary subject-matter of science had seemed to him trivial and of no import. And so he had begun by vivisecting himself, as he had ended by vivisecting others. Human life,—that appeared to him the one thing worth investigating. There was nothing else of any value, compared to it. It was true that as one watched life in its curious crucible of pain and pleasure, one could not wear 69 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   over one’s face a mask of glass, or keep the sulphurous fumes from troubling the brain and making the imagination turbid with monstrous fancies and misshapen dreams. There were poisons so subtle that to know their properties one had to sicken of them. There were maladies so strange that one had to pass through them if one sought to understand their nature. And, yet, what a great reward one received! How wonderful the whole world became to one! To note the curious hard logic of passion, and the emotional colored life of the intellect,—to observe where they met, and where they separated, at what point they became one, and at what point they were at discord,— there was a delight in that! What matter what the cost was? One could never pay too high a price for any sensation. He was conscious—and the thought brought a gleam of pleasure into his brown agate eyes—that it was through certain words of his, musical words said with musical utterance, that Dorian Gray’s soul had turned to this white girl and bowed in worship before her. To a large extent, the lad was his own creation. He had made him premature. That was something. Ordinary people waited till life disclosed to them its secrets, but to the few, to the elect, the mysteries of life were revealed before the veil 70 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   was drawn away. Sometimes this was the effect of art, and chiefly of the art of literature, which dealt immediately with the passions and the intellect. But now and then a complex personality took the place and assumed the office of art, was indeed, in its way, a real work of art, Life having its elaborate masterpieces, just as poetry has, or sculpture, or painting. Yes, the lad was premature. He was gathering his harvest while it was yet spring. The pulse and passion of youth were in him, but he was becoming self-conscious. It was delightful to watch him. With his beautiful face, and his beautiful soul, he was a thing to wonder at. It was no matter how it all ended, or was destined to end. He was like one of those gracious figures in a pageant or a play, whose joys seem to be remote from one, but whose sorrows stir one’s sense of beauty, and whose wounds are like red roses. Soul and body, body and soul—how mysterious they were! There was animalism in the soul, and the body had its moments of spirituality. The senses could refine, and the intellect could degrade. Who could say where the fleshly impulse ceased, or the psychical impulse began? How shallow were the arbitrary definitions of ordinary psychologists! And yet how difficult to decide between the 71 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   claims of the various schools! Was the soul a shadow seated in the house of sin? Or was the body really in the soul, as Giordano Bruno thought? The separation of spirit from matter was a mystery, and the union of spirit with matter was a mystery also. He began to wonder whether we should ever make psychology so absolute a science that each little spring of life would be revealed to us. As it was, we always misunderstood ourselves, and rarely understood others. Experience was of no ethical value. It was merely the name we gave to our mistakes. Men had, as a rule, regarded it as a mode of warning, had claimed for it a certain moral efficacy in the formation of character, had praised it as something that taught us what to follow and showed us what to avoid. But there was no motive power in experience. It was as little of an active cause as conscience itself. All that it really demonstrated was that our future would be the same as our past, and that the sin we had done once, and with loathing, we would do many times, and with joy. It was clear to him that the experimental method was the only method by which one could arrive at any scientific analysis of the passions; and certainly Dorian Gray was a subject made to his hand, and seemed to 72 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   promise rich and fruitful results. His sudden mad love for Sibyl Vane was a psychological phenomenon of no small interest. There was no doubt that curiosity had much to do with it, curiosity and the desire for new experiences; yet it was not a simple but rather a very complex passion. What there was in it of the purely sensuous instinct of boyhood had been transformed by the workings of the imagination, changed into something that seemed to the boy himself to be remote from sense, and was for that very reason all the more dangerous. It was the passions about whose origin we deceived ourselves that tyrannized most strongly over us. Our weakest motives were those of whose nature we were conscious. It often happened that when we thought we were experimenting on others we were really experimenting on ourselves. While Lord Henry sat dreaming on these things, a knock came to the door, and his valet entered, and reminded him it was time to dress for dinner. He got up and looked out into the street. The sunset had smitten into scarlet gold the upper windows of the houses opposite. The panes glowed like plates of heated metal. The sky above was like a faded rose. He thought of Dorian Gray’s young fiery-colored life, and wondered how it was all going to end. 73 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   When he arrived home, about half-past twelve o’clock, he saw a telegram lying on the hall-table. He opened it and found it was from Dorian. It was to tell him that he was engaged to be married to Sibyl Vane. 74 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   Chapter IV ‘I suppose you have heard the news, Basil?’ said Lord Henry on the following evening, as Hallward was shown into a little private room at the Bristol where dinner had been laid for three. ‘No, Harry,’ answered Hallward, giving his hat and coat to the bowing waiter. ‘What is it? Nothing about politics, I hope? They don’t interest me. There is hardly a single person in the House of Commons worth painting; though many of them would be the better for a little whitewashing.’ ‘Dorian Gray is engaged to be married,’ said Lord Henry, watching him as he spoke. Hallward turned perfectly pale, and a curious look flashed for a moment into his eyes, and then passed away, leaving them dull.’ Dorian engaged to be married!’ he cried. ‘Impossible!’ ‘It is perfectly true.’ ‘To whom?’ ‘To some little actress or other.’ ‘I can’t believe it. Dorian is far too sensible.’ 75 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Dorian is far too wise not to do foolish things now and then, my dear Basil.’ ‘Marriage is hardly a thing that one can do now and then, Harry,’ said Hallward, smiling. ‘Except in America. But I didn’t say he was married. I said he was engaged to be married. There is a great difference. I have a distinct remembrance of being married, but I have no recollection at all of being engaged. I am inclined to think that I never was engaged.’ ‘But think of Dorian’s birth, and position, and wealth. It would be absurd for him to marry so much beneath him.’ ‘If you want him to marry this girl, tell him that, Basil. He is sure to do it then. Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives.’ ‘I hope the girl is good, Harry. I don’t want to see Dorian tied to some vile creature, who might degrade his nature and ruin his intellect.’ ‘Oh, she is more than good—she is beautiful,’ murmured Lord Henry, sipping a glass of vermouth and orange-bitters. ‘Dorian says she is beautiful; and he is not often wrong about things of that kind. Your portrait of him has quickened his appreciation of the personal 76 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   appearance of other people. It has had that excellent effect, among others. We are to see her to-night, if that boy doesn’t forget his appointment.’ ‘But do you approve of it, Harry?’ asked Hallward, walking up and down the room, and biting his lip. ‘You can’t approve of it, really. It is some silly infatuation.’ ‘I never approve, or disapprove, of anything now. It is an absurd attitude to take towards life. We are not sent into the world to air our moral prejudices. I never take any notice of what common people say, and I never interfere with what charming people do. If a personality fascinates me, whatever the personality chooses to do is absolutely delightful to me. Dorian Gray falls in love with a beautiful girl who acts Shakespeare, and proposes to marry her. Why not? If he wedded Messalina he would be none the less interesting. You know I am not a champion of marriage. The real drawback to marriage is that it makes one unselfish. And unselfish people are colorless. They lack individuality. Still, there are certain temperaments that marriage makes more complex. They retain their egotism, and add to it many other egos. They are forced to have more than one life. They become more highly organized. Besides, every experience is of value, and, whatever one may say against marriage, it is certainly an experience. I 77 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   hope that Dorian Gray will make this girl his wife, passionately adore her for six months, and then suddenly become fascinated by some one else. He would be a wonderful study.’ ‘You don’t mean all that, Harry; you know you don’t. If Dorian Gray’s life were spoiled, no one would be sorrier than yourself. You are much better than you pretend to be.’ Lord Henry laughed. ‘The reason we all like to think so well of others is that we are all afraid for ourselves. The basis of optimism is sheer terror. We think that we are generous because we credit our neighbor with those virtues that are likely to benefit ourselves. We praise the banker that we may overdraw our account, and find good qualities in the highwayman in the hope that he may spare our pockets. I mean everything that I have said. I have the greatest contempt for optimism. And as for a spoiled life, no life is spoiled but one whose growth is arrested. If you want to mar a nature, you have merely to reform it. But here is Dorian himself. He will tell you more than I can.’ ‘My dear Harry, my dear Basil, you must both congratulate me!’ said the boy, throwing off his evening cape with its satin-lined wings, and shaking each of his friends by the hand in turn. ‘I have never been so happy. 78 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Of course it is sudden: all really delightful things are. And yet it seems to me to be the one thing I have been looking for all my life.’ He was flushed with excitement and pleasure, and looked extraordinarily handsome. ‘I hope you will always be very happy, Dorian,’ said Hallward, ‘but I don’t quite forgive you for not having let me know of your engagement. You let Harry know.’ ‘And I don’t forgive you for being late for dinner,’ broke in Lord Henry, putting his hand on the lad’s shoulder, and smiling as he spoke. ‘Come, let us sit down and try what the new chef here is like, and then you will tell us how it all came about.’ ‘There is really not much to tell,’ cried Dorian, as they took their seats at the small round table. ‘What happened was simply this. After I left you yesterday evening, Harry, I had some dinner at that curious little Italian restaurant in Rupert Street, you introduced me to, and went down afterwards to the theatre. Sibyl was playing Rosalind. Of course the scenery was dreadful, and the Orlando absurd. But Sibyl! You should have seen her! When she came on in her boy’s dress she was perfectly wonderful. She wore a moss-colored velvet jerkin with cinnamon sleeves, slim brown cross-gartered hose, a dainty little green cap with a hawk’s feather caught in a jewel, and a hooded cloak lined 79 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   with dull red. She had never seemed to me more exquisite. She had all the delicate grace of that Tanagra figurine that you have in your studio, Basil. Her hair clustered round her face like dark leaves round a pale rose. As for her acting—well, you will see her to-night. She is simply a born artist. I sat in the dingy box absolutely enthralled. I forgot that I was in London and in the nineteenth century. I was away with my love in a forest that no man had ever seen. After the performance was over I went behind, and spoke to her. As we were sitting together, suddenly there came a look into her eyes that I had never seen there before. My lips moved towards hers. We kissed each other. I can’t describe to you what I felt at that moment. It seemed to me that all my life had been narrowed to one perfect point of rose-colored joy. She trembled all over, and shook like a white narcissus. Then she flung herself on her knees and kissed my hands. I feel that I should not tell you all this, but I can’t help it. Of course our engagement is a dead secret. She has not even told her own mother. I don’t know what my guardians will say. Lord Radley is sure to be furious. I don’t care. I shall be of age in less than a year, and then I can do what I like. I have been right, Basil, haven’t I, to take my love out of poetry, and to find my wife in Shakespeare’s plays? 80 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Lips that Shakespeare taught to speak have whispered their secret in my ear. I have had the arms of Rosalind around me, and kissed Juliet on the mouth.’ ‘Yes, Dorian, I suppose you were right,’ said Hallward, slowly. ‘Have you seen her to-day?’ asked Lord Henry. Dorian Gray shook his head. ‘I left her in the forest of Arden, I shall find her in an orchard in Verona.’ Lord Henry sipped his champagne in a meditative manner. ‘At what particular point did you mention the word marriage, Dorian? and what did she say in answer? Perhaps you forgot all about it.’ ‘My dear Harry, I did not treat it as a business transaction, and I did not make any formal proposal. I told her that I loved her, and she said she was not worthy to be my wife. Not worthy! Why, the whole world is nothing to me compared to her.’ ‘Women are wonderfully practical,’ murmured Lord Henry,—‘much more practical than we are. In situations of that kind we often forget to say anything about marriage, and they always remind us.’ Hallward laid his hand upon his arm. ‘Don’t, Harry. You have annoyed Dorian. He is not like other men. He 81 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   would never bring misery upon any one. His nature is too fine for that.’ Lord Henry looked across the table. ‘Dorian is never annoyed with me,’ he answered. ‘I asked the question for the best reason possible, for the only reason, indeed, that excuses one for asking any question,—simple curiosity. I have a theory that it is always the women who propose to us, and not we who propose to the women, except, of course, in middle-class life. But then the middle classes are not modern.’ Dorian Gray laughed, and tossed his head. ‘You are quite incorrigible, Harry; but I don’t mind. It is impossible to be angry with you. When you see Sibyl Vane you will feel that the man who could wrong her would be a beast without a heart. I cannot understand how any one can wish to shame what he loves. I love Sibyl Vane. I wish to place her on a pedestal of gold, and to see the world worship the woman who is mine. What is marriage? An irrevocable vow. And it is an irrevocable vow that I want to take. Her trust makes me faithful, her belief makes me good. When I am with her, I regret all that you have taught me. I become different from what you have known me to be. I am changed, and the mere touch of Sibyl 82 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Vane’s hand makes me forget you and all your wrong, fascinating, poisonous, delightful theories.’ ‘You will always like me, Dorian,’ said Lord Henry. ‘Will you have some coffee, you fellows?—Waiter, bring coffee, and fine-champagne, and some cigarettes. No: don’t mind the cigarettes; I have some.— Basil, I can’t allow you to smoke cigars. You must have a cigarette. A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure. It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied. What more can you want?— Yes, Dorian, you will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you have never had the courage to commit.’ ‘What nonsense you talk, Harry!’ cried Dorian Gray, lighting his cigarette from a fire-breathing silver dragon that the waiter had placed on the table. ‘Let us go down to the theatre. When you see Sibyl you will have a new ideal of life. She will represent something to you that you have never known.’ ‘I have known everything,’ said Lord Henry, with a sad look in his eyes, ‘but I am always ready for a new emotion. I am afraid that there is no such thing, for me at any rate. Still, your wonderful girl may thrill me. I love acting. It is so much more real than life. Let us go. Dorian, you will come with me.—I am so sorry, Basil, but there is 83 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   only room for two in the brougham. You must follow us in a hansom.’ They got up and put on their coats, sipping their coffee standing. Hallward was silent and preoccupied. There was a gloom over him. He could not bear this marriage, and yet it seemed to him to be better than many other things that might have happened. After a few moments, they all passed down-stairs. He drove off by himself, as had been arranged, and watched the flashing lights of the little brougham in front of him. A strange sense of loss came over him. He felt that Dorian Gray would never again be to him all that he had been in the past. His eyes darkened, and the crowded flaring streets became blurred to him. When the cab drew up at the doors of the theatre, it seemed to him that he had grown years older. 84 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Chapter V For some reason or other, the house was crowded that night, and the fat Jew manager who met them at the door was beaming from ear to ear with an oily, tremulous smile. He escorted them to their box with a sort of pompous humility, waving his fat jewelled hands, and talking at the top of his voice. Dorian Gray loathed him more than ever. He felt as if he had come to look for Miranda and had been met by Caliban. Lord Henry, upon the other hand, rather liked him. At least he declared he did, and insisted on shaking him by the hand, and assured him that he was proud to meet a man who had discovered a real genius and gone bankrupt over Shakespeare. Hallward amused himself with watching the faces in the pit. The heat was terribly oppressive, and the huge sunlight flamed like a monstrous dahlia with petals of fire. The youths in the gallery had taken off their coats and waistcoats and hung them over the side. They talked to each other across the theatre, and shared their oranges with the tawdry painted girls who sat by them. Some women were laughing in the pit; their voices were horribly shrill and discordant. The sound of the popping of corks came from the bar. 85 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘What a place to find one’s divinity in!’ said Lord Henry. ‘Yes!’ answered Dorian Gray. ‘It was here I found her, and she is divine beyond all living things. When she acts you will forget everything. These common people here, with their coarse faces and brutal gestures, become quite different when she is on the stage. They sit silently and watch her. They weep and laugh as she wills them to do. She makes them as responsive as a violin. She spiritualizes them, and one feels that they are of the same flesh and blood as one’s self.’ ‘Oh, I hope not!’ murmured Lord Henry, who was scanning the occupants of the gallery through his opera-glass. ‘Don’t pay any attention to him, Dorian,’ said Hallward. ‘I understand what you mean, and I believe in this girl. Any one you love must be marvellous, and any girl that has the effect you describe must be fine and noble. To spiritualize one’s age,—that is something worth doing. If this girl can give a soul to those who have lived without one, if she can create the sense of beauty in people whose lives have been sordid and ugly, if she can strip them of their selfishness and lend them tears for sorrows that are not their own, she is worthy of all your 86 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   adoration, worthy of the adoration of the world. This marriage is quite right. I did not think so at first, but I admit it now. God made Sibyl Vane for you. Without her you would have been incomplete.’ ‘Thanks, Basil,’ answered Dorian Gray, pressing his hand. ‘I knew that you would understand me. Harry is so cynical, he terrifies me. But here is the orchestra. It is quite dreadful, but it only lasts for about five minutes. Then the curtain rises, and you will see the girl to whom I am going to give all my life, to whom I have given everything that is good in me.’ A quarter of an hour afterwards, amidst an extraordinary turmoil of applause, Sibyl Vane stepped on to the stage. Yes, she was certainly lovely to look at,—one of the loveliest creatures, Lord Henry thought, that he had ever seen. There was something of the fawn in her shy grace and startled eyes. A faint blush, like the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, came to her cheeks as she glanced at the crowded, enthusiastic house. She stepped back a few paces, and her lips seemed to tremble. Basil Hallward leaped to his feet and began to applaud. Dorian Gray sat motionless, gazing on her, like a man in a dream. Lord Henry peered through his opera-glass, murmuring, ‘Charming! charming!’ 87 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   The scene was the hall of Capulet’s house, and Romeo in his pilgrim’s dress had entered with Mercutio and his friends. The band, such as it was, struck up a few bars of music, and the dance began. Through the crowd of ungainly, shabbily-dressed actors, Sibyl Vane moved like a creature from a finer world. Her body swayed, as she danced, as a plant sways in the water. The curves of her throat were like the curves of a white lily. Her hands seemed to be made of cool ivory. Yet she was curiously listless. She showed no sign of joy when her eyes rested on Romeo. The few lines she had to speak,— Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss,— with the brief dialogue that follows, were spoken in a thoroughly artificial manner. The voice was exquisite, but from the point of view of tone it was absolutely false. It was wrong in color. It took away all the life from the verse. It made the passion unreal. Dorian Gray grew pale as he watched her. Neither of his friends dared to say anything to him. She seemed to 88 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   them to be absolutely incompetent. They were horribly disappointed. Yet they felt that the true test of any Juliet is the balcony scene of the second act. They waited for that. If she failed there, there was nothing in her. She looked charming as she came out in the moonlight. That could not be denied. But the staginess of her acting was unbearable, and grew worse as she went on. Her gestures became absurdly artificial. She over-emphasized everything that she had to say. The beautiful passage,— Thou knowest the mask of night is on my face, Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night,— was declaimed with the painful precision of a school-girl who has been taught to recite by some second-rate professor of elocution. When she leaned over the balcony and came to those wonderful lines,— Although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night: It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be Ere one can say, ‘It lightens.’ Sweet, good-night! This bud of love by summer’s ripening breath May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet,— 89 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   she spoke the words as if they conveyed no meaning to her. It was not nervousness. Indeed, so far from being nervous, she seemed absolutely self-contained. It was simply bad art. She was a complete failure. Even the common uneducated audience of the pit and gallery lost their interest in the play. They got restless, and began to talk loudly and to whistle. The Jew manager, who was standing at the back of the dress-circle, stamped and swore with rage. The only person unmoved was the girl herself. When the second act was over there came a storm of hisses, and Lord Henry got up from his chair and put on his coat. ‘She is quite beautiful, Dorian,’ he said, ‘but she can’t act. Let us go.’ ‘I am going to see the play through,’ answered the lad, in a hard, bitter voice. ‘I am awfully sorry that I have made you waste an evening, Harry. I apologize to both of you.’ ‘My dear Dorian, I should think Miss Vane was ill,’ interrupted Hallward. ‘We will come some other night.’ ‘I wish she was ill,’ he rejoined. ‘But she seems to me to be simply callous and cold. She has entirely altered. Last night she was a great artist. To-night she is merely a commonplace, mediocre actress.’ 90 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Don’t talk like that about any one you love, Dorian. Love is a more wonderful thing than art.’ ‘They are both simply forms of imitation,’ murmured Lord Henry. ‘But do let us go. Dorian, you must not stay here any longer. It is not good for one’s morals to see bad acting. Besides, I don’t suppose you will want your wife to act. So what does it matter if she plays Juliet like a wooden doll? She is very lovely, and if she knows as little about life as she does about acting, she will be a delightful experience. There are only two kinds of people who are really fascinating,—people who know absolutely everything, and people who know absolutely nothing. Good heavens, my dear boy, don’t look so tragic! The secret of remaining young is never to have an emotion that is unbecoming. Come to the club with Basil and myself. We will smoke cigarettes and drink to the beauty of Sibyl Vane. She is beautiful. What more can you want?’ ‘Please go away, Harry,’ cried the lad. ‘I really want to be alone.Basil, you don’t mind my asking you to go? Ah! can’t you see that my heart is breaking?’ The hot tears came to his eyes. His lips trembled, and, rushing to the back of the box, he leaned up against the wall, hiding his face in his hands. 91 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Let us go, Basil,’ said Lord Henry, with a strange tenderness in his voice; and the two young men passed out together. A few moments afterwards the footlights flared up, and the curtain rose on the third act. Dorian Gray went back to his seat. He looked pale, and proud, and indifferent. The play dragged on, and seemed interminable. Half of the audience went out, tramping in heavy boots, and laughing. The whole thing was a fiasco. The last act was played to almost empty benches. As soon as it was over, Dorian Gray rushed behind the scenes into the greenroom. The girl was standing alone there, with a look of triumph on her face. Her eyes were lit with an exquisite fire. There was a radiance about her. Her parted lips were smiling over some secret of their own. When he entered, she looked at him, and an expression of infinite joy came over her. ‘How badly I acted to-night, Dorian!’ she cried. ‘Horribly!’ he answered, gazing at her in amazement,— ‘horribly! It was dreadful. Are you ill? You have no idea what it was. You have no idea what I suffered.’ The girl smiled. ‘Dorian,’ she answered, lingering over his name with long-drawn music in her voice, as though it 92 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   were sweeter than honey to the red petals of her lips,— ‘Dorian, you should have understood. But you understand now, don’t you?’ ‘Understand what?’ he asked, angrily. ‘Why I was so bad to-night. Why I shall always be bad. Why I shall never act well again.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘You are ill, I suppose. When you are ill you shouldn’t act. You make yourself ridiculous. My friends were bored. I was bored.’ She seemed not to listen to him. She was transfigured with joy. An ecstasy of happiness dominated her. ‘Dorian, Dorian,’ she cried, ‘before I knew you, acting was the one reality of my life. It was only in the theatre that I lived. I thought that it was all true. I was Rosalind one night, and Portia the other. The joy of Beatrice was my joy, and the sorrows of Cordelia were mine also. I believed in everything. The common people who acted with me seemed to me to be godlike. The painted scenes were my world. I knew nothing but shadows, and I thought them real. You came,—oh, my beautiful love!— and you freed my soul from prison. You taught me what reality really is. To-night, for the first time in my life, I saw through the hollowness, the sham, the silliness, of the empty pageant in which I had always played. To- night, 93 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   for the first time, I became conscious that the Romeo was hideous, and old, and painted, that the moonlight in the orchard was false, that the scenery was vulgar, and that the words I had to speak were unreal, were not my words, not what I wanted to say. You had brought me something higher, something of which all art is but a reflection. You have made me understand what love really is. My love! my love! I am sick of shadows. You are more to me than all art can ever be. What have I to do with the puppets of a play? When I came on to-night, I could not understand how it was that everything had gone from me. Suddenly it dawned on my soul what it all meant. The knowledge was exquisite to me. I heard them hissing, and I smiled. What should they know of love? Take me away, Dorian— take me away with you, where we can be quite alone. I hate the stage. I might mimic a passion that I do not feel, but I cannot mimic one that burns me like fire. Oh, Dorian, Dorian, you understand now what it all means? Even if I could do it, it would be profanation for me to play at being in love. You have made me see that.’ He flung himself down on the sofa, and turned away his face. ‘You have killed my love,’ he muttered. She looked at him in wonder, and laughed. He made no answer. She came across to him, and stroked his hair 94 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   with her little fingers. She knelt down and pressed his hands to her lips. He drew them away, and a shudder ran through him. Then he leaped up, and went to the door. ‘Yes,’ he cried, ‘you have killed my love. You used to stir my imagination. Now you don’t even stir my curiosity. You simply produce no effect. I loved you because you were wonderful, because you had genius and intellect, because you realized the dreams of great poets and gave shape and substance to the shadows of art. You have thrown it all away. You are shallow and stupid. My God! how mad I was to love you! What a fool I have been! You are nothing to me now. I will never see you again. I will never think of you. I will never mention your name. You don’t know what you were to me, once. Why, once …. Oh, I can’t bear to think of it! I wish I had never laid eyes upon you! You have spoiled the romance of my life. How little you can know of love, if you say it mars your art! What are you without your art? Nothing. I would have made you famous, splendid, magnificent. The world would have worshipped you, and you would have belonged to me. What are you now? A third-rate actress with a pretty face.’ 95 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   The girl grew white, and trembled. She clinched her hands together, and her voice seemed to catch in her throat. ‘You are not serious, Dorian?’ she murmured. ‘You are acting.’ ‘Acting! I leave that to you. You do it so well,’ he answered, bitterly. She rose from her knees, and, with a piteous expression of pain in her face, came across the room to him. She put her hand upon his arm, and looked into his eyes. He thrust her back. ‘Don’t touch me!’ he cried. A low moan broke from her, and she flung herself at his feet, and lay there like a trampled flower. ‘Dorian, Dorian, don’t leave me!’ she whispered. ‘I am so sorry I didn’t act well. I was thinking of you all the time. But I will try,—indeed, I will try. It came so suddenly across me, my love for you. I think I should never have known it if you had not kissed me,—if we had not kissed each other. Kiss me again, my love. Don’t go away from me. I couldn’t bear it. Can’t you forgive me for to-night? I will work so hard, and try to improve. Don’t be cruel to me because I love you better than anything in the world. After all, it is only once that I have not pleased you. But you are quite right, Dorian. I should have shown myself more of an artist. It was foolish of me; and yet I couldn’t 96 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   help it. Oh, don’t leave me, don’t leave me.’ A fit of passionate sobbing choked her. She crouched on the floor like a wounded thing, and Dorian Gray, with his beautiful eyes, looked down at her, and his chiselled lips curled in exquisite disdain. There is always something ridiculous about the passions of people whom one has ceased to love. Sibyl Vane seemed to him to be absurdly melodramatic. Her tears and sobs annoyed him. ‘I am going,’ he said at last, in his calm, clear voice. ‘I don’t wish to be unkind, but I can’t see you again. You have disappointed me.’ She wept silently, and made no answer, but crept nearer to him. Her little hands stretched blindly out, and appeared to be seeking for him. He turned on his heel, and left the room. In a few moments he was out of the theatre. Where he went to, he hardly knew. He remembered wandering through dimly-lit streets with gaunt black-shadowed archways and evil-looking houses. Women with hoarse voices and harsh laughter had called after him. Drunkards had reeled by cursing, and chattering to themselves like monstrous apes. He had seen grotesque children huddled upon door-steps, and had heard shrieks and oaths from gloomy courts. 97 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   When the dawn was just breaking he found himself at Covent Garden. Huge carts filled with nodding lilies rumbled slowly down the polished empty street. The air was heavy with the perfume of the flowers, and their beauty seemed to bring him an anodyne for his pain. He followed into the market, and watched the men unloading their wagons. A white-smocked carter offered him some cherries. He thanked him, wondered why he refused to accept any money for them, and began to eat them listlessly. They had been plucked at midnight, and the coldness of the moon had entered into them. A long line of boys carrying crates of striped tulips, and of yellow and red roses, defiled in front of him, threading their way through the huge jade- green piles of vegetables. Under the portico, with its gray sun- bleached pillars, loitered a troop of draggled bareheaded girls, waiting for the auction to be over. After some time he hailed a hansom and drove home. The sky was pure opal now, and the roofs of the houses glistened like silver against it. As he was passing through the library towards the door of his bedroom, his eye fell upon the portrait Basil Hallward had painted of him. He started back in surprise, and then went over to it and examined it. In the dim arrested light that struggled through the cream-colored silk blinds, the face seemed to 98 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   him to be a little changed. The expression looked different. One would have said that there was a touch of cruelty in the mouth. It was certainly curious. He turned round, and, walking to the window, drew the blinds up. The bright dawn flooded the room, and swept the fantastic shadows into dusky corners, where they lay shuddering. But the strange expression that he had noticed in the face of the portrait seemed to linger there, to be more intensified even. The quivering, ardent sunlight showed him the lines of cruelty round the mouth as clearly as if he had been looking into a mirror after he had done some dreadful thing. He winced, and, taking up from the table an oval glass framed in ivory Cupids, that Lord Henry had given him, he glanced hurriedly into it. No line like that warped his red lips. What did it mean? He rubbed his eyes, and came close to the picture, and examined it again. There were no signs of any change when he looked into the actual painting, and yet there was no doubt that the whole expression had altered. It was not a mere fancy of his own. The thing was horribly apparent. He threw himself into a chair, and began to think. Suddenly there flashed across his mind what he had said in Basil Hallward’s studio the day the picture had been 99 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   finished. Yes, he remembered it perfectly. He had uttered a mad wish that he himself might remain young, and the portrait grow old; that his own beauty might be untarnished, and the face on the canvas bear the burden of his passions and his sins; that the painted image might be seared with the lines of suffering and thought, and that he might keep all the delicate bloom and loveliness of his then just conscious boyhood. Surely his prayer had not been answered? Such things were impossible. It seemed monstrous even to think of them. And, yet, there was the picture before him, with the touch of cruelty in the mouth. Cruelty! Had he been cruel? It was the girl’s fault, not his. He had dreamed of her as a great artist, had given his love to her because he had thought her great. Then she had disappointed him. She had been shallow and unworthy. And, yet, a feeling of infinite regret came over him, as he thought of her lying at his feet sobbing like a little child. He remembered with what callousness he had watched her. Why had he been made like that? Why had such a soul been given to him? But he had suffered also. During the three terrible hours that the play had lasted, he had lived centuries of pain, aeon upon aeon of torture. His life was well worth hers. She had marred him for a 100 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   moment, if he had wounded her for an age. Besides, women were better suited to bear sorrow than men. They lived on their emotions. They only thought of their emotions. When they took lovers, it was merely to have some one with whom they could have scenes. Lord Henry had told him that, and Lord Henry knew what women were. Why should he trouble about Sibyl Vane? She was nothing to him now. But the picture? What was he to say of that? It held the secret of his life, and told his story. It had taught him to love his own beauty. Would it teach him to loathe his own soul? Would he ever look at it again? No; it was merely an illusion wrought on the troubled senses. The horrible night that he had passed had left phantoms behind it. Suddenly there had fallen upon his brain that tiny scarlet speck that makes men mad. The picture had not changed. It was folly to think so. Yet it was watching him, with its beautiful marred face and its cruel smile. Its bright hair gleamed in the early sunlight. Its blue eyes met his own. A sense of infinite pity, not for himself, but for the painted image of himself, came over him. It had altered already, and would alter more. Its gold would wither into gray. Its red and white roses would die. For every sin that he committed, a stain 101 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   would fleck and wreck its fairness. But he would not sin. The picture, changed or unchanged, would be to him the visible emblem of conscience. He would resist temptation. He would not see Lord Henry any more,—would not, at any rate, listen to those subtle poisonous theories that in Basil Hallward’s garden had first stirred within him the passion for impossible things. He would go back to Sibyl Vane, make her amends, marry her, try to love her again. Yes, it was his duty to do so. She must have suffered more than he had. Poor child! He had been selfish and cruel to her. The fascination that she had exercised over him would return. They would be happy together. His life with her would be beautiful and pure. He got up from his chair, and drew a large screen right in front of the portrait, shuddering as he glanced at it. ‘How horrible!’ he murmured to himself, and he walked across to the window and opened it. When he stepped out on the grass, he drew a deep breath. The fresh morning air seemed to drive away all his sombre passions. He thought only of Sibyl Vane. A faint echo of his love came back to him. He repeated her name over and over again. The birds that were singing in the dew-drenched garden seemed to be telling the flowers about her. 102 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Chapter VI It was long past noon when he awoke. His valet had crept several times into the room on tiptoe to see if he was stirring, and had wondered what made his young master sleep so late. Finally his bell sounded, and Victor came in softly with a cup of tea, and a pile of letters, on a small tray of old Sèvres china, and drew back the olive-satin curtains, with their shimmering blue lining, that hung in front of the three tall windows. ‘Monsieur has well slept this morning,’ he said, smiling. ‘What o’clock is it, Victor?’ asked Dorian Gray, sleepily. ‘One hour and a quarter, monsieur.’ How late it was! He sat up, and, having sipped some tea, turned over his letters. One of them was from Lord Henry, and had been brought by hand that morning. He hesitated for a moment, and then put it aside. The others he opened listlessly. They contained the usual collection of cards, invitations to dinner, tickets for private views, programmes of charity concerts, and the like, that are showered on fashionable young men every morning during the season. There was a rather heavy bill, for a 103 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   chased silver Louis-Quinze toilet-set, that he had not yet had the courage to send on to his guardians, who were extremely old-fashioned people and did not realize that we live in an age when only unnecessary things are absolutely necessary to us; and there were several very courteously worded communications from Jermyn Street money-lenders offering to advance any sum of money at a moment’s notice and at the most reasonable rates of interest. After about ten minutes he got up, and, throwing on an elaborate dressing-gown, passed into the onyx-paved bath-room. The cool water refreshed him after his long sleep. He seemed to have forgotten all that he had gone through. A dim sense of having taken part in some strange tragedy came to him once or twice, but there was the unreality of a dream about it. As soon as he was dressed, he went into the library and sat down to a light French breakfast, that had been laid out for him on a small round table close to an open window. It was an exquisite day. The warm air seemed laden with spices. A bee flew in, and buzzed round the blue-dragon bowl, filled with sulphur-yellow roses, that stood in front of him. He felt perfectly happy. 104 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Suddenly his eye fell on the screen that he had placed in front of the portrait, and he started. ‘Too cold for Monsieur?’ asked his valet, putting an omelette on the table. ‘I shut the window?’ Dorian shook his head. ‘I am not cold,’ he murmured. Was it all true? Had the portrait really changed? Or had it been simply his own imagination that had made him see a look of evil where there had been a look of joy? Surely a painted canvas could not alter? The thing was absurd. It would serve as a tale to tell Basil some day. It would make him smile. And, yet, how vivid was his recollection of the whole thing! First in the dim twilight, and then in the bright dawn, he had seen the touch of cruelty in the warped lips. He almost dreaded his valet leaving the room. He knew that when he was alone he would have to examine the portrait. He was afraid of certainty. When the coffee and cigarettes had been brought and the man turned to go, he felt a mad desire to tell him to remain. As the door closed behind him he called him back. The man stood waiting for his orders. Dorian looked at him for a moment. ‘I am not at home to any one, Victor,’ he said, with a sigh. The man bowed and retired. 105 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   He rose from the table, lit a cigarette, and flung himself down on a luxuriously-cushioned couch that stood facing the screen. The screen was an old one of gilt Spanish leather, stamped and wrought with a rather florid Louis-Quatorze pattern. He scanned it curiously, wondering if it had ever before concealed the secret of a man’s life. Should he move it aside, after all? Why not let it stay there? What was the use of knowing? If the thing was true, it was terrible. If it was not true, why trouble about it? But what if, by some fate or deadlier chance, other eyes than his spied behind, and saw the horrible change? What should he do if Basil Hallward came and asked to look at his own picture? He would be sure to do that. No; the thing had to be examined, and at once. Anything would be better than this dreadful state of doubt. He got up, and locked both doors. At least he would be alone when he looked upon the mask of his shame. Then he drew the screen aside, and saw himself face to face. It was perfectly true. The portrait had altered. As he often remembered afterwards, and always with no small wonder, he found himself at first gazing at the portrait with a feeling of almost scientific interest. That such a change should have taken place was incredible to him. And yet it was a fact. Was there some subtle affinity 106 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   between the chemical atoms, that shaped themselves into form and color on the canvas, and the soul that was within him? Could it be that what that soul thought, they realized?—that what it dreamed, they made true? Or was there some other, more terrible reason? He shuddered, and felt afraid, and, going back to the couch, lay there, gazing at the picture in sickened horror. One thing, however, he felt that it had done for him. It had made him conscious how unjust, how cruel, he had been to Sibyl Vane. It was not too late to make reparation for that. She could still be his wife. His unreal and selfish love would yield to some higher influence, would be transformed into some nobler passion, and the portrait that Basil Hallward had painted of him would be a guide to him through life, would be to him what holiness was to some, and conscience to others, and the fear of God to us all. There were opiates for remorse, drugs that could lull the moral sense to sleep. But here was a visible symbol of the degradation of sin. Here was an ever-present sign of the ruin men brought upon their souls. Three o’clock struck, and four, and half-past four, but he did not stir. He was trying to gather up the scarlet threads of life, and to weave them into a pattern; to find his way through the sanguine labyrinth of passion through 107 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   which he was wandering. He did not know what to do, or what to think. Finally, he went over to the table and wrote a passionate letter to the girl he had loved, imploring her forgiveness, and accusing himself of madness. He covered page after page with wild words of sorrow, and wilder words of pain. There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves we feel that no one else has a right to blame us. It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution. When Dorian Gray had finished the letter, he felt that he had been forgiven. Suddenly there came a knock to the door, and he heard Lord Henry’s voice outside. ‘My dear Dorian, I must see you. Let me in at once. I can’t bear your shutting yourself up like this.’ He made no answer at first, but remained quite still. The knocking still continued, and grew louder. Yes, it was better to let Lord Henry in, and to explain to him the new life he was going to lead, to quarrel with him if it became necessary to quarrel, to part if parting was inevitable. He jumped up, drew the screen hastily across the picture, and unlocked the door. ‘I am so sorry for it all, my dear boy,’ said Lord Henry, coming in. ‘But you must not think about it too much.’ ‘Do you mean about Sibyl Vane?’ asked Dorian. 108 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Yes, of course,’ answered Lord Henry, sinking into a chair, and slowly pulling his gloves off. ‘It is dreadful, from one point of view, but it was not your fault. Tell me, did you go behind and see her after the play was over?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I felt sure you had. Did you make a scene with her?’ ‘I was brutal, Harry,—perfectly brutal. But it is all right now. I am not sorry for anything that has happened. It has taught me to know myself better.’ ‘Ah, Dorian, I am so glad you take it in that way! I was afraid I would find you plunged in remorse, and tearing your nice hair.’ ‘I have got through all that,’ said Dorian, shaking his head, and smiling. ‘I am perfectly happy now. I know what conscience is, to begin with. It is not what you told me it was. It is the divinest thing in us. Don’t sneer at it, Harry, any more,—at least not before me. I want to be good. I can’t bear the idea of my soul being hideous.’ ‘A very charming artistic basis for ethics, Dorian! I congratulate you on it. But how are you going to begin?’ ‘By marrying Sibyl Vane.’ ‘Marrying Sibyl Vane!’ cried Lord Henry, standing up, and looking at him in perplexed amazement. ‘But, my dear Dorian—‘ 109 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Yes, Harry, I know what you are going to say. Something dreadful about marriage. Don’t say it. Don’t ever say things of that kind to me again. Two days ago I asked Sibyl to marry me. I am not going to break my word to her. She is to be my wife.’ ‘Your wife! Dorian! … Didn’t you get my letter? I wrote to you this morning, and sent the note down, by my own man.’ ‘Your letter? Oh, yes, I remember. I have not read it yet, Harry. I was afraid there might be something in it that I wouldn’t like.’ Lord Henry walked across the room, and, sitting down by Dorian Gray, took both his hands in his, and held them tightly. ‘Dorian,’ he said, ‘my letter—don’t be frightened—was to tell you that Sibyl Vane is dead.’ A cry of pain rose from the lad’s lips, and he leaped to his feet, tearing his hands away from Lord Henry’s grasp. ‘Dead! Sibyl dead! It is not true! It is a horrible lie!’ ‘It is quite true, Dorian,’ said Lord Henry, gravely. ‘It is in all the morning papers. I wrote down to you to ask you not to see any one till I came. There will have to be an inquest, of course, and you must not be mixed up in it. Things like that make a man fashionable in Paris. But in London people are so prejudiced. Here, one should never 110 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   make one’s début with a scandal. One should reserve that to give an interest to one’s old age. I don’t suppose they know your name at the theatre. If they don’t, it is all right. Did any one see you going round to her room? That is an important point.’ Dorian did not answer for a few moments. He was dazed with horror. Finally he murmured, in a stifled voice, ‘Harry, did you say an inquest? What did you mean by that? Did Sibyl—? Oh, Harry, I can’t bear it! But be quick. Tell me everything at once.’ ‘I have no doubt it was not an accident, Dorian, though it must be put in that way to the public. As she was leaving the theatre with her mother, about half-past twelve or so, she said she had forgotten something up-stairs. They waited some time for her, but she did not come down again. They ultimately found her lying dead on the floor of her dressing-room. She had swallowed something by mistake, some dreadful thing they use at theatres. I don’t know what it was, but it had either prussic acid or white lead in it. I should fancy it was prussic acid, as she seems to have died instantaneously. It is very tragic, of course, but you must not get yourself mixed up in it. I see by the Standard that she was seventeen. I should have thought she was almost younger than that. 111 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   She looked such a child, and seemed to know so little about acting. Dorian, you mustn’t let this thing get on your nerves. You must come and dine with me, and afterwards we will look in at the Opera. It is a Patti night, and everybody will be there. You can come to my sister’s box. She has got some smart women with her.’ ‘So I have murdered Sibyl Vane,’ said Dorian Gray, half to himself,— ‘murdered her as certainly as if I had cut her little throat with a knife. And the roses are not less lovely for all that. The birds sing just as happily in my garden. And to-night I am to dine with you, and then go on to the Opera, and sup somewhere, I suppose, afterwards. How extraordinarily dramatic life is! If I had read all this in a book, Harry, I think I would have wept over it. Somehow, now that it has happened actually, and to me, it seems far too wonderful for tears. Here is the first passionate love-letter I have ever written in my life. Strange, that my first passionate love- letter should have been addressed to a dead girl. Can they feel, I wonder, those white silent people we call the dead? Sibyl! Can she feel, or know, or listen? Oh, Harry, how I loved her once! It seems years ago to me now. She was everything to me. Then came that dreadful night—was it really only last night?—when she played so badly, and my heart almost 112 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   broke. She explained it all to me. It was terribly pathetic. But I was not moved a bit. I thought her shallow. Then something happened that made me afraid. I can’t tell you what it was, but it was awful. I said I would go back to her. I felt I had done wrong. And now she is dead. My God! my God! Harry, what shall I do? You don’t know the danger I am in, and there is nothing to keep me straight. She would have done that for me. She had no right to kill herself. It was selfish of her.’ ‘My dear Dorian, the only way a woman can ever reform a man is by boring him so completely that he loses all possible interest in life. If you had married this girl you would have been wretched. Of course you would have treated her kindly. One can always be kind to people about whom one cares nothing. But she would have soon found out that you were absolutely indifferent to her. And when a woman finds that out about her husband, she either becomes dreadfully dowdy, or wears very smart bonnets that some other woman’s husband has to pay for. I say nothing about the social mistake, but I assure you that in any case the whole thing would have been an absolute failure.’ ‘I suppose it would,’ muttered the lad, walking up and down the room, and looking horribly pale. ‘But I thought 113 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   it was my duty. It is not my fault that this terrible tragedy has prevented my doing what was right. I remember your saying once that there is a fatality about good resolutions,—that they are always made too late. Mine certainly were.’ ‘Good resolutions are simply a useless attempt to interfere with scientific laws. Their origin is pure vanity. Their result is absolutely nil. They give us, now and then, some of those luxurious sterile emotions that have a certain charm for us. That is all that can be said for them.’ ‘Harry,’ cried Dorian Gray, coming over and sitting down beside him, ‘why is it that I cannot feel this tragedy as much as I want to? I don’t think I am heartless. Do you?’ ‘You have done too many foolish things in your life to be entitled to give yourself that name, Dorian,’ answered Lord Henry, with his sweet, melancholy smile. The lad frowned. ‘I don’t like that explanation, Harry,’ he rejoined, ‘but I am glad you don’t think I am heartless. I am nothing of the kind. I know I am not. And yet I must admit that this thing that has happened does not affect me as it should. It seems to me to be simply like a wonderful ending to a wonderful play. It has all the 114 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   terrible beauty of a great tragedy, a tragedy in which I took part, but by which I have not been wounded.’ ‘It is an interesting question,’ said Lord Henry, who found an exquisite pleasure in playing on the lad’s unconscious egotism,—‘an extremely interesting question. I fancy that the explanation is this. It often happens that the real tragedies of life occur in such an inartistic manner that they hurt us by their crude violence, their absolute incoherence, their absurd want of meaning, their entire lack of style. They affect us just as vulgarity affects us. They give us an impression of sheer brute force, and we revolt against that. Sometimes, however, a tragedy that has artistic elements of beauty crosses our lives. If these elements of beauty are real, the whole thing simply appeals to our sense of dramatic effect. Suddenly we find that we are no longer the actors, but the spectators of the play. Or rather we are both. We watch ourselves, and the mere wonder of the spectacle enthralls us. In the present case, what is it that has really happened? Some one has killed herself for love of you. I wish I had ever had such an experience. It would have made me in love with love for the rest of my life. The people who have adored me— there have not been very many, but there have been some— have always insisted on living on, long after I had 115 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ceased to care for them, or they to care for me. They have become stout and tedious, and when I meet them they go in at once for reminiscences. That awful memory of woman! What a fearful thing it is! And what an utter intellectual stagnation it reveals! One should absorb the color of life, but one should never remember its details. Details are always vulgar. ‘Of course, now and then things linger. I once wore nothing but violets all through one season, as mourning for a romance that would not die. Ultimately, however, it did die. I forget what killed it. I think it was her proposing to sacrifice the whole world for me. That is always a dreadful moment. It fills one with the terror of eternity. Well,—would you believe it?—a week ago, at Lady Hampshire’s, I found myself seated at dinner next the lady in question, and she insisted on going over the whole thing again, and digging up the past, and raking up the future. I had buried my romance in a bed of poppies. She dragged it out again, and assured me that I had spoiled her life. I am bound to state that she ate an enormous dinner, so I did not feel any anxiety. But what a lack of taste she showed! The one charm of the past is that it is the past. But women never know when the curtain has fallen. They always want a sixth act, and as soon as the interest of the 116 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   play is entirely over they propose to continue it. If they were allowed to have their way, every comedy would have a tragic ending, and every tragedy would culminate in a farce. They are charmingly artificial, but they have no sense of art. You are more fortunate than I am. I assure you, Dorian, that not one of the women I have known would have done for me what Sibyl Vane did for you. Ordinary women always console themselves. Some of them do it by going in for sentimental colors. Never trust a woman who wears mauve, whatever her age may be, or a woman over thirty-five who is fond of pink ribbons. It always means that they have a history. Others find a great consolation in suddenly discovering the good qualities of their husbands. They flaunt their conjugal felicity in one’s face, as if it was the most fascinating of sins. Religion consoles some. Its mysteries have all the charm of a flirtation, a woman once told me; and I can quite understand it. Besides, nothing makes one so vain as being told that one is a sinner. There is really no end to the consolations that women find in modern life. Indeed, I have not mentioned the most important one of all.’ ‘What is that, Harry?’ said Dorian Gray, listlessly. ‘Oh, the obvious one. Taking some one else’s admirer when one loses one’s own. In good society that always 117 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   whitewashes a woman. But really, Dorian, how different Sibyl Vane must have been from all the women one meets! There is something to me quite beautiful about her death. I am glad I am living in a century when such wonders happen. They make one believe in the reality of the things that shallow, fashionable people play with, such as romance, passion, and love.’ ‘I was terribly cruel to her. You forget that.’ ‘I believe that women appreciate cruelty more than anything else. They have wonderfully primitive instincts. We have emancipated them, but they remain slaves looking for their masters, all the same. They love being dominated. I am sure you were splendid. I have never seen you angry, but I can fancy how delightful you looked. And, after all, you said something to me the day before yesterday that seemed to me at the time to be merely fanciful, but that I see now was absolutely true, and it explains everything.’ ‘What was that, Harry?’ ‘You said to me that Sibyl Vane represented to you all the heroines of romance—that she was Desdemona one night, and Ophelia the other; that if she died as Juliet, she came to life as Imogen.’ 118 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘She will never come to life again now,’ murmured the lad, burying his face in his hands. ‘No, she will never come to life. She has played her last part. But you must think of that lonely death in the tawdry dressing-room simply as a strange lurid fragment from some Jacobean tragedy, as a wonderful scene from Webster, or Ford, or Cyril Tourneur. The girl never really lived, and so she has never really died. To you at least she was always a dream, a phantom that flitted through Shakespeare’s plays and left them lovelier for its presence, a reed through which Shakespeare’s music sounded richer and more full of joy. The moment she touched actual life, she marred it, and it marred her, and so she passed away. Mourn for Ophelia, if you like. Put ashes on your head because Cordelia was strangled. Cry out against Heaven because the daughter of Brabantio died. But don’t waste your tears over Sibyl Vane. She was less real than they are.’ There was a silence. The evening darkened in the room. Noiselessly, and with silver feet, the shadows crept in from the garden. The colors faded wearily out of things. After some time Dorian Gray looked up. ‘You have explained me to myself, Harry,’ he murmured, with something of a sigh of relief. ‘I felt all that you have said, 119 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   but somehow I was afraid of it, and I could not express it to myself. How well you know me! But we will not talk again of what has happened. It has been a marvellous experience. That is all. I wonder if life has still in store for me anything as marvellous.’ ‘Life has everything in store for you, Dorian. There is nothing that you, with your extraordinary good looks, will not be able to do.’ ‘But suppose, Harry, I became haggard, and gray, and wrinkled? What then?’ ‘Ah, then,’ said Lord Henry, rising to go,—‘then, my dear Dorian, you would have to fight for your victories. As it is, they are brought to you. No, you must keep your good looks. We live in an age that reads too much to be wise, and that thinks too much to be beautiful. We cannot spare you. And now you had better dress, and drive down to the club. We are rather late, as it is.’ ‘I think I shall join you at the Opera, Harry. I feel too tired to eat anything. What is the number of your sister’s box?’ ‘Twenty-seven, I believe. It is on the grand tier. You will see her name on the door. But I am sorry you won’t come and dine.’ 120 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘I don’t feel up to it,’ said Dorian, wearily. ‘But I am awfully obliged to you for all that you have said to me. You are certainly my best friend. No one has ever understood me as you have.’ ‘We are only at the beginning of our friendship, Dorian,’ answered Lord Henry, shaking him by the hand. ‘Good-by. I shall see you before nine-thirty, I hope. Remember, Patti is singing.’ As he closed the door behind him, Dorian Gray touched the bell, and in a few minutes Victor appeared with the lamps and drew the blinds down. He waited impatiently for him to go. The man seemed to take an interminable time about everything. As soon as he had left, he rushed to the screen, and drew it back. No; there was no further change in the picture. It had received the news of Sibyl Vane’s death before he had known of it himself. It was conscious of the events of life as they occurred. The vicious cruelty that marred the fine lines of the mouth had, no doubt, appeared at the very moment that the girl had drunk the poison, whatever it was. Or was it indifferent to results? Did it merely take cognizance of what passed within the soul? he wondered, and hoped that some day he would 121 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   see the change taking place before his very eyes, shuddering as he hoped it. Poor Sibyl! what a romance it had all been! She had often mimicked death on the stage, and at last Death himself had touched her, and brought her with him. How had she played that dreadful scene? Had she cursed him, as she died? No; she had died for love of him, and love would always be a sacrament to him now. She had atoned for everything, by the sacrifice she had made of her life. He would not think any more of what she had made him go through, that horrible night at the theatre. When he thought of her, it would be as a wonderful tragic figure to show Love had been a great reality. A wonderful tragic figure? Tears came to his eyes as he remembered her child-like look and winsome fanciful ways and shy tremulous grace. He wiped them away hastily, and looked again at the picture. He felt that the time had really come for making his choice. Or had his choice already been made? Yes, life had decided that for him,— life, and his own infinite curiosity about life. Eternal youth, infinite passion, pleasures subtle and secret, wild joys and wilder sins,—he was to have all these things. The portrait was to bear the burden of his shame: that was all. 122 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   A feeling of pain came over him as he thought of the desecration that was in store for the fair face on the canvas. Once, in boyish mockery of Narcissus, he had kissed, or feigned to kiss, those painted lips that now smiled so cruelly at him. Morning after morning he had sat before the portrait wondering at its beauty, almost enamoured of it, as it seemed to him at times. Was it to alter now with every mood to which he yielded? Was it to become a hideous and loathsome thing, to be hidden away in a locked room, to be shut out from the sunlight that had so often touched to brighter gold the waving wonder of the hair? The pity of it! the pity of it! For a moment he thought of praying that the horrible sympathy that existed between him and the picture might cease. It had changed in answer to a prayer; perhaps in answer to a prayer it might remain unchanged. And, yet, who, that knew anything about Life, would surrender the chance of remaining always young, however fantastic that chance might be, or with what fateful consequences it might be fraught? Besides, was it really under his control? Had it indeed been prayer that had produced the substitution? Might there not be some curious scientific reason for it all? If thought could exercise its influence upon a living organism, might not thought exercise an 123 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   influence upon dead and inorganic things? Nay, without thought or conscious desire, might not things external to ourselves vibrate in unison with our moods and passions, atom calling to atom, in secret love or strange affinity? But the reason was of no importance. He would never again tempt by a prayer any terrible power. If the picture was to alter, it was to alter. That was all. Why inquire too closely into it? For there would be a real pleasure in watching it. He would be able to follow his mind into its secret places. This portrait would be to him the most magical of mirrors. As it had revealed to him his own body, so it would reveal to him his own soul. And when winter came upon it, he would still be standing where spring trembles on the verge of summer. When the blood crept from its face, and left behind a pallid mask of chalk with leaden eyes, he would keep the glamour of boyhood. Not one blossom of his loveliness would ever fade. Not one pulse of his life would ever weaken. Like the gods of the Greeks, he would be strong, and fleet, and joyous. What did it matter what happened to the colored image on the canvas? He would be safe. That was everything. He drew the screen back into its former place in front of the picture, smiling as he did so, and passed into his 124 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   bedroom, where his valet was already waiting for him. An hour later he was at the Opera, and Lord Henry was leaning over his chair. 125 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Chapter VII As he was sitting at breakfast next morning, Basil Hallward was shown into the room. ‘I am so glad I have found you, Dorian,’ he said, gravely. ‘I called last night, and they told me you were at the Opera. Of course I knew that was impossible. But I wish you had left word where you had really gone to. I passed a dreadful evening, half afraid that one tragedy might be followed by another. I think you might have telegraphed for me when you heard of it first. I read of it quite by chance in a late edition of the Globe, that I picked up at the club. I came here at once, and was miserable at not finding you. I can’t tell you how heart-broken I am about the whole thing. I know what you must suffer. But where were you? Did you go down and see the girl’s mother? For a moment I thought of following you there. They gave the address in the paper. Somewhere in the Euston Road, isn’t it? But I was afraid of intruding upon a sorrow that I could not lighten. Poor woman! What a state she must be in! And her only child, too! What did she say about it all?’ 126 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘My dear Basil, how do I know?’ murmured Dorian, sipping some pale- yellow wine from a delicate gold-beaded bubble of Venetian glass, and looking dreadfully bored. ‘I was at the Opera. You should have come on there. I met Lady Gwendolen, Harry’s sister, for the first time. We were in her box. She is perfectly charming; and Patti sang divinely. Don’t talk about horrid subjects. If one doesn’t talk about a thing, it has never happened. It is simply expression, as Harry says, that gives reality to things. Tell me about yourself and what you are painting.’ ‘You went to the Opera?’ said Hallward, speaking very slowly, and with a strained touch of pain in his voice. ‘You went to the Opera while Sibyl Vane was lying dead in some sordid lodging? You can talk to me of other women being charming, and of Patti singing divinely, before the girl you loved has even the quiet of a grave to sleep in? Why, man, there are horrors in store for that little white body of hers!’ ‘Stop, Basil! I won’t hear it!’ cried Dorian, leaping to his feet. ‘You must not tell me about things. What is done is done. What is past is past.’ ‘You call yesterday the past?’ ‘What has the actual lapse of time got to do with it? It is only shallow people who require years to get rid of an 127 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   emotion. A man who is master of himself can end a sorrow as easily as he can invent a pleasure. I don’t want to be at the mercy of my emotions. I want to use them, to enjoy them, and to dominate them.’ ‘Dorian, this is horrible! Something has changed you completely. You look exactly the same wonderful boy who used to come down to my studio, day after day, to sit for his picture. But you were simple, natural, and affectionate then. You were the most unspoiled creature in the whole world. Now, I don’t know what has come over you. You talk as if you had no heart, no pity in you. It is all Harry’s influence. I see that.’ The lad flushed up, and, going to the window, looked out on the green, flickering garden for a few moments. ‘I owe a great deal to Harry, Basil,’ he said, at last,—‘more than I owe to you. You only taught me to be vain.’ ‘Well, I am punished for that, Dorian,—or shall be some day.’ ‘I don’t know what you mean, Basil,’ he exclaimed, turning round. ‘I don’t know what you want. What do you want?’ ‘I want the Dorian Gray I used to know.’ 128 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Basil,’ said the lad, going over to him, and putting his hand on his shoulder, ‘you have come too late. Yesterday when I heard that Sibyl Vane had killed herself—‘ ‘Killed herself! Good heavens! is there no doubt about that?’ cried Hallward, looking up at him with an expression of horror. ‘My dear Basil! Surely you don’t think it was a vulgar accident? Of course she killed herself It is one of the great romantic tragedies of the age. As a rule, people who act lead the most commonplace lives. They are good husbands, or faithful wives, or something tedious. You know what I mean,—middle-class virtue, and all that kind of thing. How different Sibyl was! She lived her finest tragedy. She was always a heroine. The last night she played—the night you saw her—she acted badly because she had known the reality of love. When she knew its unreality, she died, as Juliet might have died. She passed again into the sphere of art. There is something of the martyr about her. Her death has all the pathetic uselessness of martyrdom, all its wasted beauty. But, as I was saying, you must not think I have not suffered. If you had come in yesterday at a particular moment,—about half-past five, perhaps, or a quarter to six,—you would have found me in tears. Even Harry, who was here, who brought me the 129 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   news, in fact, had no idea what I was going through. I suffered immensely, then it passed away. I cannot repeat an emotion. No one can, except sentimentalists. And you are awfully unjust, Basil. You come down here to console me. That is charming of you. You find me consoled, and you are furious. How like a sympathetic person! You remind me of a story Harry told me about a certain philanthropist who spent twenty years of his life in trying to get some grievance redressed, or some unjust law altered,—I forget exactly what it was. Finally he succeeded, and nothing could exceed his disappointment. He had absolutely nothing to do, almost died of ennui, and became a confirmed misanthrope. And besides, my dear old Basil, if you really want to console me, teach me rather to forget what has happened, or to see it from a proper artistic point of view. Was it not Gautier who used to write about la consolation des arts? I remember picking up a little vellum-covered book in your studio one day and chancing on that delightful phrase. Well, I am not like that young man you told me of when we were down at Marlowe together, the young man who used to say that yellow satin could console one for all the miseries of life. I love beautiful things that one can touch and handle. Old brocades, green bronzes, lacquer- work, carved ivories, 130 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   exquisite surroundings, luxury, pomp,—there is much to be got from all these. But the artistic temperament that they create, or at any rate reveal, is still more to me. To become the spectator of one’s own life, as Harry says, is to escape the suffering of life. I know you are surprised at my talking to you like this. You have not realized how I have developed. I was a school-boy when you knew me. I am a man now. I have new passions, new thoughts, new ideas. I am different, but you must not like me less. I am changed, but you must always be my friend. Of course I am very fond of Harry. But I know that you are better than he is. You are not stronger,—you are too much afraid of life,— but you are better. And how happy we used to be together! Don’t leave me, Basil, and don’t quarrel with me. I am what I am. There is nothing more to be said.’ Hallward felt strangely moved. Rugged and straightforward as he was, there was something in his nature that was purely feminine in its tenderness. The lad was infinitely dear to him, and his personality had been the great turning-point in his art. He could not bear the idea of reproaching him any more. After all, his indifference was probably merely a mood that would pass away. There was so much in him that was good, so much in him that was noble. 131 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Well, Dorian,’ he said, at length, with a sad smile, ‘I won’t speak to you again about this horrible thing, after to-day. I only trust your name won’t be mentioned in connection with it. The inquest is to take place this afternoon. Have they summoned you?’ Dorian shook his head, and a look of annoyance passed over his face at the mention of the word ‘inquest.’ There was something so crude and vulgar about everything of the kind. ‘They don’t know my name,’ he answered. ‘But surely she did?’ ‘Only my Christian name, and that I am quite sure she never mentioned to any one. She told me once that they were all rather curious to learn who I was, and that she invariably told them my name was Prince Charming. It was pretty of her. You must do me a drawing of her, Basil. I should like to have something more of her than the memory of a few kisses and some broken pathetic words.’ ‘I will try and do something, Dorian, if it would please you. But you must come and sit to me yourself again. I can’t get on without you.’ ‘I will never sit to you again, Basil. It is impossible!’ he exclaimed, starting back. 132 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Hallward stared at him, ‘My dear boy, what nonsense!’ he cried. ‘Do you mean to say you don’t like what I did of you? Where is it? Why have you pulled the screen in front of it? Let me look at it. It is the best thing I have ever painted. Do take that screen away, Dorian. It is simply horrid of your servant hiding my work like that. I felt the room looked different as I came in.’ ‘My servant has nothing to do with it, Basil. You don’t imagine I let him arrange my room for me? He settles my flowers for me sometimes,—that is all. No; I did it myself. The light was too strong on the portrait.’ ‘Too strong! Impossible, my dear fellow! It is an admirable place for it. Let me see it.’ And Hallward walked towards the corner of the room. A cry of terror broke from Dorian Gray’s lips, and he rushed between Hallward and the screen. ‘Basil,’ he said, looking very pale, ‘you must not look at it. I don’t wish you to.’ ‘Not look at my own work! you are not serious. Why shouldn’t I look at it?’ exclaimed Hallward, laughing. ‘If you try to look at it, Basil, on my word of honor I will never speak to you again as long as I live. I am quite serious. I don’t offer any explanation, and you are not to 133 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ask for any. But, remember, if you touch this screen, everything is over between us.’ Hallward was thunderstruck. He looked at Dorian Gray in absolute amazement. He had never seen him like this before. The lad was absolutely pallid with rage. His hands were clinched, and the pupils of his eyes were like disks of blue fire. He was trembling all over. ‘Dorian!’ ‘Don’t speak!’ ‘But what is the matter? Of course I won’t look at it if you don’t want me to,’ he said, rather coldly, turning on his heel, and going over towards the window. ‘But, really, it seems rather absurd that I shouldn’t see my own work, especially as I am going to exhibit it in Paris in the autumn. I shall probably have to give it another coat of varnish before that, so I must see it some day, and why not to- day?’ ‘To exhibit it! You want to exhibit it?’ exclaimed Dorian Gray, a strange sense of terror creeping over him. Was the world going to be shown his secret? Were people to gape at the mystery of his life? That was impossible. Something—he did not know what—had to be done at once. 134 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Yes: I don’t suppose you will object to that. Georges Petit is going to collect all my best pictures for a special exhibition in the Rue de Sèze, which will open the first week in October. The portrait will only be away a month. I should think you could easily spare it for that time. In fact, you are sure to be out of town. And if you hide it always behind a screen, you can’t care much abut it.’ Dorian Gray passed his hand over his forehead. There were beads of perspiration there. He felt that he was on the brink of a horrible danger. ‘You told me a month ago that you would never exhibit it,’ he said. ‘Why have you changed your mind? You people who go in for being consistent have just as many moods as others. The only difference is that your moods are rather meaningless. You can’t have forgotten that you assured me most solemnly that nothing in the world would induce you to send it to any exhibition. You told Harry exactly the same thing.’ He stopped suddenly, and a gleam of light came into his eyes. He remembered that Lord Henry had said to him once, half seriously and half in jest, ‘If you want to have an interesting quarter of an hour, get Basil to tell you why he won’t exhibit your picture. He told me why he wouldn’t, and it was a revelation to me.’ Yes, perhaps Basil, too, had his secret. He would ask him and try. 135 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Basil,’ he said, coming over quite close, and looking him straight in the face, ‘we have each of us a secret. Let me know yours, and I will tell you mine. What was your reason for refusing to exhibit my picture?’ Hallward shuddered in spite of himself. ‘Dorian, if I told you, you might like me less than you do, and you would certainly laugh at me. I could not bear your doing either of those two things. If you wish me never to look at your picture again, I am content. I have always you to look at. If you wish the best work I have ever done to be hidden from the world, I am satisfied. Your friendship is dearer to me than any fame or reputation.’ ‘No, Basil, you must tell me,’ murmured Dorian Gray. ‘I think I have a right to know.’ His feeling of terror had passed away, and curiosity had taken its place. He was determined to find out Basil Hallward’s mystery. ‘Let us sit down, Dorian,’ said Hallward, looking pale and pained. ‘Let us sit down. I will sit in the shadow, and you shall sit in the sunlight. Our lives are like that. Just answer me one question. Have you noticed in the picture something that you did not like?— something that probably at first did not strike you, but that revealed itself to you suddenly?’ 136 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Basil!’ cried the lad, clutching the arms of his chair with trembling hands, and gazing at him with wild, startled eyes. ‘I see you did. Don’t speak. Wait till you hear what I have to say. It is quite true that I have worshipped you with far more romance of feeling than a man usually gives to a friend. Somehow, I had never loved a woman. I suppose I never had time. Perhaps, as Harry says, a really ‘grande passion’ is the privilege of those who have nothing to do, and that is the use of the idle classes in a country. Well, from the moment I met you, your personality had the most extraordinary influence over me. I quite admit that I adored you madly, extravagantly, absurdly. I was jealous of every one to whom you spoke. I wanted to have you all to myself. I was only happy when I was with you. When I was away from you, you were still present in my art. It was all wrong and foolish. It is all wrong and foolish still. Of course I never let you know anything about this. It would have been impossible. You would not have understood it; I did not understand it myself. One day I determined to paint a wonderful portrait of you. It was to have been my masterpiece. It is my masterpiece. But, as I worked at it, every flake and film of color seemed to me to reveal my secret. I grew afraid that the world 137 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   would know of my idolatry. I felt, Dorian, that I had told too much. Then it was that I resolved never to allow the picture to be exhibited. You were a little annoyed; but then you did not realize all that it meant to me. Harry, to whom I talked about it, laughed at me. But I did not mind that. When the picture was finished, and I sat alone with it, I felt that I was right. Well, after a few days the portrait left my studio, and as soon as I had got rid of the intolerable fascination of its presence it seemed to me that I had been foolish in imagining that I had said anything in it, more than that you were extremely good-looking and that I could paint. Even now I cannot help feeling that it is a mistake to think that the passion one feels in creation is ever really shown in the work one creates. Art is more abstract than we fancy. Form and color tell us of form and color,—that is all. It often seems to me that art conceals the artist far more completely than it ever reveals him. And so when I got this offer from Paris I determined to make your portrait the principal thing in my exhibition. It never occurred to me that you would refuse. I see now that you were right. The picture must not be shown. You must not be angry with me, Dorian, for what I have told you. As I said to Harry, once, you are made to be worshipped.’ 138 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Dorian Gray drew a long breath. The color came back to his cheeks, and a smile played about his lips. The peril was over. He was safe for the time. Yet he could not help feeling infinite pity for the young man who had just made this strange confession to him. He wondered if he would ever be so dominated by the personality of a friend. Lord Harry had the charm of being very dangerous. But that was all. He was too clever and too cynical to be really fond of. Would there ever be some one who would fill him with a strange idolatry? Was that one of the things that life had in store? ‘It is extraordinary to me, Dorian,’ said Hallward, ‘that you should have seen this in the picture. Did you really see it?’ ‘Of course I did.’ ‘Well, you don’t mind my looking at it now?’ Dorian shook his head. ‘You must not ask me that, Basil. I could not possibly let you stand in front of that picture.’ ‘You will some day, surely?’ ‘Never.’ ‘Well, perhaps you are right. And now good-by, Dorian. You have been the one person in my life of whom I have been really fond. I don’t suppose I shall 139 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   often see you again. You don’t know what it cost me to tell you all that I have told you.’ ‘My dear Basil,’ cried Dorian, ‘what have you told me? Simply that you felt that you liked me too much. That is not even a compliment.’ ‘It was not intended as a compliment. It was a confession.’ ‘A very disappointing one.’ ‘Why, what did you expect, Dorian? You didn’t see anything else in the picture, did you? There was nothing else to see?’ ‘No: there was nothing else to see. Why do you ask? But you mustn’t talk about not meeting me again, or anything of that kind. You and I are friends, Basil, and we must always remain so.’ ‘You have got Harry,’ said Hallward, sadly. ‘Oh, Harry!’ cried the lad, with a ripple of laughter. ‘Harry spends his days in saying what is incredible, and his evenings in doing what is improbable. Just the sort of life I would like to lead. But still I don’t think I would go to Harry if I was in trouble. I would sooner go to you, Basil.’ ‘But you won’t sit to me again?’ ‘Impossible!’ 140 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘You spoil my life as an artist by refusing, Dorian. No man comes across two ideal things. Few come across one.’ ‘I can’t explain it to you, Basil, but I must never sit to you again. I will come and have tea with you. That will be just as pleasant.’ ‘Pleasanter for you, I am afraid,’ murmured Hallward, regretfully. ‘And now good-by. I am sorry you won’t let me look at the picture once again. But that can’t be helped. I quite understand what you feel about it.’ As he left the room, Dorian Gray smiled to himself. Poor Basil! how little he knew of the true reason! And how strange it was that, instead of having been forced to reveal his own secret, he had succeeded, almost by chance, in wresting a secret from his friend! How much that strange confession explained to him! Basil’s absurd fits of jealousy, his wild devotion, his extravagant panegyrics, his curious reticences,—he understood them all now, and he felt sorry. There was something tragic in a friendship so colored by romance. He sighed, and touched the bell. The portrait must be hidden away at all costs. He could not run such a risk of discovery again. It had been mad of him to have the thing remain, even for an hour, in a room to which any of his friends had access. 141 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Chapter VIII When his servant entered, he looked at him steadfastly, and wondered if he had thought of peering behind the screen. The man was quite impassive, and waited for his orders. Dorian lit a cigarette, and walked over to the glass and glanced into it. He could see the reflection of Victor’s face perfectly. It was like a placid mask of servility. There was nothing to be afraid of, there. Yet he thought it best to be on his guard. Speaking very slowly, he told him to tell the housekeeper that he wanted to see her, and then to go to the frame-maker’s and ask him to send two of his men round at once. It seemed to him that as the man left the room he peered in the direction of the screen. Or was that only his fancy? After a few moments, Mrs. Leaf, a dear old lady in a black silk dress, with a photograph of the late Mr. Leaf framed in a large gold brooch at her neck, and old-fashioned thread mittens on her wrinkled hands, bustled into the room. ‘Well, Master Dorian,’ she said, ‘what can I do for you? I beg your pardon, sir,’—here came a courtesy,—‘I 142 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   shouldn’t call you Master Dorian any more. But, Lord bless you, sir, I have known you since you were a baby, and many’s the trick you’ve played on poor old Leaf. Not that you were not always a good boy, sir; but boys will be boys, Master Dorian, and jam is a temptation to the young, isn’t it, sir?’ He laughed. ‘You must always call me Master Dorian, Leaf. I will be very angry with you if you don’t. And I assure you I am quite as fond of jam now as I used to be. Only when I am asked out to tea I am never offered any. I want you to give me the key of the room at the top of the house.’ ‘The old school-room, Master Dorian? Why, it’s full of dust. I must get it arranged and put straight before you go into it. It’s not fit for you to see, Master Dorian. It is not, indeed.’ ‘I don’t want it put straight, Leaf. I only want the key.’ ‘Well, Master Dorian, you’ll be covered with cobwebs if you goes into it. Why, it hasn’t been opened for nearly five years,—not since his lordship died.’ He winced at the mention of his dead uncle’s name. He had hateful memories of him. ‘That does not matter, Leaf,’ he replied. ‘All I want is the key.’ 143 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘And here is the key, Master Dorian,’ said the old lady, after going over the contents of her bunch with tremulously uncertain hands. ‘Here is the key. I’ll have it off the ring in a moment. But you don’t think of living up there, Master Dorian, and you so comfortable here?’ ‘No, Leaf, I don’t. I merely want to see the place, and perhaps store something in it,—that is all. Thank you, Leaf. I hope your rheumatism is better; and mind you send me up jam for breakfast.’ Mrs. Leaf shook her head. ‘Them foreigners doesn’t understand jam, Master Dorian. They calls it ‘compot.’ But I’ll bring it to you myself some morning, if you lets me.’ ‘That will be very kind of you, Leaf,’ he answered, looking at the key; and, having made him an elaborate courtesy, the old lady left the room, her face wreathed in smiles. She had a strong objection to the French valet. It was a poor thing, she felt, for any one to be born a foreigner. As the door closed, Dorian put the key in his pocket, and looked round the room. His eye fell on a large purple satin coverlet heavily embroidered with gold, a splendid piece of late seventeenth- century Venetian work that his uncle had found in a convent near Bologna. Yes, that 144 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   would serve to wrap the dreadful thing in. It had perhaps served often as a pall for the dead. Now it was to hide something that had a corruption of its own, worse than the corruption of death itself,—something that would breed horrors and yet would never die. What the worm was to the corpse, his sins would be to the painted image on the canvas. They would mar its beauty, and eat away its grace. They would defile it, and make it shameful. And yet the thing would still live on. It would be always alive. He shuddered, and for a moment he regretted that he had not told Basil the true reason why he had wished to hide the picture away. Basil would have helped him to resist Lord Henry’s influence, and the still more poisonous influences that came from his own temperament. The love that he bore him—for it was really love—had something noble and intellectual in it. It was not that mere physical admiration of beauty that is born of the senses, and that dies when the senses tire. It was such love as Michael Angelo had known, and Montaigne, and Winckelmann, and Shakespeare himself. Yes, Basil could have saved him. But it was too late now. The past could always be annihilated. Regret, denial, or forgetfulness could do that. But the future was inevitable. There were passions in him 145 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   that would find their terrible outlet, dreams that would make the shadow of their evil real. He took up from the couch the great purple-and-gold texture that covered it, and, holding it in his hands, passed behind the screen. Was the face on the canvas viler than before? It seemed to him that it was unchanged; and yet his loathing of it was intensified. Gold hair, blue eyes, and rose-red lips,—they all were there. It was simply the expression that had altered. That was horrible in its cruelty. Compared to what he saw in it of censure or rebuke, how shallow Basil’s reproaches about Sibyl Vane had been!—how shallow, and of what little account! His own soul was looking out at him from the canvas and calling him to judgment. A look of pain came across him, and he flung the rich pall over the picture. As he did so, a knock came to the door. He passed out as his servant entered. ‘The persons are here, monsieur.’ He felt that the man must be got rid of at once. He must not be allowed to know where the picture was being taken to. There was something sly about him, and he had thoughtful, treacherous eyes. Sitting down at the writing-table, he scribbled a note to Lord Henry, asking him to 146 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   send him round something to read, and reminding him that they were to meet at eight-fifteen that evening. ‘Wait for an answer,’ he said, handing it to him, ‘and show the men in here.’ In two or three minutes there was another knock, and Mr. Ashton himself, the celebrated frame-maker of South Audley Street, came in with a somewhat rough-looking young assistant. Mr. Ashton was a florid, red-whiskered little man, whose admiration for art was considerably tempered by the inveterate impecuniosity of most of the artists who dealt with him. As a rule, he never left his shop. He waited for people to come to him. But he always made an exception in favor of Dorian Gray. There was something about Dorian that charmed everybody. It was a pleasure even to see him. ‘What can I do for you, Mr. Gray?’ he said, rubbing his fat freckled hands. ‘I thought I would do myself the honor of coming round in person. I have just got a beauty of a frame, sir. Picked it up at a sale. Old Florentine. Came from Fonthill, I believe. Admirably suited for a religious picture, Mr. Gray.’ ‘I am so sorry you have given yourself the trouble of coming round, Mr. Ashton. I will certainly drop in and look at the frame,—though I don’t go in much for 147 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   religious art,—but to-day I only want a picture carried to the top of the house for me. It is rather heavy, so I thought I would ask you to lend me a couple of your men.’ ‘No trouble at all, Mr. Gray. I am delighted to be of any service to you. Which is the work of art, sir?’ ‘This,’ replied Dorian, moving the screen back. ‘Can you move it, covering and all, just as it is? I don’t want it to get scratched going up-stairs.’ ‘There will be no difficulty, sir,’ said the genial frame-maker, beginning, with the aid of his assistant, to unhook the picture from the long brass chains by which it was suspended. ‘And, now, where shall we carry it to, Mr. Gray?’ ‘I will show you the way, Mr. Ashton, if you will kindly follow me. Or perhaps you had better go in front. I am afraid it is right at the top of the house. We will go up by the front staircase, as it is wider.’ He held the door open for them, and they passed out into the hall and began the ascent. The elaborate character of the frame had made the picture extremely bulky, and now and then, in spite of the obsequious protests of Mr. Ashton, who had a true tradesman’s dislike of seeing a 148 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   gentleman doing anything useful, Dorian put his hand to it so as to help them. ‘Something of a load to carry, sir,’ gasped the little man, when they reached the top landing. And he wiped his shiny forehead. ‘A terrible load to carry,’ murmured Dorian, as he unlocked the door that opened into the room that was to keep for him the curious secret of his life and hide his soul from the eyes of men. He had not entered the place for more than four years,—not, indeed, since he had used it first as a play-room when he was a child and then as a study when he grew somewhat older. It was a large, well- proportioned room, which had been specially built by the last Lord Sherard for the use of the little nephew whom, being himself childless, and perhaps for other reasons, he had always hated and desired to keep at a distance. It did not appear to Dorian to have much changed. There was the huge Italian cassone, with its fantastically-painted panels and its tarnished gilt mouldings, in which he had so often hidden himself as a boy. There was the satinwood bookcase filled with his dog-eared school-books. On the wall behind it was hanging the same ragged Flemish tapestry where a faded king and queen were playing chess 149 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   in a garden, while a company of hawkers rode by, carrying hooded birds on their gauntleted wrists. How well he recalled it all! Every moment of his lonely childhood came back to him, as he looked round. He remembered the stainless purity of his boyish life, and it seemed horrible to him that it was here that the fatal portrait was to be hidden away. How little he had thought, in those dead days, of all that was in store for him! But there was no other place in the house so secure from prying eyes as this. He had the key, and no one else could enter it. Beneath its purple pall, the face painted on the canvas could grow bestial, sodden, and unclean. What did it matter? No one could see it. He himself would not see it. Why should he watch the hideous corruption of his soul? He kept his youth,—that was enough. And, besides, might not his nature grow finer, after all? There was no reason that the future should be so full of shame. Some love might come across his life, and purify him, and shield him from those sins that seemed to be already stirring in spirit and in flesh,—those curious unpictured sins whose very mystery lent them their subtlety and their charm. Perhaps, some day, the cruel look would have passed away from the scarlet sensitive mouth, and he might show to the world Basil Hallward’s masterpiece. 150 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   No; that was impossible. The thing upon the canvas was growing old, hour by hour, and week by week. Even if it escaped the hideousness of sin, the hideousness of age was in store for it. The cheeks would become hollow or flaccid. Yellow crow’s-feet would creep round the fading eyes and make them horrible. The hair would lose its brightness, the mouth would gape or droop, would be foolish or gross, as the mouths of old men are. There would be the wrinkled throat, the cold blue-veined hands, the twisted body, that he remembered in the uncle who had been so stern to him in his boyhood. The picture had to be concealed. There was no help for it. ‘Bring it in, Mr. Ashton, please,’ he said, wearily, turning round. ‘I am sorry I kept you so long. I was thinking of something else.’ ‘Always glad to have a rest, Mr. Gray,’ answered the frame-maker, who was still gasping for breath. ‘Where shall we put it, sir?’ ‘Oh, anywhere, Here, this will do. I don’t want to have it hung up. Just lean it against the wall. Thanks.’ ‘Might one look at the work of art, sir?’ Dorian started. ‘It would not interest you, Mr. Ashton,’ he said, keeping his eye on the man. He felt ready to leap upon him and fling him to the ground if he dared to lift 151 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   the gorgeous hanging that concealed the secret of his life. ‘I won’t trouble you any more now. I am much obliged for your kindness in coming round.’ ‘Not at all, not at all, Mr. Gray. Ever ready to do anything for you, sir.’ And Mr. Ashton tramped downstairs, followed by the assistant, who glanced back at Dorian with a look of shy wonder in his rough, uncomely face. He had never seen any one so marvellous. When the sound of their footsteps had died away, Dorian locked the door, and put the key in his pocket. He felt safe now. No one would ever look on the horrible thing. No eye but his would ever see his shame. On reaching the library he found that it was just after five o’clock, and that the tea had been already brought up. On a little table of dark perfumed wood thickly incrusted with nacre, a present from his guardian’s wife, Lady Radley, who had spent the preceding winter in Cairo, was lying a note from Lord Henry, and beside it was a book bound in yellow paper, the cover slightly torn and the edges soiled. A copy of the third edition of the St. James’s Gazette had been placed on the tea-tray. It was evident that Victor had returned. He wondered if he had met the men in the hall as they were leaving the house and had wormed out of them what they had been doing. He 152 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   would be sure to miss the picture,—had no doubt missed it already, while he had been laying the tea-things. The screen had not been replaced, and the blank space on the wall was visible. Perhaps some night he might find him creeping up-stairs and trying to force the door of the room. It was a horrible thing to have a spy in one’s house. He had heard of rich men who had been blackmailed all their lives by some servant who had read a letter, or overheard a conversation, or picked up a card with an address, or found beneath a pillow a withered flower or a bit of crumpled lace. He sighed, and, having poured himself out some tea, opened Lord Henry’s note. It was simply to say that he sent him round the evening paper, and a book that might interest him, and that he would be at the club at eight-fifteen. He opened the St. James’s languidly, and looked through it. A red pencil-mark on the fifth page caught his eye. He read the following paragraph: ‘INQUEST ON AN ACTRESS.—An inquest was held this morning at the Bell Tavern, Hoxton Road, by Mr. Danby, the District Coroner, on the body of Sibyl Vane, a young actress recently engaged at the Royal Theatre, Holborn. A verdict of death by misadventure was returned. Considerable sympathy was expressed for the 153 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   mother of the deceased, who was greatly affected during the giving of her own evidence, and that of Dr. Birrell, who had made the post-mortem examination of the deceased.’ He frowned slightly, and, tearing the paper in two, went across the room and flung the pieces into a gilt basket. How ugly it all was! And how horribly real ugliness made things! He felt a little annoyed with Lord Henry for having sent him the account. And it was certainly stupid of him to have marked it with red pencil. Victor might have read it. The man knew more than enough English for that. Perhaps he had read it, and had begun to suspect something. And, yet, what did it matter? What had Dorian Gray to do with Sibyl Vane’s death? There was nothing to fear. Dorian Gray had not killed her. His eye fell on the yellow book that Lord Henry had sent him. What was it, he wondered. He went towards the little pearl-colored octagonal stand, that had always looked to him like the work of some strange Egyptian bees who wrought in silver, and took the volume up. He flung himself into an arm-chair, and began to turn over the leaves. After a few minutes, he became absorbed. It was the strangest book he had ever read. It seemed to him that 154 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   in exquisite raiment, and to the delicate sound of flutes, the sins of the world were passing in dumb show before him. Things that he had dimly dreamed of were suddenly made real to him. Things of which he had never dreamed were gradually revealed. It was a novel without a plot, and with only one character, being, indeed, simply a psychological study of a certain young Parisian, who spent his life trying to realize in the nineteenth century all the passions and modes of thought that belonged to every century except his own, and to sum up, as it were, in himself the various moods through which the world-spirit had ever passed, loving for their mere artificiality those renunciations that men have unwisely called virtue, as much as those natural rebellions that wise men still call sin. The style in which it was written was that curious jewelled style, vivid and obscure at once, full of argot and of archaisms, of technical expressions and of elaborate paraphrases, that characterizes the work of some of the finest artists of the French school of Décadents. There were in it metaphors as monstrous as orchids, and as evil in color. The life of the senses was described in the terms of mystical philosophy. One hardly knew at times whether one was reading the spiritual ecstasies of some mediaeval saint or the morbid confessions 155 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   of a modern sinner. It was a poisonous book. The heavy odor of incense seemed to cling about its pages and to trouble the brain. The mere cadence of the sentences, the subtle monotony of their music, so full as it was of complex refrains and movements elaborately repeated, produced in the mind of the lad, as he passed from chapter to chapter, a form of revery, a malady of dreaming, that made him unconscious of the falling day and the creeping shadows. Cloudless, and pierced by one solitary star, a copper-green sky gleamed through the windows. He read on by its wan light till he could read no more. Then, after his valet had reminded him several times of the lateness of the hour, he got up, and, going into the next room, placed the book on the little Florentine table that always stood at his bedside, and began to dress for dinner. It was almost nine o’clock before he reached the club, where he found Lord Henry sitting alone, in the morning-room, looking very bored. ‘I am so sorry, Harry,’ he cried, ‘but really it is entirely your fault. That book you sent me so fascinated me that I forgot what the time was.’ ‘I thought you would like it,’ replied his host, rising from his chair. 156 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘I didn’t say I liked it, Harry. I said it fascinated me. There is a great difference.’ ‘Ah, if you have discovered that, you have discovered a great deal,’ murmured Lord Henry, with his curious smile. ‘Come, let us go in to dinner. It is dreadfully late, and I am afraid the champagne will be too much iced.’ 157 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Chapter IX For years, Dorian Gray could not free himself from the memory of this book. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that he never sought to free himself from it. He procured from Paris no less than five large-paper copies of the first edition, and had them bound in different colors, so that they might suit his various moods and the changing fancies of a nature over which he seemed, at times, to have almost entirely lost control. The hero, the wonderful young Parisian, in whom the romantic temperament and the scientific temperament were so strangely blended, became to him a kind of prefiguring type of himself. And, indeed, the whole book seemed to him to contain the story of his own life, written before he had lived it. In one point he was more fortunate than the book’s fantastic hero. He never knew—never, indeed, had any cause to know—that somewhat grotesque dread of mirrors, and polished metal surfaces, and still water, which came upon the young Parisian so early in his life, and was occasioned by the sudden decay of a beauty that had once, apparently, been so remarkable. It was with an almost 158 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   cruel joy—and perhaps in nearly every joy, as certainly in every pleasure, cruelty has its place—that he used to read the latter part of the book, with its really tragic, if somewhat over-emphasized, account of the sorrow and despair of one who had himself lost what in others, and in the world, he had most valued. He, at any rate, had no cause to fear that. The boyish beauty that had so fascinated Basil Hallward, and many others besides him, seemed never to leave him. Even those who had heard the most evil things against him (and from time to time strange rumors about his mode of life crept through London and became the chatter of the clubs) could not believe anything to his dishonor when they saw him. He had always the look of one who had kept himself unspotted from the world. Men who talked grossly became silent when Dorian Gray entered the room. There was something in the purity of his face that rebuked them. His mere presence seemed to recall to them the innocence that they had tarnished. They wondered how one so charming and graceful as he was could have escaped the stain of an age that was at once sordid and sensuous. He himself, on returning home from one of those mysterious and prolonged absences that gave rise to such strange conjecture among those who were his friends, or 159 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   thought that they were so, would creep up-stairs to the locked room, open the door with the key that never left him, and stand, with a mirror, in front of the portrait that Basil Hallward had painted of him, looking now at the evil and aging face on the canvas, and now at the fair young face that laughed back at him from the polished glass. The very sharpness of the contrast used to quicken his sense of pleasure. He grew more and more enamoured of his own beauty, more and more interested in the corruption of his own soul. He would examine with minute care, and often with a monstrous and terrible delight, the hideous lines that seared the wrinkling forehead or crawled around the heavy sensual mouth, wondering sometimes which were the more horrible, the signs of sin or the signs of age. He would place his white hands beside the coarse bloated hands of the picture, and smile. He mocked the misshapen body and the failing limbs. There were moments, indeed, at night, when, lying sleepless in his own delicately-scented chamber, or in the sordid room of the little ill-famed tavern near the Docks, which, under an assumed name, and in disguise, it was his habit to frequent, he would think of the ruin he had brought upon his soul, with a pity that was all the more poignant because it was purely selfish. But moments such 160 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   as these were rare. That curiosity about life that, many years before, Lord Henry had first stirred in him, as they sat together in the garden of their friend, seemed to increase with gratification. The more he knew, the more he desired to know. He had mad hungers that grew more ravenous as he fed them. Yet he was not really reckless, at any rate in his relations to society. Once or twice every month during the winter, and on each Wednesday evening while the season lasted, he would throw open to the world his beautiful house and have the most celebrated musicians of the day to charm his guests with the wonders of their art. His little dinners, in the settling of which Lord Henry always assisted him, were noted as much for the careful selection and placing of those invited, as for the exquisite taste shown in the decoration of the table, with its subtle symphonic arrangements of exotic flowers, and embroidered cloths, and antique plate of gold and silver. Indeed, there were many, especially among the very young men, who saw, or fancied that they saw, in Dorian Gray the true realization of a type of which they had often dreamed in Eton or Oxford days, a type that was to combine something of the real culture of the scholar with all the grace and distinction and perfect manner of a 161 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   citizen of the world. To them he seemed to belong to those whom Dante describes as having sought to ‘make themselves perfect by the worship of beauty.’ Like Gautier, he was one for whom ‘the visible world existed.’ And, certainly, to him life itself was the first, the greatest, of the arts, and for it all the other arts seemed to be but a preparation. Fashion, by which what is really fantastic becomes for a moment universal, and Dandyism, which, in its own way, is an attempt to assert the absolute modernity of beauty, had, of course, their fascination for him. His mode of dressing, and the particular styles that he affected from time to time, had their marked influence on the young exquisites of the Mayfair balls and Pall Mall club windows, who copied him in everything that he did, and tried to reproduce the accidental charm of his graceful, though to him only half-serious, fopperies. For, while he was but too ready to accept the position that was almost immediately offered to him on his coming of age, and found, indeed, a subtle pleasure in the thought that he might really become to the London of his own day what to imperial Neronian Rome the author of the ‘Satyricon’ had once been, yet in his inmost heart he desired to be something more than a mere arbiter elegantiarum, to be consulted on the wearing of a jewel, 162 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   or the knotting of a necktie, or the conduct of a cane. He sought to elaborate some new scheme of life that would have its reasoned philosophy and its ordered principles and find in the spiritualizing of the senses its highest realization. The worship of the senses has often, and with much justice, been decried, men feeling a natural instinct of terror about passions and sensations that seem stronger than ourselves, and that we are conscious of sharing with the less highly organized forms of existence. But it appeared to Dorian Gray that the true nature of the senses had never been understood, and that they had remained savage and animal merely because the world had sought to starve them into submission or to kill them by pain, instead of aiming at making them elements of a new spirituality, of which a fine instinct for beauty was to be the dominant characteristic. As he looked back upon man moving through History, he was haunted by a feeling of loss. So much had been surrendered! and to such little purpose! There had been mad wilful rejections, monstrous forms of self-torture and self- denial, whose origin was fear, and whose result was a degradation infinitely more terrible than that fancied degradation from which, in their ignorance, they had sought to escape, Nature in her 163 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   wonderful irony driving the anchorite out to herd with the wild animals of the desert and giving to the hermit the beasts of the field as his companions. Yes, there was to be, as Lord Henry had prophesied, a new hedonism that was to re-create life, and to save it from that harsh, uncomely puritanism that is having, in our own day, its curious revival. It was to have its service of the intellect, certainly; yet it was never to accept any theory or system that would involve the sacrifice of any mode of passionate experience. Its aim, indeed, was to be experience itself, and not the fruits of experience, sweet or bitter as they might be. Of the asceticism that deadens the senses, as of the vulgar profligacy that dulls them, it was to know nothing. But it was to teach man to concentrate himself upon the moments of a life that is itself but a moment. There are few of us who have not sometimes wakened before dawn, either after one of those dreamless nights that make one almost enamoured of death, or one of those nights of horror and misshapen joy, when through the chambers of the brain sweep phantoms more terrible than reality itself, and instinct with that vivid life that lurks in all grotesques, and that lends to Gothic art its enduring vitality, this art being, one might fancy, especially the art 164 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   of those whose minds have been troubled with the malady of revery. Gradually white fingers creep through the curtains, and they appear to tremble. Black fantastic shadows crawl into the corners of the room, and crouch there. Outside, there is the stirring of birds among the leaves, or the sound of men going forth to their work, or the sigh and sob of the wind coming down from the hills, and wandering round the silent house, as though it feared to wake the sleepers. Veil after veil of thin dusky gauze is lifted, and by degrees the forms and colors of things are restored to them, and we watch the dawn remaking the world in its antique pattern. The wan mirrors get back their mimic life. The flameless tapers stand where we have left them, and beside them lies the half-read book that we had been studying, or the wired flower that we had worn at the ball, or the letter that we had been afraid to read, or that we had read too often. Nothing seems to us changed. Out of the unreal shadows of the night comes back the real life that we had known. We have to resume it where we had left off, and there steals over us a terrible sense of the necessity for the continuance of energy in the same wearisome round of stereotyped habits, or a wild longing, it may be, that our eyelids might open some morning upon a world that had been re-fashioned anew for our 165 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   pleasure in the darkness, a world in which things would have fresh shapes and colors, and be changed, or have other secrets, a world in which the past would have little or no place, or survive, at any rate, in no conscious form of obligation or regret, the remembrance even of joy having its bitterness, and the memories of pleasure their pain. It was the creation of such worlds as these that seemed to Dorian Gray to be the true object, or among the true objects, of life; and in his search for sensations that would be at once new and delightful, and possess that element of strangeness that is so essential to romance, he would often adopt certain modes of thought that he knew to be really alien to his nature, abandon himself to their subtle influences, and then, having, as it were, caught their color and satisfied his intellectual curiosity, leave them with that curious indifference that is not incompatible with a real ardor of temperament, and that indeed, according to certain modern psychologists, is often a condition of it. It was rumored of him once that he was about to join the Roman Catholic communion; and certainly the Roman ritual had always a great attraction for him. The daily sacrifice, more awful really than all the sacrifices of the antique world, stirred him as much by its superb 166 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   rejection of the evidence of the senses as by the primitive simplicity of its elements and the eternal pathos of the human tragedy that it sought to symbolize. He loved to kneel down on the cold marble pavement, and with the priest, in his stiff flowered cope, slowly and with white hands moving aside the veil of the tabernacle, and raising aloft the jewelled lantern-shaped monstrance with that pallid wafer that at times, one would fain think, is indeed the ‘panis caelestis,’ the bread of angels, or, robed in the garments of the Passion of Christ, breaking the Host into the chalice, and smiting his breast for his sins. The fuming censers, that the grave boys, in their lace and scarlet, tossed into the air like great gilt flowers, had their subtle fascination for him. As he passed out, he used to look with wonder at the black confessionals, and long to sit in the dim shadow of one of them and listen to men and women whispering through the tarnished grating the true story of their lives. But he never fell into the error of arresting his intellectual development by any formal acceptance of creed or system, or of mistaking, for a house in which to live, an inn that is but suitable for the sojourn of a night, or for a few hours of a night in which there are no stars and the moon is in travail. Mysticism, with its marvellous 167 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   power of making common things strange to us, and the subtle antinomianism that always seems to accompany it, moved him for a season; and for a season he inclined to the materialistic doctrines of the Darwinismus movement in Germany, and found a curious pleasure in tracing the thoughts and passions of men to some pearly cell in the brain, or some white nerve in the body, delighting in the conception of the absolute dependence of the spirit on certain physical conditions, morbid or healthy, normal or diseased. Yet, as has been said of him before, no theory of life seemed to him to be of any importance compared with life itself. He felt keenly conscious of how barren all intellectual speculation is when separated from action and experiment. He knew that the senses, no less than the soul, have their mysteries to reveal. And so he would now study perfumes, and the secrets of their manufacture, distilling heavily-scented oils, and burning odorous gums from the East. He saw that there was no mood of the mind that had not its counterpart in the sensuous life, and set himself to discover their true relations, wondering what there was in frankincense that made one mystical, and in ambergris that stirred one’s passions, and in violets that woke the memory of dead romances, and in musk that troubled the brain, and in 168 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   champak that stained the imagination; and seeking often to elaborate a real psychology of perfumes, and to estimate the several influences of sweet-smelling roots, and scented pollen-laden flowers, of aromatic balms, and of dark and fragrant woods, of spikenard that sickens, of hovenia that makes men mad, and of aloes that are said to be able to expel melancholy from the soul. At another time he devoted himself entirely to music, and in a long latticed room, with a vermilion-and-gold ceiling and walls of olive- green lacquer, he used to give curious concerts in which mad gypsies tore wild music from little zithers, or grave yellow-shawled Tunisians plucked at the strained strings of monstrous lutes, while grinning negroes beat monotonously upon copper drums, or turbaned Indians, crouching upon scarlet mats, blew through long pipes of reed or brass, and charmed, or feigned to charm, great hooded snakes and horrible horned adders. The harsh intervals and shrill discords of barbaric music stirred him at times when Schubert’s grace, and Chopin’s beautiful sorrows, and the mighty harmonies of Beethoven himself, fell unheeded on his ear. He collected together from all parts of the world the strangest instruments that could be found, either in the tombs of dead nations or among the few savage tribes that have 169 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   survived contact with Western civilizations, and loved to touch and try them. He had the mysterious juruparis of the Rio Negro Indians, that women are not allowed to look at, and that even youths may not see till they have been subjected to fasting and scourging, and the earthen jars of the Peruvians that have the shrill cries of birds, and flutes of human bones such as Alfonso de Ovalle heard in Chili, and the sonorous green stones that are found near Cuzco and give forth a note of singular sweetness. He had painted gourds filled with pebbles that rattled when they were shaken; the long clarin of the Mexicans, into which the performer does not blow, but through which he inhales the air; the harsh turé of the Amazon tribes, that is sounded by the sentinels who sit all day long in trees, and that can be heard, it is said, at a distance of three leagues; the teponaztli, that has two vibrating tongues of wood, and is beaten with sticks that are smeared with an elastic gum obtained from the milky juice of plants; the yotl-bells of the Aztecs, that are hung in clusters like grapes; and a huge cylindrical drum, covered with the skins of great serpents, like the one that Bernal Diaz saw when he went with Cortes into the Mexican temple, and of whose doleful sound he has left us so vivid a description. The fantastic character of these instruments fascinated him, and 170 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   he felt a curious delight in the thought that Art, like Nature, has her monsters, things of bestial shape and with hideous voices. Yet, after some time, he wearied of them, and would sit in his box at the Opera, either alone or with Lord Henry, listening in rapt pleasure to ‘Tannhäuser,’ and seeing in that great work of art a presentation of the tragedy of his own soul. On another occasion he took up the study of jewels, and appeared at a costume ball as Anne de Joyeuse, Admiral of France, in a dress covered with five hundred and sixty pearls. He would often spend a whole day settling and resettling in their cases the various stones that he had collected, such as the olive-green chrysoberyl that turns red by lamplight, the cymophane with its wire-like line of silver, the pistachio-colored peridot, rose-pink and wine-yellow topazes, carbuncles of fiery scarlet with tremulous four-rayed stars, flame- red cinnamon-stones, orange and violet spinels, and amethysts with their alternate layers of ruby and sapphire. He loved the red gold of the sunstone, and the moonstone’s pearly whiteness, and the broken rainbow of the milky opal. He procured from Amsterdam three emeralds of extraordinary size and richness of color, and had a turquoise de la vieille roche that was the envy of all the connoisseurs. 171 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   He discovered wonderful stories, also, about jewels. In Alphonso’s ‘Clericalis Disciplina’ a serpent was mentioned with eyes of real jacinth, and in the romantic history of Alexander he was said to have found snakes in the vale of Jordan ‘with collars of real emeralds growing on their backs.’ There was a gem in the brain of the dragon, Philostratus told us, and ‘by the exhibition of golden letters and a scarlet robe’ the monster could be thrown into a magical sleep, and slain. According to the great alchemist Pierre de Boniface, the diamond rendered a man invisible, and the agate of India made him eloquent. The cornelian appeased anger, and the hyacinth provoked sleep, and the amethyst drove away the fumes of wine. The garnet cast out demons, and the hydropicus deprived the moon of her color. The selenite waxed and waned with the moon, and the meloceus, that discovers thieves, could be affected only by the blood of kids. Leonardus Camillus had seen a white stone taken from the brain of a newly-killed toad, that was a certain antidote against poison. The bezoar, that was found in the heart of the Arabian deer, was a charm that could cure the plague. In the nests of Arabian birds was the aspilates, that, according to Democritus, kept the wearer from any danger by fire. 172 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   The King of Ceilan rode through his city with a large ruby in his hand, as the ceremony of his coronation. The gates of the palace of John the Priest were ‘made of sardius, with the horn of the horned snake inwrought, so that no man might bring poison within.’ Over the gable were ‘two golden apples, in which were two carbuncles,’ so that the gold might shine by day, and the carbuncles by night. In Lodge’s strange romance ‘A Margarite of America’ it was stated that in the chamber of Margarite were seen ‘all the chaste ladies of the world, inchased out of silver, looking through fair mirrours of chrysolites, carbuncles, sapphires, and greene emeraults.’ Marco Polo had watched the inhabitants of Zipangu place a rose-colored pearl in the mouth of the dead. A sea-monster had been enamoured of the pearl that the diver brought to King Perozes, and had slain the thief, and mourned for seven moons over his loss. When the Huns lured the king into the great pit, he flung it away,— Procopius tells the story,—nor was it ever found again, though the Emperor Anastasius offered five hundred-weight of gold pieces for it. The King of Malabar had shown a Venetian a rosary of one hundred and four pearls, one for every god that he worshipped. 173 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   When the Duke de Valentinois, son of Alexander VI., visited Louis XII. of France, his horse was loaded with gold leaves, according to Brantôme, and his cap had double rows of rubies that threw out a great light. Charles of England had ridden in stirrups hung with three hundred and twenty-one diamonds. Richard II. had a coat, valued at thirty thousand marks, which was covered with balas rubies. Hall described Henry VIII., on his way to the Tower previous to his coronation, as wearing ‘a jacket of raised gold, the placard embroidered with diamonds and other rich stones, and a great bauderike about his neck of large balasses.’ The favorites of James I. wore ear-rings of emeralds set in gold filigrane. Edward II. gave to Piers Gaveston a suit of red-gold armor studded with jacinths, and a collar of gold roses set with turquoise-stones, and a skull-cap parsemé with pearls. Henry II. wore jewelled gloves reaching to the elbow, and had a hawk-glove set with twelve rubies and fifty-two great pearls. The ducal hat of Charles the Rash, the last Duke of Burgundy of his race, was studded with sapphires and hung with pear-shaped pearls. How exquisite life had once been! How gorgeous in its pomp and decoration! Even to read of the luxury of the dead was wonderful. 174 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Then he turned his attention to embroideries, and to the tapestries that performed the office of frescos in the chill rooms of the Northern nations of Europe. As he investigated the subject,—and he always had an extraordinary faculty of becoming absolutely absorbed for the moment in whatever he took up,—he was almost saddened by the reflection of the ruin that time brought on beautiful and wonderful things. He, at any rate, had escaped that. Summer followed summer, and the yellow jonquils bloomed and died many times, and nights of horror repeated the story of their shame, but he was unchanged. No winter marred his face or stained his flower-like bloom. How different it was with material things! Where had they gone to? Where was the great crocus-colored robe, on which the gods fought against the giants, that had been worked for Athena? Where the huge velarium that Nero had stretched across the Colosseum at Rome, on which were represented the starry sky, and Apollo driving a chariot drawn by white gilt-reined steeds? He longed to see the curious table-napkins wrought for Elagabalus, on which were displayed all the dainties and viands that could be wanted for a feast; the mortuary cloth of King Chilperic, with its three hundred golden bees; the fantastic robes that excited the indignation of the Bishop 175 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   of Pontus, and were figured with ‘lions, panthers, bears, dogs, forests, rocks, hunters,—all, in fact, that a painter can copy from nature;’ and the coat that Charles of Orleans once wore, on the sleeves of which were embroidered the verses of a song beginning ‘Madame, je suis tout joyeux,’ the musical accompaniment of the words being wrought in gold thread, and each note, a square shape in those days, formed with four pearls. He read of the room that was prepared at the palace at Rheims for the use of Queen Joan of Burgundy, and was decorated with ‘thirteen hundred and twenty-one parrots, made in broidery, and blazoned with the king’s arms, and five hundred and sixty-one butterflies, whose wings were similarly ornamented with the arms of the queen, the whole worked in gold.’ Catherine de Médicis had a mourning-bed made for her of black velvet powdered with crescents and suns. Its curtains were of damask, with leafy wreaths and garlands, figured upon a gold and silver ground, and fringed along the edges with broideries of pearls, and it stood in a room hung with rows of the queen’s devices in cut black velvet upon cloth of silver. Louis XIV. had gold-embroidered caryatides fifteen feet high in his apartment. The state bed of Sobieski, King of Poland, was made of Smyrna gold brocade embroidered in turquoises with verses from the 176 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Koran. Its supports were of silver gilt, beautifully chased, and profusely set with enamelled and jewelled medallions. It had been taken from the Turkish camp before Vienna, and the standard of Mohammed had stood under it. And so, for a whole year, he sought to accumulate the most exquisite specimens that he could find of textile and embroidered work, getting the dainty Delhi muslins, finely wrought, with gold-threat palmates, and stitched over with iridescent beetles’ wings; the Dacca gauzes, that from their transparency are known in the East as ‘woven air,’ and ‘running water,’ and ‘evening dew;’ strange figured cloths from Java; elaborate yellow Chinese hangings; books bound in tawny satins or fair blue silks and wrought with fleurs de lys, birds, and images; veils of lacis worked in Hungary point; Sicilian brocades, and stiff Spanish velvets; Georgian work with its gilt coins, and Japanese Foukousas with their green-toned golds and their marvellously- plumaged birds. He had a special passion, also, for ecclesiastical vestments, as indeed he had for everything connected with the service of the Church. In the long cedar chests that lined the west gallery of his house he had stored away many rare and beautiful specimens of what is really the raiment of the Bride of Christ, who must wear purple and 177 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   jewels and fine linen that she may hide the pallid macerated body that is worn by the suffering that she seeks for, and wounded by self-inflicted pain. He had a gorgeous cope of crimson silk and gold-thread damask, figured with a repeating pattern of golden pomegranates set in six-petalled formal blossoms, beyond which on either side was the pine-apple device wrought in seed-pearls. The orphreys were divided into panels representing scenes from the life of the Virgin, and the coronation of the Virgin was figured in colored silks upon the hood. This was Italian work of the fifteenth century. Another cope was of green velvet, embroidered with heart- shaped groups of acanthus-leaves, from which spread long-stemmed white blossoms, the details of which were picked out with silver thread and colored crystals. The morse bore a seraph’s head in gold- thread raised work. The orphreys were woven in a diaper of red and gold silk, and were starred with medallions of many saints and martyrs, among whom was St. Sebastian. He had chasubles, also, of amber-colored silk, and blue silk and gold brocade, and yellow silk damask and cloth of gold, figured with representations of the Passion and Crucifixion of Christ, and embroidered with lions and peacocks and other emblems; dalmatics of white satin and pink silk damask, 178 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   decorated with tulips and dolphins and fleurs de lys; altar frontals of crimson velvet and blue linen; and many corporals, chalice-veils, and sudaria. In the mystic offices to which these things were put there was something that quickened his imagination. For these things, and everything that he collected in his lovely house, were to be to him means of forgetfulness, modes by which he could escape, for a season, from the fear that seemed to him at times to be almost too great to be borne. Upon the walls of the lonely locked room where he had spent so much of his boyhood, he had hung with his own hands the terrible portrait whose changing features showed him the real degradation of his life, and had draped the purple-and-gold pall in front of it as a curtain. For weeks he would not go there, would forget the hideous painted thing, and get back his light heart, his wonderful joyousness, his passionate pleasure in mere existence. Then, suddenly, some night he would creep out of the house, go down to dreadful places near Blue Gate Fields, and stay there, day after day, until he was driven away. On his return he would sit in front of the picture, sometimes loathing it and himself, but filled, at other times, with that pride of rebellion that is half the fascination of sin, and smiling, with secret pleasure, at the 179 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   misshapen shadow that had to bear the burden that should have been his own. After a few years he could not endure to be long out of England, and gave up the villa that he had shared at Trouville with Lord Henry, as well as the little white walled-in house at Algiers where he had more than once spent his winter. He hated to be separated from the picture that was such a part of his life, and he was also afraid that during his absence some one might gain access to the room, in spite of the elaborate bolts and bars that he had caused to be placed upon the door. He was quite conscious that this would tell them nothing. It was true that the portrait still preserved, under all the foulness and ugliness of the face, its marked likeness to himself; but what could they learn from that? He would laugh at any one who tried to taunt him. He had not painted it. What was it to him how vile and full of shame it looked? Even if he told them, would they believe it? Yet he was afraid. Sometimes when he was down at his great house in Nottinghamshire, entertaining the fashionable young men of his own rank who were his chief companions, and astounding the county by the wanton luxury and gorgeous splendor of his mode of life, he would suddenly leave his guests and rush back to town 180 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   to see that the door had not been tampered with and that the picture was still there. What if it should be stolen? The mere thought made him cold with horror. Surely the world would know his secret then. Perhaps the world already suspected it. For, while he fascinated many, there were not a few who distrusted him. He was blackballed at a West End club of which his birth and social position fully entitled him to become a member, and on one occasion, when he was brought by a friend into the smoking-room of the Carlton, the Duke of Berwick and another gentleman got up in a marked manner and went out. Curious stories became current about him after he had passed his twenty-fifth year. It was said that he had been seen brawling with foreign sailors in a low den in the distant parts of Whitechapel, and that he consorted with thieves and coiners and knew the mysteries of their trade. His extraordinary absences became notorious, and, when he used to reappear again in society, men would whisper to each other in corners, or pass him with a sneer, or look at him with cold searching eyes, as if they were determined to discover his secret. Of such insolences and attempted slights he, of course, took no notice, and in the opinion of most people his 181 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   frank debonair manner, his charming boyish smile, and the infinite grace of that wonderful youth that seemed never to leave him, were in themselves a sufficient answer to the calumnies (for so they called them) that were circulated about him. It was remarked, however, that those who had been most intimate with him appeared, after a time, to shun him. Of all his friends, or so-called friends, Lord Henry Wotton was the only one who remained loyal to him. Women who had wildly adored him, and for his sake had braved all social censure and set convention at defiance, were seen to grow pallid with shame or horror if Dorian Gray entered the room. Yet these whispered scandals only lent him, in the eyes of many, his strange and dangerous charm. His great wealth was a certain element of security. Society, civilized society at least, is never very ready to believe anything to the detriment of those who are both rich and charming. It feels instinctively that manners are of more importance than morals, and the highest respectability is of less value in its opinion than the possession of a good chef. And, after all, it is a very poor consolation to be told that the man who has given one a bad dinner, or poor wine, is irreproachable in his private life. Even the cardinal virtues cannot atone for cold entrées, as Lord Henry remarked 182 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   once, in a discussion on the subject; and there is possibly a good deal to be said for his view. For the canons of good society are, or should be, the same as the canons of art. Form is absolutely essential to it. It should have the dignity of a ceremony, as well as its unreality, and should combine the insincere character of a romantic play with the wit and beauty that make such plays charming. Is insincerity such a terrible thing? I think not. It is merely a method by which we can multiply our personalities. Such, at any rate, was Dorian Gray’s opinion. He used to wonder at the shallow psychology of those who conceive the Ego in man as a thing simple, permanent, reliable, and of one essence. To him, man was a being with myriad lives and myriad sensations, a complex multiform creature that bore within itself strange legacies of thought and passion, and whose very flesh was tainted with the monstrous maladies of the dead. He loved to stroll through the gaunt cold picture-gallery of his country-house and look at the various portraits of those whose blood flowed in his veins. Here was Philip Herbert, described by Francis Osborne, in his ‘Memoires on the Reigns of Queen Elizabeth and King James,’ as one who was ‘caressed by the court for his handsome face, which kept him not long company.’ Was it young Herbert’s life 183 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   that he sometimes led? Had some strange poisonous germ crept from body to body till it had reached his own? Was it some dim sense of that ruined grace that had made him so suddenly, and almost without cause, give utterance, in Basil Hallward’s studio, to that mad prayer that had so changed his life? Here, in gold-embroidered red doublet, jewelled surcoat, and gilt- edged ruff and wrist-bands, stood Sir Anthony Sherard, with his silver-and-black armor piled at his feet. What had this man’s legacy been? Had the lover of Giovanna of Naples bequeathed him some inheritance of sin and shame? Were his own actions merely the dreams that the dead man had not dared to realize? Here, from the fading canvas, smiled Lady Elizabeth Devereux, in her gauze hood, pearl stomacher, and pink slashed sleeves. A flower was in her right hand, and her left clasped an enamelled collar of white and damask roses. On a table by her side lay a mandolin and an apple. There were large green rosettes upon her little pointed shoes. He knew her life, and the strange stories that were told about her lovers. Had he something of her temperament in him? Those oval heavy-lidded eyes seemed to look curiously at him. What of George Willoughby, with his powdered hair and fantastic patches? How evil he looked! The face was saturnine and swarthy, 184 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   and the sensual lips seemed to be twisted with disdain. Delicate lace ruffles fell over the lean yellow hands that were so overladen with rings. He had been a macaroni of the eighteenth century, and the friend, in his youth, of Lord Ferrars. What of the second Lord Sherard, the companion of the Prince Regent in his wildest days, and one of the witnesses at the secret marriage with Mrs. Fitzherbert? How proud and handsome he was, with his chestnut curls and insolent pose! What passions had he bequeathed? The world had looked upon him as infamous. He had led the orgies at Carlton House. The star of the Garter glittered upon his breast. Beside him hung the portrait of his wife, a pallid, thin-lipped woman in black. Her blood, also, stirred within him. How curious it all seemed! Yet one had ancestors in literature, as well as in one’s own race, nearer perhaps in type and temperament, many of them, and certainly with an influence of which one was more absolutely conscious. There were times when it seemed to Dorian Gray that the whole of history was merely the record of his own life, not as he had lived it in act and circumstance, but as his imagination had created it for him, as it had been in his brain and in his passions. He felt that he had known them all, those strange terrible 185 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   figures that had passed across the stage of the world and made sin so marvellous and evil so full of wonder. It seemed to him that in some mysterious way their lives had been his own. The hero of the dangerous novel that had so influenced his life had himself had this curious fancy. In a chapter of the book he tells how, crowned with laurel, lest lightning might strike him, he had sat, as Tiberius, in a garden at Capri, reading the shameful books of Elephantis, while dwarfs and peacocks strutted round him and the flute-player mocked the swinger of the censer; and, as Caligula, had caroused with the green-shirted jockeys in their stables, and supped in an ivory manger with a jewel-frontleted horse; and, as Domitian, had wandered through a corridor lined with marble mirrors, looking round with haggard eyes for the reflection of the dagger that was to end his days, and sick with that ennui, that taedium vitae, that comes on those to whom life denies nothing; and had peered through a clear emerald at the red shambles of the Circus, and then, in a litter of pearl and purple drawn by silver-shod mules, been carried through the Street of Pomegranates to a House of Gold, and heard men cry on Nero Caesar as he passed by; and, as Elagabalus, had painted his face with colors, and plied the distaff among 186 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   the women, and brought the Moon from Carthage, and given her in mystic marriage to the Sun. Over and over again Dorian used to read this fantastic chapter, and the chapter immediately following, in which the hero describes the curious tapestries that he had had woven for him from Gustave Moreau’s designs, and on which were pictured the awful and beautiful forms of those whom Vice and Blood and Weariness had made monstrous or mad: Filippo, Duke of Milan, who slew his wife, and painted her lips with a scarlet poison; Pietro Barbi, the Venetian, known as Paul the Second, who sought in his vanity to assume the title of Formosus, and whose tiara, valued at two hundred thousand florins, was bought at the price of a terrible sin; Gian Maria Visconti, who used hounds to chase living men, and whose murdered body was covered with roses by a harlot who had loved him; the Borgia on his white horse, with Fratricide riding beside him, and his mantle stained with the blood of Perotto; Pietro Riario, the young Cardinal Archbishop of Florence, child and minion of Sixtus IV., whose beauty was equalled only by his debauchery, and who received Leonora of Aragon in a pavilion of white and crimson silk, filled with nymphs and centaurs, and gilded a boy that he might serve her at the feast as 187 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Ganymede or Hylas; Ezzelin, whose melancholy could be cured only by the spectacle of death, and who had a passion for red blood, as other men have for red wine,— the son of the Fiend, as was reported, and one who had cheated his father at dice when gambling with him for his own soul; Giambattista Cibo, who in mockery took the name of Innocent, and into whose torpid veins the blood of three lads was infused by a Jewish doctor; Sigismondo Malatesta, the lover of Isotta, and the lord of Rimini, whose effigy was burned at Rome as the enemy of God and man, who strangled Polyssena with a napkin, and gave poison to Ginevra d’Este in a cup of emerald, and in honor of a shameful passion built a pagan church for Christian worship; Charles VI., who had so wildly adored his brother’s wife that a leper had warned him of the insanity that was coming on him, and who could only be soothed by Saracen cards painted with the images of Love and Death and Madness; and, in his trimmed jerkin and jewelled cap and acanthus-like curls, Grifonetto Baglioni, who slew Astorre with his bride, and Simonetto with his page, and whose comeliness was such that, as he lay dying in the yellow piazza of Perugia, those who had hated him could not choose but weep, and Atalanta, who had cursed him, blessed him. 188 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   There was a horrible fascination in them all. He saw them at night, and they troubled his imagination in the day. The Renaissance knew of strange manners of poisoning,—poisoning by a helmet and a lighted torch, by an embroidered glove and a jewelled fan, by a gilded pomander and by an amber chain. Dorian Gray had been poisoned by a book. There were moments when he looked on evil simply as a mode through which he could realize his conception of the beautiful. 189 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Chapter X It was on the 7th of November, the eve of his own thirty- second birthday, as he often remembered afterwards. He was walking home about eleven o’clock from Lord Henry’s, where he had been dining, and was wrapped in heavy furs, as the night was cold and foggy. At the corner of Grosvenor Square and South Audley Street a man passed him in the mist, walking very fast, and with the collar of his gray ulster turned up. He had a bag in his hand. He recognized him. It was Basil Hallward. A strange sense of fear, for which he could not account, came over him. He made no sign of recognition, and went on slowly, in the direction of his own house. But Hallward had seen him. Dorian heard him first stopping, and then hurrying after him. In a few moments his hand was on his arm. ‘Dorian! What an extraordinary piece of luck! I have been waiting for you ever since nine o’clock in your library. Finally I took pity on your tired servant, and told him to go to bed, as he let me out. I am off to Paris by the midnight train, and I wanted particularly to see you before 190 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   I left. I thought it was you, or rather your fur coat, as you passed me. But I wasn’t quite sure. Didn’t you recognize me?’ ‘In this fog, my dear Basil? Why, I can’t even recognize Grosvenor Square. I believe my house is somewhere about here, but I don’t feel at all certain about it. I am sorry you are going away, as I have not seen you for ages. But I suppose you will be back soon?’ ‘No: I am going to be out of England for six months. I intend to take a studio in Paris, and shut myself up till I have finished a great picture I have in my head. However, it wasn’t about myself I wanted to talk. Here we are at your door. Let me come in for a moment. I have something to say to you.’ ‘I shall be charmed. But won’t you miss your train?’ said Dorian Gray, languidly, as he passed up the steps and opened the door with his latch-key. The lamp-light struggled out through the fog, and Hallward looked at his watch. ‘I have heaps of time,’ he answered. ‘The train doesn’t go till twelve-fifteen, and it is only just eleven. In fact, I was on my way to the club to look for you, when I met you. You see, I shan’t have any delay about luggage, as I have sent on my heavy things. All 191 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   I have with me is in this bag, and I can easily get to Victoria in twenty minutes.’ Dorian looked at him and smiled. ‘What a way for a fashionable painter to travel! A Gladstone bag, and an ulster! Come in, or the fog will get into the house. And mind you don’t talk about anything serious. Nothing is serious nowadays. At least nothing should be.’ Hallward shook his head, as he entered, and followed Dorian into the library. There was a bright wood fire blazing in the large open hearth. The lamps were lit, and an open Dutch silver spirit-case stood, with some siphons of soda-water and large cut-glass tumblers, on a little table. ‘You see your servant made me quite at home, Dorian. He gave me everything I wanted, including your best cigarettes. He is a most hospitable creature. I like him much better than the Frenchman you used to have. What has become of the Frenchman, by the bye?’ Dorian shrugged his shoulders. ‘I believe he married Lady Ashton’s maid, and has established her in Paris as an English dressmaker. Anglomanie is very fashionable over there now, I hear. It seems silly of the French, doesn’t it? But—do you know?—he was not at all a bad servant. I never liked him, but I had nothing to complain about. One often imagines things that are quite absurd. He was 192 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   really very devoted to me, and seemed quite sorry when he went away. Have another brandy-and-soda? Or would you like hock-and-seltzer? I always take hock-and-seltzer myself. There is sure to be some in the next room.’ ‘Thanks, I won’t have anything more,’ said Hallward, taking his cap and coat off, and throwing them on the bag that he had placed in the corner. ‘And now, my dear fellow, I want to speak to you seriously. Don’t frown like that. You make it so much more difficult for me.’ ‘What is it all about?’ cried Dorian, in his petulant way, flinging himself down on the sofa. ‘I hope it is not about myself. I am tired of myself to-night. I should like to be somebody else.’ ‘It is about yourself,’ answered Hallward, in his grave, deep voice, ‘and I must say it to you. I shall only keep you half an hour.’ Dorian sighed, and lit a cigarette. ‘Half an hour!’ he murmured. ‘It is not much to ask of you, Dorian, and it is entirely for your own sake that I am speaking. I think it right that you should know that the most dreadful things are being said about you in London,—things that I could hardly repeat to you.’ 193 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘I don’t wish to know anything about them. I love scandals about other people, but scandals about myself don’t interest me. They have not got the charm of novelty.’ ‘They must interest you, Dorian. Every gentleman is interested in his good name. You don’t want people to talk of you as something vile and degraded. Of course you have your position, and your wealth, and all that kind of thing. But position and wealth are not everything. Mind you, I don’t believe these rumors at all. At least, I can’t believe them when I see you. Sin is a thing that writes itself across a man’s face. It cannot be concealed. People talk of secret vices. There are no such things as secret vices. If a wretched man has a vice, it shows itself in the lines of his mouth, the droop of his eyelids, the moulding of his hands even. Somebody— I won’t mention his name, but you know him—came to me last year to have his portrait done. I had never seen him before, and had never heard anything about him at the time, though I have heard a good deal since. He offered an extravagant price. I refused him. There was something in the shape of his fingers that I hated. I know now that I was quite right in what I fancied about him. His life is dreadful. But you, Dorian, with your pure, bright, innocent face, and your 194 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   marvellous untroubled youth,—I can’t believe anything against you. And yet I see you very seldom, and you never come down to the studio now, and when I am away from you, and I hear all these hideous things that people are whispering about you, I don’t know what to say. Why is it, Dorian, that a man like the Duke of Berwick leaves the room of a club when you enter it? Why is it that so many gentlemen in London will neither go to your house nor invite you to theirs? You used to be a friend of Lord Cawdor. I met him at dinner last week. Your name happened to come up in conversation, in connection with the miniatures you have lent to the exhibition at the Dudley. Cawdor curled his lip, and said that you might have the most artistic tastes, but that you were a man whom no pure-minded girl should be allowed to know, and whom no chaste woman should sit in the same room with. I reminded him that I was a friend of yours, and asked him what he meant. He told me. He told me right out before everybody. It was horrible! Why is your friendship so fateful to young men? There was that wretched boy in the Guards who committed suicide. You were his great friend. There was Sir Henry Ashton, who had to leave England, with a tarnished name. You and he were inseparable. What about Adrian Singleton, and his 195 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   dreadful end? What about Lord Kent’s only son, and his career? I met his father yesterday in St. James Street. He seemed broken with shame and sorrow. What about the young Duke of Perth? What sort of life has he got now? What gentleman would associate with him? Dorian, Dorian, your reputation is infamous. I know you and Harry are great friends. I say nothing about that now, but surely you need not have made his sister’s name a by-word. When you met Lady Gwendolen, not a breath of scandal had ever touched her. Is there a single decent woman in London now who would drive with her in the Park? Why, even her children are not allowed to live with her. Then there are other stories,—stories that you have been seen creeping at dawn out of dreadful houses and slinking in disguise into the foulest dens in London. Are they true? Can they be true? When I first heard them, I laughed. I hear them now, and they make me shudder. What about your country-house, and the life that is led there? Dorian, you don’t know what is said about you. I won’t tell you that I don’t want to preach to you. I remember Harry saying once that every man who turned himself into an amateur curate for the moment always said that, and then broke his word. I do want to preach to you. I want you to lead such a life as will make the world 196 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   respect you. I want you to have a clean name and a fair record. I want you to get rid of the dreadful people you associate with. Don’t shrug your shoulders like that. Don’t be so indifferent. You have a wonderful influence. Let it be for good, not for evil. They say that you corrupt every one whom you become intimate with, and that it is quite sufficient for you to enter a house, for shame of some kind to follow after you. I don’t know whether it is so or not. How should I know? But it is said of you. I am told things that it seems impossible to doubt. Lord Gloucester was one of my greatest friends at Oxford. He showed me a letter that his wife had written to him when she was dying alone in her villa at Mentone. Your name was implicated in the most terrible confession I ever read. I told him that it was absurd,—that I knew you thoroughly, and that you were incapable of anything of the kind. Know you? I wonder do I know you? Before I could answer that, I should have to see your soul.’ ‘To see my soul!’ muttered Dorian Gray, starting up from the sofa and turning almost white from fear. ‘Yes,’ answered Hallward, gravely, and with infinite sorrow in his voice,—‘to see your soul. But only God can do that.’ 197 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   A bitter laugh of mockery broke from the lips of the younger man. ‘You shall see it yourself, to-night!’ he cried, seizing a lamp from the table. ‘Come: it is your own handiwork. Why shouldn’t you look at it? You can tell the world all about it afterwards, if you choose. Nobody would believe you. If they did believe you, they’d like me all the better for it. I know the age better than you do, though you will prate about it so tediously. Come, I tell you. You have chattered enough about corruption. Now you shall look on it face to face.’ There was the madness of pride in every word he uttered. He stamped his foot upon the ground in his boyish insolent manner. He felt a terrible joy at the thought that some one else was to share his secret, and that the man who had painted the portrait that was the origin of all his shame was to be burdened for the rest of his life with the hideous memory of what he had done. ‘Yes,’ he continued, coming closer to him, and looking steadfastly into his stern eyes, ‘I will show you my soul. You shall see the thing that you fancy only God can see.’ Hallward started back. ‘This is blasphemy, Dorian!’ he cried. ‘You must not say things like that. They are horrible, and they don’t mean anything.’ ‘You think so?’ He laughed again. 198 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘I know so. As for what I said to you to-night, I said it for your good. You know I have been always devoted to you.’ ‘Don’t touch me. Finish what you have to say.’ A twisted flash of pain shot across Hallward’s face. He paused for a moment, and a wild feeling of pity came over him. After all, what right had he to pry into the life of Dorian Gray? If he had done a tithe of what was rumored about him, how much he must have suffered! Then he straightened himself up, and walked over to the fireplace, and stood there, looking at the burning logs with their frost-like ashes and their throbbing cores of flame. ‘I am waiting, Basil,’ said the young man, in a hard, clear voice. He turned round. ‘What I have to say is this,’ he cried. ‘You must give me some answer to these horrible charges that are made against you. If you tell me that they are absolutely untrue from beginning to end, I will believe you. Deny them, Dorian, deny them! Can’t you see what I am going through? My God! don’t tell me that you are infamous!’ Dorian Gray smiled. There was a curl of contempt in his lips. ‘Come up-stairs, Basil,’ he said, quietly. ‘I keep a diary of my life from day to day, and it never leaves the 199 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   room in which it is written. I will show it to you if you come with me.’ ‘I will come with you, Dorian, if you wish it. I see I have missed my train. That makes no matter. I can go tomorrow. But don’t ask me to read anything to-night. All I want is a plain answer to my question.’ ‘That will be given to you up-stairs. I could not give it here. You won’t have to read long. Don’t keep me waiting.’ 200 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Chapter XI He passed out of the room, and began the ascent, Basil Hallward following close behind. They walked softly, as men instinctively do at night. The lamp cast fantastic shadows on the wall and staircase. A rising wind made some of the windows rattle. When they reached the top landing, Dorian set the lamp down on the floor, and taking out the key turned it in the lock. ‘You insist on knowing, Basil?’ he asked, in a low voice. ‘Yes.’ ‘I am delighted,’ he murmured, smiling. Then he added, somewhat bitterly, ‘You are the one man in the world who is entitled to know everything about me. You have had more to do with my life than you think.’ And, taking up the lamp, he opened the door and went in. A cold current of air passed them, and the light shot up for a moment in a flame of murky orange. He shuddered. ‘Shut the door behind you,’ he said, as he placed the lamp on the table. Hallward glanced round him, with a puzzled expression. The room looked as if it had not been lived in 201 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   for years. A faded Flemish tapestry, a curtained picture, an old Italian cassone, and an almost empty bookcase,—that was all that it seemed to contain, besides a chair and a table. As Dorian Gray was lighting a half-burned candle that was standing on the mantel-shelf, he saw that the whole place was covered with dust, and that the carpet was in holes. A mouse ran scuffling behind the wainscoting. There was a damp odor of mildew. ‘So you think that it is only God who sees the soul, Basil? Draw that curtain back, and you will see mine.’ The voice that spoke was cold and cruel. ‘You are mad, Dorian, or playing a part,’ muttered Hallward, frowning. ‘You won’t? Then I must do it myself,’ said the young man; and he tore the curtain from its rod, and flung it on the ground. An exclamation of horror broke from Hallward’s lips as he saw in the dim light the hideous thing on the canvas leering at him. There was something in its expression that filled him with disgust and loathing. Good heavens! it was Dorian Gray’s own face that he was looking at! The horror, whatever it was, had not yet entirely marred that marvellous beauty. There was still some gold in the thinning hair and some scarlet on the sensual lips. The sodden eyes had kept something of the loveliness of their 202 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   blue, the noble curves had not yet passed entirely away from chiselled nostrils and from plastic throat. Yes, it was Dorian himself. But who had done it? He seemed to recognize his own brush-work, and the frame was his own design. The idea was monstrous, yet he felt afraid. He seized the lighted candle, and held it to the picture. In the left-hand corner was his own name, traced in long letters of bright vermilion. It was some foul parody, some infamous, ignoble satire. He had never done that. Still, it was his own picture. He knew it, and he felt as if his blood had changed from fire to sluggish ice in a moment. His own picture! What did it mean? Why had it altered? He turned, and looked at Dorian Gray with the eyes of a sick man. His mouth twitched, and his parched tongue seemed unable to articulate. He passed his hand across his forehead. It was dank with clammy sweat. The young man was leaning against the mantel-shelf, watching him with that strange expression that is on the faces of those who are absorbed in a play when a great artist is acting. There was neither real sorrow in it nor real joy. There was simply the passion of the spectator, with perhaps a flicker of triumph in the eyes. He had taken the 203 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   flower out of his coat, and was smelling it, or pretending to do so. ‘What does this mean?’ cried Hallward, at last. His own voice sounded shrill and curious in his ears. ‘Years ago, when I was a boy,’ said Dorian Gray, ‘you met me, devoted yourself to me, flattered me, and taught me to be vain of my good looks. One day you introduced me to a friend of yours, who explained to me the wonder of youth, and you finished a portrait of me that revealed to me the wonder of beauty. In a mad moment, that I don’t know, even now, whether I regret or not, I made a wish. Perhaps you would call it a prayer ….’ ‘I remember it! Oh, how well I remember it! No! the thing is impossible. The room is damp. The mildew has got into the canvas. The paints I used had some wretched mineral poison in them. I tell you the thing is impossible.’ ‘Ah, what is impossible?’ murmured the young man, going over to the window, and leaning his forehead against the cold, mist-stained glass. ‘You told me you had destroyed it.’ ‘I was wrong. It has destroyed me.’ ‘I don’t believe it is my picture.’ ‘Can’t you see your romance in it?’ said Dorian, bitterly. 204 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘My romance, as you call it …’ ‘As you called it.’ ‘There was nothing evil in it, nothing shameful. This is the face of a satyr.’ ‘It is the face of my soul.’ ‘God! what a thing I must have worshipped! This has the eyes of a devil.’ ‘Each of us has Heaven and Hell in him, Basil,’ cried Dorian, with a wild gesture of despair. Hallward turned again to the portrait, and gazed at it. ‘My God! if it is true,’ he exclaimed, ‘and this is what you have done with your life, why, you must be worse even than those who talk against you fancy you to be!’ He held the light up again to the canvas, and examined it. The surface seemed to be quite undisturbed, and as he had left it. It was from within, apparently, that the foulness and horror had come. Through some strange quickening of inner life the leprosies of sin were slowly eating the thing away. The rotting of a corpse in a watery grave was not so fearful. His hand shook, and the candle fell from its socket on the floor, and lay there sputtering. He placed his foot on it and put it out. Then he flung himself into the rickety chair 205 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   that was standing by the table and buried his face in his hands. ‘Good God, Dorian, what a lesson! what an awful lesson!’ There was no answer, but he could hear the young man sobbing at the window. ‘Pray, Dorian, pray,’ he murmured. ‘What is it that one was taught to say in one’s boyhood? ‘Lead us not into temptation. Forgive us our sins. Wash away our iniquities.’ Let us say that together. The prayer of your pride has been answered. The prayer of your repentance will be answered also. I worshipped you too much. I am punished for it. You worshipped yourself too much. We are both punished.’ Dorian Gray turned slowly around, and looked at him with tear-dimmed eyes. ‘It is too late, Basil,’ he murmured. ‘It is never too late, Dorian. Let us kneel down and try if we can remember a prayer. Isn’t there a verse somewhere, ‘Though your sins be as scarlet, yet I will make them as white as snow’?’ ‘Those words mean nothing to me now.’ ‘Hush! don’t say that. You have done enough evil in your life. My God! don’t you see that accursed thing leering at us?’ 206 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   Dorian Gray glanced at the picture, and suddenly an uncontrollable feeling of hatred for Basil Hallward came over him. The mad passions of a hunted animal stirred within him, and he loathed the man who was seated at the table, more than he had ever loathed anything in his whole life. He glanced wildly around. Something glimmered on the top of the painted chest that faced him. His eye fell on it. He knew what it was. It was a knife that he had brought up, some days before, to cut a piece of cord, and had forgotten to take away with him. He moved slowly towards it, passing Hallward as he did so. As soon as he got behind him, he seized it, and turned round. Hallward moved in his chair as if he was going to rise. He rushed at him, and dug the knife into the great vein that is behind the ear, crushing the man’s head down on the table, and stabbing again and again. There was a stifled groan, and the horrible sound of some one choking with blood. The outstretched arms shot up convulsively three times, waving grotesque stiff-fingered hands in the air. He stabbed him once more, but the man did not move. Something began to trickle on the floor. He waited for a moment, still pressing the head down. Then he threw the knife on the table, and listened. 207 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   He could hear nothing, but the drip, drip on the threadbare carpet. He opened the door, and went out on the landing. The house was quite quiet. No one was stirring. He took out the key, and returned to the room, locking himself in as he did so. The thing was still seated in the chair, straining over the table with bowed head, and humped back, and long fantastic arms. Had it not been for the red jagged tear in the neck, and the clotted black pool that slowly widened on the table, one would have said that the man was simply asleep. How quickly it had all been done! He felt strangely calm, and, walking over to the window, opened it, and stepped out on the balcony. The wind had blown the fog away, and the sky was like a monstrous peacock’s tail, starred with myriads of golden eyes. He looked down, and saw the policeman going his rounds and flashing a bull’s-eye lantern on the doors of the silent houses. The crimson spot of a prowling hansom gleamed at the corner, and then vanished. A woman in a ragged shawl was creeping round by the railings, staggering as she went. Now and then she stopped, and peered back. Once, she began to sing in a hoarse voice. The policeman strolled over and 208 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   said something to her. She stumbled away, laughing. A bitter blast swept across the Square. The gas-lamps flickered, and became blue, and the leafless trees shook their black iron branches as if in pain. He shivered, and went back, closing the window behind him. He passed to the door, turned the key, and opened it. He did not even glance at the murdered man. He felt that the secret of the whole thing was not to realize the situation. The friend who had painted the fatal portrait, the portrait to which all his misery had been due, had gone out of his life. That was enough. Then he remembered the lamp. It was a rather curious one of Moorish workmanship, made of dull silver inlaid with arabesques of burnished steel. Perhaps it might be missed by his servant, and questions would be asked. He turned back, and took it from the table. How still the man was! How horribly white the long hands looked! He was like a dreadful wax image. He locked the door behind him, and crept quietly down-stairs. The wood-work creaked, and seemed to cry out as if in pain. He stopped several times, and waited. No: everything was still. It was merely the sound of his own footsteps. 209 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   When he reached the library, he saw the bag and coat in the corner. They must be hidden away somewhere. He unlocked a secret press that was in the wainscoting, and put them into it. He could easily burn them afterwards. Then he pulled out his watch. It was twenty minutes to two. He sat down, and began to think. Every year—every month, almost— men were strangled in England for what he had done. There had been a madness of murder in the air. Some red star had come too close to the earth. Evidence? What evidence was there against him? Basil Hallward had left the house at eleven. No one had seen him come in again. Most of the servants were at Selby Royal. His valet had gone to bed. Paris! Yes. It was to Paris that Basil had gone, by the midnight train, as he had intended. With his curious reserved habits, it would be months before any suspicions would be aroused. Months? Everything could be destroyed long before then. A sudden thought struck him. He put on his fur coat and hat, and went out into the hall. There he paused, hearing the slow heavy tread of the policeman outside on the pavement, and seeing the flash of the lantern reflected in the window. He waited, holding his breath. 210 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   After a few moments he opened the front door, and slipped out, shutting it very gently behind him. Then he began ringing the bell. In about ten minutes his valet appeared, half dressed, and looking very drowsy. ‘I am sorry to have had to wake you up, Francis,’ he said, stepping in; ‘but I had forgotten my latch-key. What time is it?’ ‘Five minutes past two, sir,’ answered the man, looking at the clock and yawning. ‘Five minutes past two? How horribly late! You must wake me at nine to-morrow. I have some work to do.’ ‘All right, sir.’ ‘Did any one call this evening?’ ‘Mr. Hallward, sir. He stayed here till eleven, and then he went away to catch his train.’ ‘Oh! I am sorry I didn’t see him. Did he leave any message?’ ‘No, sir, except that he would write to you.’ ‘That will do, Francis. Don’t forget to call me at nine tomorrow.’ ‘No, sir.’ The man shambled down the passage in his slippers. Dorian Gray threw his hat and coat upon the yellow marble table, and passed into the library. He walked up 211 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   and down the room for a quarter of an hour, biting his lip, and thinking. Then he took the Blue Book down from one of the shelves, and began to turn over the leaves. ‘Alan Campbell, 152, Hertford Street, Mayfair.’ Yes; that was the man he wanted. 212 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Chapter XII At nine o’clock the next morning his servant came in with a cup of chocolate on a tray, and opened the shutters. Dorian was sleeping quite peacefully, lying on his right side, with one hand underneath his cheek. He looked like a boy who had been tired out with play, or study. The man had to touch him twice on the shoulder before he woke, and as he opened his eyes a faint smile passed across his lips, as though he had been having some delightful dream. Yet he had not dreamed at all. His night had been untroubled by any images of pleasure or of pain. But youth smiles without any reason. It is one of its chiefest charms. He turned round, and, leaning on his elbow, began to drink his chocolate. The mellow November sun was streaming into the room. The sky was bright blue, and there was a genial warmth in the air. It was almost like a morning in May. Gradually the events of the preceding night crept with silent blood- stained feet into his brain, and reconstructed themselves there with terrible distinctness. He winced at the memory of all that he had suffered, and for a moment 213 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   the same curious feeling of loathing for Basil Hallward, that had made him kill him as he sat in the chair, came back to him, and he grew cold with passion. The dead man was still sitting there, too, and in the sunlight now. How horrible that was! Such hideous things were for the darkness, not for the day. He felt that if he brooded on what he had gone through he would sicken or grow mad. There were sins whose fascination was more in the memory than in the doing of them, strange triumphs that gratified the pride more than the passions, and gave to the intellect a quickened sense of joy, greater than any joy they brought, or could ever bring, to the senses. But this was not one of them. It was a thing to be driven out of the mind, to be drugged with poppies, to be strangled lest it might strangle one itself. He passed his hand across his forehead, and then got up hastily, and dressed himself with even more than his usual attention, giving a good deal of care to the selection of his necktie and scarf-pin, and changing his rings more than once. He spent a long time over breakfast, tasting the various dishes, talking to his valet about some new liveries that he was thinking of getting made for the servants at Selby, and 214 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   going through his correspondence. Over some of the letters he smiled. Three of them bored him. One he read several times over, and then tore up with a slight look of annoyance in his face. ‘That awful thing, a woman’s memory!’ as Lord Henry had once said. When he had drunk his coffee, he sat down at the table, and wrote two letters. One he put in his pocket, the other he handed to the valet. ‘Take this round to 152, Hertford Street, Francis, and if Mr. Campbell is out of town, get his address.’ As soon as he was alone, he lit a cigarette, and began sketching upon a piece of paper, drawing flowers, and bits of architecture, first, and then faces. Suddenly he remarked that every face that he drew seemed to have an extraordinary likeness to Basil Hallward. He frowned, and, getting up, went over to the bookcase and took out a volume at hazard. He was determined that he would not think about what had happened, till it became absolutely necessary to do so. When he had stretched himself on the sofa, he looked at the title- page of the book. It was Gautier’s ‘Emaux et Camées,’ Charpentier’s Japanese-paper edition, with the Jacquemart etching. The binding was of citron-green leather with a design of gilt trellis-work and dotted 215 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   pomegranates. It had been given to him by Adrian Singleton. As he turned over the pages his eye fell on the poem about the hand of Lacenaire, the cold yellow hand ‘du supplice encore mal lavée,’ with its downy red hairs and its ‘doigts de faune.’ He glanced at his own white taper fingers, and passed on, till he came to those lovely verses upon Venice: Sur une gamme chromatique, Le sein de perles ruisselant, La Vénus de l’Adriatique Sort de l’eau son corps rose et blanc. Les dômes, sur l’azur des ondes Suivant la phrase au pur contour, S’enflent comme des gorges rondes Que soulève un soupir d’amour. L’esquif aborde et me dépose, Jetant son amarre au pilier, Devant une façade rose, Sur le marbre d’un escalier. How exquisite they were! As one read them, one seemed to be floating down the green water-ways of the pink and pearl city, lying in a black gondola with silver prow and trailing curtains. The mere lines looked to him 216 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   like those straight lines of turquoise-blue that follow one as one pushes out to the Lido. The sudden flashes of color reminded him of the gleam of the opal-and-iris-throated birds that flutter round the tall honey-combed Campanile, or stalk, with such stately grace, through the dim arcades. Leaning back with half- closed eyes, he kept saying over and over to himself,— Devant une façade rose, Sur le marbre d’un escalier. The whole of Venice was in those two lines. He remembered the autumn that he had passed there, and a wonderful love that had stirred him to delightful fantastic follies. There was romance in every place. But Venice, like Oxford, had kept the background for romance, and background was everything, or almost everything. Basil had been with him part of the time, and had gone wild over Tintoret. Poor Basil! what a horrible way for a man to die! He sighed, and took up the book again, and tried to forget. He read of the swallows that fly in and out of the little café at Smyrna where the Hadjis sit counting their amber beads and the turbaned merchants smoke their long tasselled pipes and talk gravely to each other; of the Obelisk in the Place de la Concorde that weeps tears of 217 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   granite in its lonely sunless exile, and longs to be back by the hot lotus-covered Nile, where there are Sphinxes, and rose-red ibises, and white vultures with gilded claws, and crocodiles, with small beryl eyes, that crawl over the green steaming mud; and of that curious statue that Gautier compares to a contralto voice, the ‘monstre charmant’ that couches in the porphyry-room of the Louvre. But after a time the book fell from his hand. He grew nervous, and a horrible fit of terror came over him. What if Alan Campbell should be out of England? Days would elapse before he could come back. Perhaps he might refuse to come. What could he do then? Every moment was of vital importance. They had been great friends once, five years before,— almost inseparable, indeed. Then the intimacy had come suddenly to an end. When they met in society now, it was only Dorian Gray who smiled: Alan Campbell never did. He was an extremely clever young man, though he had no real appreciation of the visible arts, and whatever little sense of the beauty of poetry he possessed he had gained entirely from Dorian. His dominant intellectual passion was for science. At Cambridge he had spent a great deal of his time working in the Laboratory, and had taken a good class in the Natural Science tripos of his year. Indeed, he 218 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   was still devoted to the study of chemistry, and had a laboratory of his own, in which he used to shut himself up all day long, greatly to the annoyance of his mother, who had set her heart on his standing for Parliament and had a vague idea that a chemist was a person who made up prescriptions. He was an excellent musician, however, as well, and played both the violin and the piano better than most amateurs. In fact, it was music that had first brought him and Dorian Gray together,—music and that indefinable attraction that Dorian seemed to be able to exercise whenever he wished, and indeed exercised often without being conscious of it. They had met at Lady Berkshire’s the night that Rubinstein played there, and after that used to be always seen together at the Opera, and wherever good music was going on. For eighteen months their intimacy lasted. Campbell was always either at Selby Royal or in Grosvenor Square. To him, as to many others, Dorian Gray was the type of everything that is wonderful and fascinating in life. Whether or not a quarrel had taken place between them no one ever knew. But suddenly people remarked that they scarcely spoke when they met, and that Campbell seemed always to go away early from any party at which Dorian Gray was present. He had changed, too,— was strangely melancholy 219 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   at times, appeared almost to dislike hearing music of any passionate character, and would never himself play, giving as his excuse, when he was called upon, that he was so absorbed in science that he had no time left in which to practise. And this was certainly true. Every day he seemed to become more interested in biology, and his name appeared once or twice in some of the scientific reviews, in connection with certain curious experiments. This was the man that Dorian Gray was waiting for, pacing up and down the room, glancing every moment at the clock, and becoming horribly agitated as the minutes went by. At last the door opened, and his servant entered. ‘Mr. Alan Campbell, sir.’ A sigh of relief broke from his parched lips, and the color came back to his cheeks. ‘Ask him to come in at once, Francis.’ The man bowed, and retired. In a few moments Alan Campbell walked in, looking very stern and rather pale, his pallor being intensified by his coal-black hair and dark eyebrows. ‘Alan! this is kind of you. I thank you for coming.’ ‘I had intended never to enter your house again, Gray. But you said it was a matter of life and death.’ His voice was hard and cold. He spoke with slow deliberation. 220 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   There was a look of contempt in the steady searching gaze that he turned on Dorian. He kept his hands in the pockets of his Astrakhan coat, and appeared not to have noticed the gesture with which he had been greeted. ‘It is a matter of life and death, Alan, and to more than one person. Sit down.’ Campbell took a chair by the table, and Dorian sat opposite to him. The two men’s eyes met. In Dorian’s there was infinite pity. He knew that what he was going to do was dreadful. After a strained moment of silence, he leaned across and said, very quietly, but watching the effect of each word upon the face of the man he had sent for, ‘Alan, in a locked room at the top of this house, a room to which nobody but myself has access, a dead man is seated at a table. He has been dead ten hours now. Don’t stir, and don’t look at me like that. Who the man is, why he died, how he died, are matters that do not concern you. What you have to do is this—‘ ‘Stop, Gray. I don’t want to know anything further. Whether what you have told me is true or not true, doesn’t concern me. I entirely decline to be mixed up in your life. Keep your horrible secrets to yourself. They don’t interest me any more.’ 221 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Alan, they will have to interest you. This one will have to interest you. I am awfully sorry for you, Alan. But I can’t help myself. You are the one man who is able to save me. I am forced to bring you into the matter. I have no option. Alan, you are a scientist. You know about chemistry, and things of that kind. You have made experiments. What you have got to do is to destroy the thing that is up-stairs,—to destroy it so that not a vestige will be left of it. Nobody saw this person come into the house. Indeed, at the present moment he is supposed to be in Paris. He will not be missed for months. When he is missed, there must be no trace of him found here. You, Alan, you must change him, and everything that belongs to him, into a handful of ashes that I may scatter in the air.’ ‘You are mad, Dorian.’ ‘Ah! I was waiting for you to call me Dorian.’ ‘You are mad, I tell you,—mad to imagine that I would raise a finger to help you, mad to make this monstrous confession. I will have nothing to do with this matter, whatever it is. Do you think I am going to peril my reputation for you? What is it to me what devil’s work you are up to?’ ‘It was a suicide, Alan.’ 222 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘I am glad of that. But who drove him to it? You, I should fancy.’ ‘Do you still refuse to do this, for me?’ ‘Of course I refuse. I will have absolutely nothing to do with it. I don’t care what shame comes on you. You deserve it all. I should not be sorry to see you disgraced, publicly disgraced. How dare you ask me, of all men in the world, to mix myself up in this horror? I should have thought you knew more about people’s characters. Your friend Lord Henry Wotton can’t have taught you much about psychology, whatever else he has taught you. Nothing will induce me to stir a step to help you. You have come to the wrong man. Go to some of your friends. Don’t come to me.’ ‘Alan, it was murder. I killed him. You don’t know what he had made me suffer. Whatever my life is, he had more to do with the making or the marring of it than poor Harry has had. He may not have intended it, the result was the same.’ ‘Murder! Good God, Dorian, is that what you have come to? I shall not inform upon you. It is not my business. Besides, you are certain to be arrested, without my stirring in the matter. Nobody ever commits a murder 223 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   without doing something stupid. But I will have nothing to do with it.’ ‘All I ask of you is to perform a certain scientific experiment. You go to hospitals and dead-houses, and the horrors that you do there don’t affect you. If in some hideous dissecting-room or fetid laboratory you found this man lying on a leaden table with red gutters scooped out in it, you would simply look upon him as an admirable subject. You would not turn a hair. You would not believe that you were doing anything wrong. On the contrary, you would probably feel that you were benefiting the human race, or increasing the sum of knowledge in the world, or gratifying intellectual curiosity, or something of that kind. What I want you to do is simply what you have often done before. Indeed, to destroy a body must be less horrible than what you are accustomed to work at. And, remember, it is the only piece of evidence against me. If it is discovered, I am lost; and it is sure to be discovered unless you help me.’ ‘I have no desire to help you. You forget that. I am simply indifferent to the whole thing. It has nothing to do with me.’ ‘Alan, I entreat you. Think of the position I am in. Just before you came I almost fainted with terror. No! don’t 224 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   think of that. Look at the matter purely from the scientific point of view. You don’t inquire where the dead things on which you experiment come from. Don’t inquire now. I have told you too much as it is. But I beg of you to do this. We were friends once, Alan.’ ‘Don’t speak about those days, Dorian: they are dead.’ ‘The dead linger sometimes. The man up-stairs will not go away. He is sitting at the table with bowed head and outstretched arms. Alan! Alan! if you don’t come to my assistance I am ruined. Why, they will hang me, Alan! Don’t you understand? They will hang me for what I have done.’ ‘There is no good in prolonging this scene. I refuse absolutely to do anything in the matter. It is insane of you to ask me.’ ‘You refuse absolutely?’ ‘Yes.’ The same look of pity came into Dorian’s eyes, then he stretched out his hand, took a piece of paper, and wrote something on it. He read it over twice, folded it carefully, and pushed it across the table. Having done this, he got up, and went over to the window. Campbell looked at him in surprise, and then took up the paper, and opened it. As he read it, his face became 225 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ghastly pale, and he fell back in his chair. A horrible sense of sickness came over him. He felt as if his heart was beating itself to death in some empty hollow. After two or three minutes of terrible silence, Dorian turned round, and came and stood behind him, putting his hand upon his shoulder. ‘I am so sorry, Alan,’ he murmured, ‘but you leave me no alternative. I have a letter written already. Here it is. You see the address. If you don’t help me, I must send it. You know what the result will be. But you are going to help me. It is impossible for you to refuse now. I tried to spare you. You will do me the justice to admit that. You were stern, harsh, offensive. You treated me as no man has ever dared to treat me,—no living man, at any rate. I bore it all. Now it is for me to dictate terms.’ Campbell buried his face in his hands, and a shudder passed through him. ‘Yes, it is my turn to dictate terms, Alan. You know what they are. The thing is quite simple. Come, don’t work yourself into this fever. The thing has to be done. Face it, and do it.’ A groan broke from Campbell’s lips, and he shivered all over. The ticking of the clock on the mantel-piece seemed to him to be dividing time into separate atoms of agony, 226 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   each of which was too terrible to be borne. He felt as if an iron ring was being slowly tightened round his forehead, and as if the disgrace with which he was threatened had already come upon him. The hand upon his shoulder weighed like a hand of lead. It was intolerable. It seemed to crush him. ‘Come, Alan, you must decide at once.’ He hesitated a moment. ‘Is there a fire in the room up-stairs?’ he murmured. ‘Yes, there is a gas-fire with asbestos.’ ‘I will have to go home and get some things from the laboratory.’ ‘No, Alan, you need not leave the house. Write on a sheet of note- paper what you want, and my servant will take a cab and bring the things back to you.’ Campbell wrote a few lines, blotted them, and addressed an envelope to his assistant. Dorian took the note up and read it carefully. Then he rang the bell, and gave it to his valet, with orders to return as soon as possible, and to bring the things with him. When the hall door shut, Campbell started, and, having got up from the chair, went over to the chimney-piece. He was shivering with a sort of ague. For nearly twenty minutes, neither of the men spoke. A fly buzzed noisily 227 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   about the room, and the ticking of the clock was like the beat of a hammer. As the chime struck one, Campbell turned around, and, looking at Dorian Gray, saw that his eyes were filled with tears. There was something in the purity and refinement of that sad face that seemed to enrage him. ‘You are infamous, absolutely infamous!’ he muttered. ‘Hush, Alan: you have saved my life,’ said Dorian. ‘Your life? Good heavens! what a life that is! You have gone from corruption to corruption, and now you have culminated in crime. In doing what I am going to do, what you force me to do, it is not of your life that I am thinking.’ ‘Ah, Alan,’ murmured Dorian, with a sigh, ‘I wish you had a thousandth part of the pity for me that I have for you.’ He turned away, as he spoke, and stood looking out at the garden. Campbell made no answer. After about ten minutes a knock came to the door, and the servant entered, carrying a mahogany chest of chemicals, with a small electric battery set on top of it. He placed it on the table, and went out again, returning with a long coil of steel and platinum wire and two rather curiously-shaped iron clamps. ‘Shall I leave the things here, sir?’ he asked Campbell. 228 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Yes,’ said Dorian. ‘And I am afraid, Francis, that I have another errand for you. What is the name of the man at Richmond who supplies Selby with orchids?’ ‘Harden, sir.’ ‘Yes,—Harden. You must go down to Richmond at once, see Harden personally, and tell him to send twice as many orchids as I ordered, and to have as few white ones as possible. In fact, I don’t want any white ones. It is a lovely day, Francis, and Richmond is a very pretty place, otherwise I wouldn’t bother you about it.’ ‘No trouble, sir. At what time shall I be back?’ Dorian looked at Campbell. ‘How long will your experiment take, Alan?’ he said, in a calm, indifferent voice. The presence of a third person in the room seemed to give him extraordinary courage. Campbell frowned, and bit his lip. ‘It will take about five hours,’ he answered. ‘It will be time enough, then, if you are back at half-past seven, Francis. Or stay: just leave my things out for dressing. You can have the evening to yourself. I am not dining at home, so I shall not want you.’ ‘Thank you, sir,’ said the man, leaving the room. ‘Now, Alan, there is not a moment to be lost. How heavy this chest is! I’ll take it for you. You bring the other 229 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   things.’ He spoke rapidly, and in an authoritative manner. Campbell felt dominated by him. They left the room together. When they reached the top landing, Dorian took out the key and turned it in the lock. Then he stopped, and a troubled look came into his eyes. He shuddered. ‘I don’t think I can go in, Alan,’ he murmured. ‘It is nothing to me. I don’t require you,’ said Campbell, coldly. Dorian half opened the door. As he did so, he saw the face of the portrait grinning in the sunlight. On the floor in front of it the torn curtain was lying. He remembered that the night before, for the first time in his life, he had forgotten to hide it, when he crept out of the room. But what was that loathsome red dew that gleamed, wet and glistening, on one of the hands, as though the canvas had sweated blood? How horrible it was!—more horrible, it seemed to him for the moment, than the silent thing that he knew was stretched across the table, the thing whose grotesque misshapen shadow on the spotted carpet showed him that it had not stirred, but was still there, as he had left it. He opened the door a little wider, and walked quickly in, with half- closed eyes and averted head, determined 230 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   that he would not look even once upon the dead man. Then, stooping down, and taking up the gold- and-purple hanging, he flung it over the picture. He stopped, feeling afraid to turn round, and his eyes fixed themselves on the intricacies of the pattern before him. He heard Campbell bringing in the heavy chest, and the irons, and the other things that he had required for his dreadful work. He began to wonder if he and Basil Hallward had ever met, and, if so, what they had thought of each other. ‘Leave me now,’ said Campbell. He turned and hurried out, just conscious that the dead man had been thrust back into the chair and was sitting up in it, with Campbell gazing into the glistening yellow face. As he was going downstairs he heard the key being turned in the lock. It was long after seven o’clock when Campbell came back into the library. He was pale, but absolutely calm. ‘I have done what you asked me to do,’ he muttered. ‘And now, good-by. Let us never see each other again.’ ‘You have saved me from ruin, Alan. I cannot forget that,’ said Dorian, simply. 231 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   As soon as Campbell had left, he went up-stairs. There was a horrible smell of chemicals in the room. But the thing that had been sitting at the table was gone. 232 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Chapter XIII ‘There is no good telling me you are going to be good, Dorian,’ cried Lord Henry, dipping his white fingers into a red copper bowl filled with rose-water. ‘You are quite perfect. Pray don’t change.’ Dorian shook his head. ‘No, Harry, I have done too many dreadful things in my life. I am not going to do any more. I began my good actions yesterday.’ ‘Where were you yesterday?’ ‘In the country, Harry. I was staying at a little inn by myself.’ ‘My dear boy,’ said Lord Henry smiling, ‘anybody can be good in the country. There are no temptations there. That is the reason why people who live out of town are so uncivilized. There are only two ways, as you know, of becoming civilized. One is by being cultured, the other is by being corrupt. Country-people have no opportunity of being either, so they stagnate.’ ‘Culture and corruption,’ murmured Dorian. ‘I have known something of both. It seems to me curious now that they should ever be found together. For I have a new ideal, Harry. I am going to alter. I think I have altered.’ 233 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘You have not told me yet what your good action was. Or did you say you had done more than one?’ ‘I can tell you, Harry. It is not a story I could tell to any one else. I spared somebody. It sounds vain, but you understand what I mean. She was quite beautiful, and wonderfully like Sibyl Vane. I think it was that which first attracted me to her. You remember Sibyl, don’t you? How long ago that seems! Well, Hetty was not one of our own class, of course. She was simply a girl in a village. But I really loved her. I am quite sure that I loved her. All during this wonderful May that we have been having, I used to run down and see her two or three times a week. Yesterday she met me in a little orchard. The apple-blossoms kept tumbling down on her hair, and she was laughing. We were to have gone away together this morning at dawn. Suddenly I determined to leave her as flower-like as I had found her.’ ‘I should think the novelty of the emotion must have given you a thrill of real pleasure, Dorian,’ interrupted Lord Henry. ‘But I can finish your idyl for you. You gave her good advice, and broke her heart. That was the beginning of your reformation.’ ‘Harry, you are horrible! You mustn’t say these dreadful things. Hetty’s heart is not broken. Of course she 234 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   cried, and all that. But there is no disgrace upon her. She can live, like Perdita, in her garden.’ ‘And weep over a faithless Florizel,’ said Lord Henry, laughing. ‘My dear Dorian, you have the most curious boyish moods. Do you think this girl will ever be really contented now with any one of her own rank? I suppose she will be married some day to a rough carter or a grinning ploughman. Well, having met you, and loved you, will teach her to despise her husband, and she will be wretched. From a moral point of view I really don’t think much of your great renunciation. Even as a beginning, it is poor. Besides, how do you know that Hetty isn’t floating at the present moment in some mill-pond, with water-lilies round her, like Ophelia?’ ‘I can’t bear this, Harry! You mock at everything, and then suggest the most serious tragedies. I am sorry I told you now. I don’t care what you say to me, I know I was right in acting as I did. Poor Hetty! As I rode past the farm this morning, I saw her white face at the window, like a spray of jasmine. Don’t let me talk about it any more, and don’t try to persuade me that the first good action I have done for years, the first little bit of self-sacrifice I have ever known, is really a sort of sin. I want to be better. I am going to be better. Tell me something about yourself. 235 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   What is going on in town? I have not been to the club for days.’ ‘The people are still discussing poor Basil’s disappearance.’ ‘I should have thought they had got tired of that by this time,’ said Dorian, pouring himself out some wine, and frowning slightly. ‘My dear boy, they have only been talking about it for six weeks, and the public are really not equal to the mental strain of having more than one topic every three months. They have been very fortunate lately, however. They have had my own divorce-case, and Alan Campbell’s suicide. Now they have got the mysterious disappearance of an artist. Scotland Yard still insists that the man in the gray ulster who left Victoria by the midnight train on the 7th of November was poor Basil, and the French police declare that Basil never arrived in Paris at all. I suppose in about a fortnight we will be told that he has been seen in San Francisco. It is an odd thing, but every one who disappears is said to be seen at San Francisco. It must be a delightful city, and possess all the attractions of the next world.’ ‘What do you think has happened to Basil?’ asked Dorian, holding up his Burgundy against the light, and 236 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   wondering how it was that he could discuss the matter so calmly. ‘I have not the slightest idea. If Basil chooses to hide himself, it is no business of mine. If he is dead, I don’t want to think about him. Death is the only thing that ever terrifies me. I hate it. One can survive everything nowadays except that. Death and vulgarity are the only two facts in the nineteenth century that one cannot explain away. Let us have our coffee in the music-room, Dorian. You must play Chopin to me. The man with whom my wife ran away played Chopin exquisitely. Poor Victoria! I was very fond of her. The house is rather lonely without her.’ Dorian said nothing, but rose from the table, and, passing into the next room, sat down to the piano and let his fingers stray across the keys. After the coffee had been brought in, he stopped, and, looking over at Lord Henry, said, ‘Harry, did it ever occur to you that Basil was murdered?’ Lord Henry yawned. ‘Basil had no enemies, and always wore a Waterbury watch. Why should he be murdered? He was not clever enough to have enemies. Of course he had a wonderful genius for painting. But a man can paint like Velasquez and yet be as dull as possible. Basil was 237 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   really rather dull. He only interested me once, and that was when he told me, years ago, that he had a wild adoration for you.’ ‘I was very fond of Basil,’ said Dorian, with a sad look in his eyes. ‘But don’t people say that he was murdered?’ ‘Oh, some of the papers do. It does not seem to be probable. I know there are dreadful places in Paris, but Basil was not the sort of man to have gone to them. He had no curiosity. It was his chief defect. Play me a nocturne, Dorian, and, as you play, tell me, in a low voice, how you have kept your youth. You must have some secret. I am only ten years older than you are, and I am wrinkled, and bald, and yellow. You are really wonderful, Dorian. You have never looked more charming than you do to-night. You remind me of the day I saw you first. You were rather cheeky, very shy, and absolutely extraordinary. You have changed, of course, but not in appearance. I wish you would tell me your secret. To get back my youth I would do anything in the world, except take exercise, get up early, or be respectable. Youth! There is nothing like it. It’s absurd to talk of the ignorance of youth. The only people whose opinions I listen to now with any respect are people much younger than myself. They seem in front of me. Life has 238 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   revealed to them her last wonder. As for the aged, I always contradict the aged. I do it on principle. If you ask them their opinion on something that happened yesterday, they solemnly give you the opinions current in 1820, when people wore high stocks and knew absolutely nothing. How lovely that thing you are playing is! I wonder did Chopin write it at Majorca, with the sea weeping round the villa, and the salt spray dashing against the panes? It is marvelously romantic. What a blessing it is that there is one art left to us that is not imitative! Don’t stop. I want music to-night. It seems to me that you are the young Apollo, and that I am Marsyas listening to you. I have sorrows, Dorian, of my own, that even you know nothing of. The tragedy of old age is not that one is old, but that one is young. I am amazed sometimes at my own sincerity. Ah, Dorian, how happy you are! What an exquisite life you have had! You have drunk deeply of everything. You have crushed the grapes against your palate. Nothing has been hidden from you. But it has all been to you no more than the sound of music. It has not marred you. You are still the same. ‘I wonder what the rest of your life will be. Don’t spoil it by renunciations. At present you are a perfect type. Don’t make yourself incomplete. You are quite flawless 239 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   now. You need not shake your head: you know you are. Besides, Dorian, don’t deceive yourself. Life is not governed by will or intention. Life is a question of nerves, and fibres, and slowly-built-up cells in which thought hides itself and passion has its dreams. You may fancy yourself safe, and think yourself strong. But a chance tone of color in a room or a morning sky, a particular perfume that you had once loved and that brings strange memories with it, a line from a forgotten poem that you had come across again, a cadence from a piece of music that you had ceased to play,—I tell you, Dorian, that it is on things like these that our lives depend. Browning writes about that somewhere; but our own senses will imagine them for us. There are moments when the odor of heliotrope passes suddenly across me, and I have to live the strangest year of my life over again. ‘I wish I could change places with you, Dorian. The world has cried out against us both, but it has always worshipped you. It always will worship you. You are the type of what the age is searching for, and what it is afraid it has found. I am so glad that you have never done anything, never carved a statue, or painted a picture, or produced anything outside of yourself! Life has been your 240 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   art. You have set yourself to music. Your days have been your sonnets.’ Dorian rose up from the piano, and passed his hand through his hair. ‘Yes, life has been exquisite,’ he murmured, ‘but I am not going to have the same life, Harry. And you must not say these extravagant things to me. You don’t know everything about me. I think that if you did, even you would turn from me. You laugh. Don’t laugh.’ ‘Why have you stopped playing, Dorian? Go back and play the nocturne over again. Look at that great honey-colored moon that hangs in the dusky air. She is waiting for you to charm her, and if you play she will come closer to the earth. You won’t? Let us go to the club, then. It has been a charming evening, and we must end it charmingly. There is some one at the club who wants immensely to know you,—young Lord Poole, Bournmouth’s eldest son. He has already copied your neckties, and has begged me to introduce him to you. He is quite delightful, and rather reminds me of you.’ ‘I hope not,’ said Dorian, with a touch of pathos in his voice. ‘But I am tired to-night, Harry. I won’t go to the club. It is nearly eleven, and I want to go to bed early.’ 241 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   ‘Do stay. You have never played so well as to-night. There was something in your touch that was wonderful. It had more expression than I had ever heard from it before.’ ‘It is because I am going to be good,’ he answered, smiling. ‘I am a little changed already.’ ‘Don’t change, Dorian; at any rate, don’t change to me. We must always be friends.’ ‘Yet you poisoned me with a book once. I should not forgive that. Harry, promise me that you will never lend that book to any one. It does harm.’ ‘My dear boy, you are really beginning to moralize. You will soon be going about warning people against all the sins of which you have grown tired. You are much too delightful to do that. Besides, it is no use. You and I are what we are, and will be what we will be. Come round tomorrow. I am going to ride at eleven, and we might go together. The Park is quite lovely now. I don’t think there have been such lilacs since the year I met you.’ ‘Very well. I will be here at eleven,’ said Dorian. ‘Good-night, Harry.’ As he reached the door he hesitated for a moment, as if he had something more to say. Then he sighed and went out. It was a lovely night, so warm that he threw his coat over his arm, and did not even put his silk scarf round his 242 of 250 eBook brought to you by Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version. The Picture of Dorian Gray   throat. As he strolled home, smoking his cigarette, two young men in evening dress passed him. He heard one of them whisper to the other, ‘That is Dorian Gray.’ He remembered how pleased he used to be when he was pointed out, or stared at, or talked about. He was tired of hearing his own name now. Half the charm of the little village where he had been so often lately was that no one knew who he was. He had told the girl whom he had made love him that he was poor, and she had believed him. He had told her once that he was wicked, and she had laughed at him, and told him that wicked people were always very old and very ugly. What a laugh she had!— just like a thrush singing. And how pretty she had been in her cotton dresses and her large hats! She knew nothing, but she had everything that he had lost. When he reached home, he found his servant waiting up for him. He sent him to bed, and threw himself down on the sofa in the library, and began to think over some of the things that Lord Henry had said to him. Was it really true that one could never change? He felt a wild longing for the unstained purity of his boyhood,— his rose-white boyhood, as Lord Henry had once called it. He knew that he had tarnished himself, filled his mind with corruption, and given horror to his fancy; that he had 243 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   been an evil influence to others, and had experienced a terrible joy in being so; and that of the lives that had crossed his own it had been the fairest and the most full of promise that he had brought to shame. But was it all irretrievable? Was there no hope for him? It was better not to think of the past. Nothing could alter that. It was of himself, and of his own future, that he had to think. Alan Campbell had shot himself one night in his laboratory, but had not revealed the secret that he had been forced to know. The excitement, such as it was, over Basil Hallward’s disappearance would soon pass away. It was already waning. He was perfectly safe there. Nor, indeed, was it the death of Basil Hallward that weighed most upon his mind. It was the living death of his own soul that troubled him. Basil had painted the portrait that had marred his life. He could not forgive him that. It was the portrait that had done everything. Basil had said things to him that were unbearable, and that he had yet borne with patience. The murder had been simply the madness of a moment. As for Alan Campbell, his suicide had been his own act. He had chosen to do it. It was nothing to him. A new life! That was what he wanted. That was what he was waiting for. Surely he had begun it already. He had 244 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   spared one innocent thing, at any rate. He would never again tempt innocence. He would be good. As he thought of Hetty Merton, he began to wonder if the portrait in the locked room had changed. Surely it was not still so horrible as it had been? Perhaps if his life became pure, he would be able to expel every sign of evil passion from the face. Perhaps the signs of evil had already gone away. He would go and look. He took the lamp from the table and crept up-stairs. As he unlocked the door, a smile of joy flitted across his young face and lingered for a moment about his lips. Yes, he would be good, and the hideous thing that he had hidden away would no longer be a terror to him. He felt as if the load had been lifted from him already. He went in quietly, locking the door behind him, as was his custom, and dragged the purple hanging from the portrait. A cry of pain and indignation broke from him. He could see no change, unless that in the eyes there was a look of cunning, and in the mouth the curved wrinkle of the hypocrite. The thing was still loathsome,—more loathsome, if possible, than before,—and the scarlet dew that spotted the hand seemed brighter, and more like blood newly spilt. 245 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   Had it been merely vanity that had made him do his one good deed? Or the desire of a new sensation, as Lord Henry had hinted, with his mocking laugh? Or that passion to act a part that sometimes makes us do things finer than we are ourselves? Or, perhaps, all these? Why was the red stain larger than it had been? It seemed to have crept like a horrible disease over the wrinkled fingers. There was blood on the painted feet, as though the thing had dripped,—blood even on the hand that had not held the knife. Confess? Did it mean that he was to confess? To give himself up, and be put to death? He laughed. He felt that the idea was monstrous. Besides, who would believe him, even if he did confess? There was no trace of the murdered man anywhere. Everything belonging to him had been destroyed. He himself had burned what had been below-stairs. The world would simply say he was mad. They would shut him up if he persisted in his story. Yet it was his duty to confess, to suffer public shame, and to make public atonement. There was a God who called upon men to tell their sins to earth as well as to heaven. Nothing that he could do would cleanse him till he had told his own sin. His sin? He shrugged his 246 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   shoulders. The death of Basil Hallward seemed very little to him. He was thinking of Hetty Merton. It was an unjust mirror, this mirror of his soul that he was looking at. Vanity? Curiosity? Hypocrisy? Had there been nothing more in his renunciation than that? There had been something more. At least he thought so. But who could tell? And this murder,—was it to dog him all his life? Was he never to get rid of the past? Was he really to confess? No. There was only one bit of evidence left against him. The picture itself,—that was evidence. He would destroy it. Why had he kept it so long? It had given him pleasure once to watch it changing and growing old. Of late he had felt no such pleasure. It had kept him awake at night. When he had been away, he had been filled with terror lest other eyes should look upon it. It had brought melancholy across his passions. Its mere memory had marred many moments of joy. It had been like conscience to him. Yes, it had been conscience. He would destroy it. He looked round, and saw the knife that had stabbed Basil Hallward. He had cleaned it many times, till there was no stain left upon it. It was bright, and glistened. As it had killed the painter, so it would kill the painter’s work, 247 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   and all that that meant. It would kill the past, and when that was dead he would be free. He seized it, and stabbed the canvas with it, ripping the thing right up from top to bottom. There was a cry heard, and a crash. The cry was so horrible in its agony that the frightened servants woke, and crept out of their rooms. Two gentlemen, who were passing in the Square below, stopped, and looked up at the great house. They walked on till they met a policeman, and brought him back. The man rang the bell several times, but there was no answer. The house was all dark, except for a light in one of the top windows. After a time, he went away, and stood in the portico of the next house and watched. ‘Whose house is that, constable?’ asked the elder of the two gentlemen. ‘Mr. Dorian Gray’s, sir,’ answered the policeman. They looked at each other, as they walked away, and sneered. One of them was Sir Henry Ashton’s uncle. Inside, in the servants’ part of the house, the half-clad domestics were talking in low whispers to each other. Old Mrs. Leaf was crying, and wringing her hands. Francis was as pale as death. 248 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray   After about a quarter of an hour, he got the coachman and one of the footmen and crept up-stairs. They knocked, but there was no reply. They called out. Everything was still. Finally, after vainly trying to force the door, they got on the roof, and dropped down on to the balcony. The windows yielded easily: the bolts were old. When they entered, they found hanging upon the wall a splendid portrait of their master as they had last seen him, in all the wonder of his exquisite youth and beauty. Lying on the floor was a dead man, in evening dress, with a knife in his heart. He was withered, wrinkled, and loathsome of visage. It was not till they had examined the rings that they recognized who it was. 249 of 250 The Picture of Dorian Gray     250 of 250   Publication Date: February 23rd 2017 https://www.bookrix.com/-albiorix

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Mylifetime dancing debut english to my cousins that are anime freaks and myself ! Publication Date: September 17th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-inmylifetime

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Mark Lauck Seven Days Day 1 Kaitlyn is one of those lonely people that nobody ever talked to, and since she was very shy, she didn't really try talking to people either. Her parents were always busy with work, so she didn't have too much time to bond with them. She, as well, grew up as a single child. Because of her time alone, Kaitlyn learned to strengthen her academic knowledge and lost of her time was spent studying. After high school, Kaitlyn moved into a condon in an urban city. She pursued the career of being an author, and she was known for it. Kaitlyn had been working on a novel. A sequel to a story that flooded the literary markets. As she was working, her door bell rang. "Ugh, who could it be?" The door bell rann at quick intervals. "I'm coming!" she yelled. Kaitlyn pulled open the door revealing a breathless man. "Please, let me in," he says gasping for air. "Whoa re you?" Kaitlyn questioned. The man didn't answer. He ran passed Kaitlyn and entered her living room. "There are bad people coming after me," says the man. "Bad people?" Kaitlyn says as she closes the door. KNOCK KNOCK! "Geez, why me?" Kaitlyn asked herself and opens the door. Another man stood there; however, this man was attractive to Kaitlyn. She froze. "Excuse me, ma'am. Have you seen a young man running around here?" the man questions. Kaitlyn stood still. She was stunned. "Excuse me, miss?" "No... No, I haven't," she studders. "Okay then," the man finishes as he found his was to the next door. Kaitlyn slowly closes her door. She was sweating and butterflies fluttered in her stomach. "Thanks for the save," the young man says while crawling out from behind a couch. "Yeah... Sure," Kaitlyn starts, "exactly, who are you?" "I'm Jack. Jack Kepling." "Kepling? What kind of a last name is that?" kaitlyn says then giggles. "Oh hush!" Jack shouts, "You don't mind of I stay here for a little while?" "Of course not! I don't really know you, Jack." Jack pulled out his wallet and grabbed a few hundred dollars. "I'll pay you." "No, no! That's not necessary!" "No, please," Jack pleaded throwing the money onto her coffee table in the center of the living room. With what he did, Kaitlyn couldn't help it but to accept his offer. "Find, I'll let you stay here for a while." Jack was grateful, "Thank you, Kaitlyn!" Kaitlyn thought to herself for a moment, "I never introduced myself to him. How did he already know my name?" Jack had already began to search his new base of operations. He looked above and below every object as he familiarizes himself with the condo. Kaitlyn made her way back to her office and began writing her story once more. Hours pass, and Kaitlyn penned in twelve pages onto her final manuscript. It was four pages less than what she is capable of doing, but Jack came to interrupt her quite a few times. Jack sat around Kaitlyn's dinner table, which had papers scattered around but was moved for his convenience, and he waited for something to eat. Kaitlyn was preparing a steak, and Jack's mouth watered with excitement. It seemed as if Jack had never had a meal in a while, and when he started eating, he didn't stop to take a breath. He finished his meal in a matter of minutes. Kaitlyn set up an extra bed for Jack in an empty room that she had. Jack offered to help, but she insisted on doing it on her own. By nine o'clock, Jack went to bed; Kaitlyn went to sleep an hour after Jack. Kaitlyn woke up in the middle of the night. She had a nightmare. One about the past that she never enjoyed. Lately, Kaitlyn has been having nightmares. Each which were similar to one another. Kaitlyn tilted her head over to her right. She intended on looking at the time, but instead finds Jack sitting on the floor looking at her. Kaitlyn was surprised and frightened. "What are you doing here?" she yells. "Calm down. I'm here to protect you." "Protect me? From what?" "Any dangers." "What do you mean by that?" "Well, I mean anything that could cause harm." Kaitlyn began to calm down a little bit, "Jack, just go back to sleep." Kaitlyn laid back down and moved her sight to the other side of the room. Day 2 Publication Date: October 30th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-marklauck

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-ella-desjarlais-my-sisters-diary/

ella desjarlais my sisters diary 2016 2016   You know how when you do something for someone and you have to lose something for that one person and when you think that they love you they really don’t they just pretend people want so much more from me than I will ever give and I hate that what they want is something they cant have they want love well guess what I cant give you that I hate people they took everything from me they stole my air my freedom my happiness they took everything from me and left me with nothing I realized how life will never be worth time it feels like they stole my wings and took my feelings it shattered me and my emotions I enjoy seeing people in pain cause they feel what I feel every second every day every minute and every year cause sometimes when someone hurts you so bad it stops hurting at all and its sad when someone says sorry and you have to say don’t be no one else does and it hurts to wake up and drag yourself when all I have is peace when im sleeping all that buzzing and noises are gone when I sleep I relish the feeling of how sweet it feels like to stop thinking im so numb when I sleep it the only time I can smile cause I stop thinking and the hurts and pain go away those shards and needles stop injecting to my veins and it feels like heaven but then when I wake up I fel all those noises and sounds fuzz and all those shards burn its like I swallow flames it burns and blisters and shreds and tears at my skin and then leaves scars nasty scares all over and all those noises swallow of me alive  and keep hurting my skin aches and my body hurts I cant breathe I cant see all I can see is red when I wake up all those violent dreams that the world gives me they swallow and burn my heart I see violent things from my past in my dreams I watch myself murder animals im a monster its happening the blisters the burning the pain the flames there swallowing me and cutting me help me im dying   Leave me alone world I didn’t ask you come and ruin me I hate you so much Sylvia you gave birth to me and brought me here where I hate it where I burn so slowly they did nothing they watched me burn I wanna die I wanna stop feeling I just wanna go to sleep and never wake up life really isn’t worth my time no more neither is anyones everyone can jump infront a buss even my ex lizza I wouldn’t give a flying rats ass there not my problem anymore pain   Sometimes pain comes in a way where don’t know it’s there but it is you can’t feel it but it still it there sometimes it takes months to even feel something but that’s the thing just like john green said in a book “pain demands to be felt” and if it doesn’t go its way it gets worse the thing about when I get sad I shut down my slowly like a dying machine I stop eating I stop talking my earbuds are the only thing that I listen to I always sleep cause I don’t need to hear or talk I can just close my eyes and let silence fall over that’s the thing about me is I don’t want friends or even need them I’m a lone wolf I like being alone I love darkness I hate this world I hate Christmas I hate everyone I’m going to stop talking I’m wasting my breathe on people who don’t love me or need me I fight this alone starting now if they loved me or needed me they will come to me I’m so tired of walking a thousand miles and going through hell to see someone it’s all I ever do I’m tired of coming to them I just want someone to come to me and hold me and love me its broken like my soul like my home like my family like everything in my life all broken gone like fire to grass like smoke to the flame it burns bright and pretty but wrecks stuff in its way like the dead they decay and burn like fire slowly cutting like knives blistering and bleeding it doesn’t second bring everything thing dies at some point sometimes things sooner than others its more than meets the eye it’s like skin it rips burns peels and decays of the body showing what we were made of wrath and gluten for love it isn’t like it anymore all these perfect people and people who can get boyfriends or anything like that are cruel but who would want a misfit like me with scars ugly eyes fat body nobody and that’s the way life is sometimes pain is worth it I use to have these imaginations when I was younger while listening to music I would be dancing on something air or skies but I would be crying alone dancing like skies like angels who had been forgotten or like the devils who were once good being tricked into something that wasn’t real destiny they been tricked into destiny something that wasn’t real it’s like a new born trying to swim it can’t it just sinks to the bottom we are truly helpless no one anybody even god couldn’t save world hunger or racism its still there gnawing at the world taking over god isn’t real he never was god won’t save you or help you any foolish person would now that there aren’t any super heroes they won’t save what this world has become what can nothing is ok everybody thinks its beauty I see pain and hate anger deadly how can that be beautiful its morbid and beyond ugly its terrible to the death Christmas I started hating it since I got in the ranch don’t bother asking why cause I won’t tell you cause I know you don’t care I suffer in silence you don’t know it only I do Christmas is for joy well I’m not happy who could when the two people that did care about me I won’t see ever again can you imagine that no you can’t can you imagine losing everything no you can’t so stop acting like shit got tough you don’t know tough until your mother your sister your dad give up on you tell lies about you hurt you that’s why I’m so mean cause I got fuckin tired of people doing shit to me so I decided why don’t we let the sadist Arielle out cause when I mean sadist I mean I love inflicting pain on people it makes me laugh watching someone bleed suffer like I did all my fuckin life watching someone cry and weep cause of pain well guess what sweet thing welcome to hell you think you know pain no you don’t not until you gone through what I’ve been through I saw my uncle sway up on the ceiling watch him just hang himself I hate people I hate being touched I hate you If you ever read this I hate you if you know me I never cared cause I know you didn’t       merde i hate you merde   (shit) Publication Date: December 1st 2016 https://www.bookrix.com/-fn5007c94903d75

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-olivia-o-039-donnell-the-tongue-of-a-lion/

Olivia O&#39;Donnell The Tongue Of A Lion When your pet dies, you feel as if your life is over When your pet dies, you feel as if it's the end of the world. As for me, Sapphy, loosing my cat Lola was as if I wanted to run away an never see any other cat again. I thought of Lola as a lion, because she always used to sit on the rocks outside our front lawn, look out into the woods and would focus on only one thing. Finding mice. Lola was the best cat I ever had. But Lola's tongue, maybe I should tell you what happened before Lola died. Before Lola dies I was in the first grade, mom took me to a pet store. We looked at all the different animals, even the weird ones. I'm talking lizards, snakes, llamas. Why llamas, why? We saw one small cat and it was black, white, and orange. It had a pink nose, small whiskers, and small white paws. It looked right at me. "Mom, this is the one, I want this one." I told mom. "Are you sure, Saph? What'll you name it?" Her response was hard to answer, but then it hit me. "Lola, mom! Lola. She's so pretty." I told mom. She was speechless. I know mom loves Lola. Mom walked up to the cash register and looked back at Lola. She rang the bell, which means she's ready to adopt an animal. The cashier asked, "What animal number?" Mom looked at Lola one more time, and said, "Number 32." "Oh, yes. She's almost been taken 4 times, but no one loves her enough." The cashier told mom, as she walked over to me. The cashier took Lola out of the cage, along with 2 other cats, about her size. "I'll just give you her, and you can take her in this little room too see if you like her." The cashier said, as she was leading us to the play room. She had Lola in her hands, and Lola was the cutest kitten. We played with Lola. After 3 minutes, we knew we had to get Lola. The First Day Home When I took Lola out of the cage, she was nervous. I thought she was an indoor cat, but it turns out that she was really an outdoor cat. Lola took baby steps toward the front door. She wanted to go outside. Imagine. What's it like being an outdoor cat when all you do your whole life is stay inside. He's probably just happy he'll be going outside. So I picked Lola up, and let her outside. I went where ever she went, and she sat up on our rock wall, leading to the woods. I pet her back, and she purred. Purr, Purr. She smiled. In that cat kind of way. She saw a mouse. She went for it. I called her name, she looked back, and soon, she came back. It seemed as if she already knew her name. Years Have Past Now This is it. This is the day that Lola turns 3. It's been 3 years since we've got her. I put her in a pumpkin suit, since she was born on Halloween. It's 8:00 PM now. Lola's not eating. I've put cat treats and wet cat food out. Lola's favorite. She's been looking outside the front door all day. I finally checked what she was looking at. I saw no-. I see now. My dad has been feeding this stray cat. The cat has been on our front steps all day- I guess. Me and my little brother has been talking about one day making him- or her, our pet. Making It Official Here we go. We brought the stray in our house. Andrew, my brother looked so happy. He didn't enjoy Lola. This stray is a boy. He's so happy that we now have a new cat. "Ash." Andrew says. "Huh?" I ask him. "I want to name him Ash. You named Lola, and I name-" "Ash?" Dad walked in the front door. He looked at Lola, then Ash. He looked at me, then Andrew. He looked at Ash again. "The stray? You brought him in?" He asked us. Me and Andrew looked at each other, then both cats, then dad. "Well, while mom was at work-" I started. "Then we called mom and she said that if we really wanted to bring the cat in, we could." "I'll show you what you should do and what you shouldn't." Dad said. Why me, God? It's Lola. She's not feeling good. Maybe it was the other day, when she couldn't eat. I don't know. Right now, I'm rubbing her stomach, and she's purring. Purr, purr. Ash comes through the cat door. He rubes his cat sent on Lola. Lola smiles again. We're on the family room couch, and Lola starts to fall asleep. "Mom! Dad! Andrew!" I yell. The first tear in years drip down my face. "What? Where are you?" Mom says. She comes in the family room. Soon follows dad and Andrew. Andrew brings Ash in, and I just start to pour with tears. "What? What is it?" Mom asks. I shake my head no, and put my hand on Lola. My face is as if I just swallowed 10 lemons. "It's Lola," I say. "She didn't eat the other day, and now she's not breathing!" Andrew starts to cry. I've never seen him cry. I only remember when he was 2. Andrew puts his hand on Lola. Mom and Dad walk over to her, too. Here I stopped going to school, for maybe a week. Nothing more. Every day Andrew would get home, and wish nothing happened to Lola. He knows how much Lola meant to me, and that's why he cares. I need something. I share a room with Andrew. When he comes home, he'll see me crying onto my pillow. But one thing has changed. Ash is gone. He's not in the basement, and he didn't go outside. I didn't tell Andrew, because then he'd think that he's not- not with us. I can't say it. I'll just think of Lola. I know Ash is still with us. Even if Andrew thinks he is not. I Don't Know Why did Lola die? I don't know. I always ask my self questions when something happens. I never have the right answer, though. Tomorrow is Monday. It's been just about a week since Lola die- or stopped living with us. There is one thing I loved about Lola. Her tongue. I don't know why. When ever I fed her, she'd lick my knuckles. Her tongue was so smooth. When she- stopped living with us, I kept her tongue. Dad asked me, "What do you like most about Lola?" I stopped and thought. "Her tongue. It's so smooth." I said. Dad went inside, and came back with a knife. It didn't look that sharp. But just sharp enough to- Cut something smooth. It came to me- Her tongue. Dad did it. He put her tongue in a jar. Once I went to bed, and looked at Lola's tongue. I noticed. Dad put her tongue in Lola's hat jar. Lola had a hat that she'd put on every winter, and where one hat. Black, pink, light purple and- I can't. I went to our backyard with the hat. I lifted a stone, and put the hat underneath it. It's like I could almost hear Lola's voice. "Purr, purr-" I can't. I'm going in my bedroom, to go to sleep. Her tongue- it's not smooth anymore. I held it. It feels- heavy. No, light. Lola will be in my mind. She always will. Her tongue feels like an ordinary cat tongue now. Rough, not smooth. Lola, will always smooth out my life. She'll make everything easy. And as for Ash, he's sick, but will never, never die. Publication Date: August 12th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-penguinz

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-chris-adams-blood-shirt/

Chris Adams Blood Shirt Better Theatre Through Chemistry Publication Date: April 26th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-cjadams

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-dennis-gordon-life-happens/

Dennis Gordon Life Happens Or something like that To those who can not be named here. Life Happens The Break Up Prologue This is the first in what is to be a series of short stories. What prompted me to write these stories was not actually any kind of inner need to share or a desire to expose certain moments of my life. In fact, I don’t really like talking about myself for the most part. I am more of a fiction writer. In the end it was a friend of mine who convinced me. Her work is often brilliant and always entertaining so I tend to take what she says under advisement. So we are sitting at a bar having a few drinks and celebrating her most recent publication when we began discussing the old writer’s guideline of “Write what you know”. Then we discussed some fond memories in her life as happy drunks are often inclined to do. Some of these were things that she had written about or had used in her fictional stories. then we discussed some events in my life as well. As the conversation wore on I began to suspect that she was rapidly losing interest in what I was saying because she began to comment less and less. But what was really happening was that she was so stunned by the things I was saying and the “cavalier” manner in which I was presenting these stories that she began to be drawn in. That was her word not mine. By the end of the discussion she was asking me why I had not written about these things. My response was simple. I didn’t believe these events to be all that uncommon. I said something to the effect of “I just thought these kinds of things happen to everyone. I mean they may not talk about them in polite conversation but everyone has things like this happen don’t they?” She stared at me in disbelief and simply said “No. No, they do not.” In a very matter of fact tone. So what follows is the first and the stories may not follow any chronological order. In fact’ they will likely be randomly arranged. “The Breakup” NOTE: I’m going to tell this story with all of the accuracy and honesty I can. Every scrap and stitch of what follows is true. Every detail is exactly as I remember it. As a result, there may be moments when the reader is going to feel some measure of animosity toward the writer and possibly even question said writers sanity or at least the mental stability (or lack thereof ) I had at that given moment. I do not contest your right to do so. Upon reflection I have struggled with my own thoughts and emotions about that day and nothing will be said or thought by any reader that has not already been covered at length in my own mental reconciliations. So judge as you will. That is the nature of humans in modern society. I mean have you ever heard of social media? It’s just one big judge-fest. I do not seek absolution nor do I require approval of any man woman or child. It is just a story for the sake of telling the story. So enough said.   All guys have a first serious girlfriend and a first serious break up. This usually happens when we are in our early to mid-teens and the rules bore no exception for me. Like most of my peers I wanted to move out of my parent’s house and get my own place as quickly as I could. At seventeen I had taken a job in the nearest city of any size and in no time I had my first apartment with my best friend David. And Spartan as it may have been I could not have been happier with it. A certain freedom comes with that first severance of the umbilical. And our new virtually empty apartment was the first truly tangible sign of that. As time passed I a pattern began to emerge. One that confused and alarmed me. The girl I had been dating for about a year was slowly and methodically positioning herself closer and closer to me. In the beginning it seemed to be just good luck. She had become friends with two girls who were in my close circle and had eventually moved into a new apartment with them just up the street from us. Then she began hanging out with my male friends. First in a group then one on one. Pretty soon she was showing up at our place at all hours with different people and exhibiting an increasingly bizarre behavior. One night she would come into our place with a group of people and completely ignore me. The next time she would go off on me about not talking to her. I was a pretty tolerant boyfriend. So much so in fact that my friends had to tell me what an idiot I was for not seeing what was going on right in front of me. It is a unique feeling to think you have a pretty good handle on what’s going on in the world around only to discover that you are truly and genuinely oblivious to the obvious. I had always thought that the mature thing to do was to just trust the person you were with. I had seen my sister go through a lot of possessive boyfriends and I saw up close how a woman reacts to guys who smother their girlfriends. But I was young and naïve. I had zero real world experience with women and simply didn’t see the fact that people were laughing at me behind my back. I didn’t take what was coming lightly. I took about a week to think about what I should do. Only then did I reflect on the night I met her and what had happened. If this turns out to be an interesting story and people want to hear more I will elaborate on that crazy story another time. Part two So everything had been coming to a gradual head over the course of the previous months and my final decision was that I needed to get as far away from this girl as I possibly could. I had also come to the conclusion that no matter how much I didn’t want to I had to break up with her face to face. Somehow I had gotten it into my head that I owed her that. In retrospect I cannot even imagine how that particular notion had gained such weight in my mind. In my early teen years, I had developed this romantic ideology about nobility and honor regardless of the circumstances. Either way I found myself standing at her door in a kind of foggy detached state of mind. It was one of those oblivious almost out of body moments when your eyes lock on no particular object or space then blur a bit and you find yourself residing within your own mind as the immediate physical periphery and surrounding spaces fades away into that same out of focus state where even time slides out of existence and you are left with nothing more than your thoughts. Within this introspective place I realized I had absolutely no recollection of the drive over due to an overwhelming preoccupation with the impending moment that was obviously approaching far faster than my mind could work. I was on a type of preprogrammed auto pilot while driving. And why not, I had made the drive countless times and so it didn’t really require any conscious form of elevated awareness. But one minute I was leaving my apartment and the next I was standing at her door. I suddenly felt a wave of concerned amazement for a couple of reasons. One was that it felt like that level of distraction could have been dangerous but secondly and more concerning was that I could allow myself to be so swept up in a problem or situation that I could actually even enter such a frighteningly vulnerable state of mind. But standing there in that quasi hypnotic moment of self-discovery and unwanted enlightenment I had more control and I forced that self-analysis to the back of the line. It was something I could dwell on later. For now, I had to address the more immediate situation. One dumpster fire at a time I thought. Not to mention the question of what if someone sees me standing here in what to any onlooker would appear to be a drug induced stupor. What if I looked like I was drooling on myself? Was I drooling on myself? I thought. Deep down I knew I wasn’t but as I snapped myself out of it I dragged the back of my hand across my mouth to make sure. I thought it might have been like those times when you nodded off in class or on the couch and you come to ten minutes later to find yourself going “Ewe, oh God” as you realize what you’ve done and you start franticly wiping it away with your hand or a part of your shirt. But though I had no recollection of the trip itself I do remember the mock scenarios I was running over and over in my mind trying to prepare for what was coming. Every possible response to every conceivable question or statement or action. My mind had even strayed into variables such as the sudden introduction of another person. Maybe one of her roommates would come home in the middle of what was obviously going to be an uncomfortable situation at the very least. I had no illusions about the fact that it would be a difficult situation with at least some crying and quite possibly some yelling. And I do recall a brief internal struggle with myself as to why it was even important to do this in person. Maybe I could call. Maybe a letter left on the door or better yet mailed from the faraway place I had suddenly moved to. Yes! I thought excitedly. I will just move to New York or maybe LA. Better yet Hong Kong. Maybe an email….no wait, those don’t exist yet. It would’ve been great if I could’ve just changed my facebook status. But Mark Zuckerber was still wetting the bed. But in the end I felt like all other options were cowardly and I needed to be a man. And boy was I a fucking idiot as a teenager. So I thought I was prepping and covering all the bases. That in itself reveals the depths of my ignorance at that time. All that preparation would go out the window in the space of a few seconds. It would be a life lesson in the immutable truth that such situations cannot be predicted, controlled or scripted. And what was really about to happen was so far beyond all of the pedestrian little scenarios running around through my fairly limited imagination that it would find me struggling to respond like a child in the face of a house fire.   I don’t know how much time passed while I was standing there tripping the light fantastic. But, it passed and I snapped myself out of it. I knocked and she answered fairly quickly. She smiled and I moved through the doorway with residual traces of my daze clinging tenaciously to my brain like a lingering smoky ephemera. She went over to sit down on the sofa and motioned for me to sit with her. “No, I can’t stay,” I said dryly. I looked around “Kristy and Kelly out?” She nodded. She clued in pretty quickly. On some level she had to have known that all the shit she had pulled would eventually come back around to bite her in the ass and she may have been waiting for the inevitability of this day all along. I didn’t want to waste any more time. At that age I felt like I had already lost a pretty sizable chunk of my life to what had turned out to be empty senseless relationships. “I think we need to break up Rena. I’ve been thinking pretty hard about this and in the end it always comes back to this.” Without going into a lot of detail she did not respond well to that statement. First came disbelief. An unwillingness to even process the words and absorb their meaning. That, all too quickly and abruptly shifted to a the much higher gear of flat out pissed. A few harsh words and like a scene from a movie set in the high risk wing of a hospital for the criminally insane she snapped to a soft wounded voice. Even her body language turned on a dime to match her tone. A fair amount of crying and the reemergence of her unwillingness to accept what was happening followed. A lot of back and forth, some yelling but not much. I’m really not certain how long this went on but was enough that I had to excuse myself for a bathroom break. For an instant I imagined that someone new had arrived during my brief absence because I heard a voice that was eerily childlike and my mind simply did not recognize it. It was unfamiliar in the worst possible way. I came out of the bathroom and moved out of the hallway and back into the area between the living room and the dining area. Whimpering softly the flowing voice came from my right. As I turned my head I noticed that the apartment had grown much darker. Again the voice emerged from the shadowed area near the front door. The voice quavered with a tone that disturbed me. It had not sounded like her at all. More like a young girls’ plea for help. I was cursing the fact that the three women who lived in this apartment felt it necessary to have a vanity mirror lined with hundred watt bulbs that lit the tiny bathroom up like the fucking sun because now my eyes wouldn’t adjust to the darkness. I think she must’ve known that when I came out of the bathroom I was going to forego any further pointless debate and just leave. I couldn’t have been gone for more than two minutes but when I stepped back into that room with her I was to discover that a whole lot of shit can happen in the time it takes to go take a piss. I glanced over to the couch kind of expecting her to still be sitting in the same spot. But all that was there was the sweater she had been wearing. I remember it was an elegant looking loose knit white sweater and one of sleeves drooped over the edge of the sofa and down to the floor. An instant later I heard a cracked dry whimpering voice near the door. “I’m so sorry…. I’m so sorry….” The hitching in her chest kept her in a state of gasping and irregular breaths between syllables. She had dimmed this light so that the only light in the apartment was the muted afternoon sun pouring through the sliding glass doors behind the sofa where her sweater now rested. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust from the bright bathroom lights to the now darkened foyer area where she was standing. She had her back pressed against the front door slightly bent forward in an almost bowing posture. Both hands appeared to be placed against the door palms down and it hit me that she had placed herself in a position that would prevent me from easily leaving. She must have known what I was thinking because I had seriously considered walking out when I came out of the bathroom. I felt as if everything of importance had been said and anything more would be simply dragging out the painful moment for both of us. Her head was hanging down and her face was hidden by waves of chestnut hair. Then she raised her head to meet my gaze. I had never seen an expression so mired in sorrow. confusion and pain. It was a distorted facial expression that seemed to remove all of the familiar facial landscapes that had become so deeply ingrained in my mind as features that had made her so beautiful to me in the beginning. She was unfamiliar to me in this state as if this were a different person who had come in while I was out of the room. Her customarily heavy mascara had begun to disintegrate under what had become a torrent of tears. Dark blackness ran down her face in smeared blotches. And the tears flowed in streaked rivulets marked in that same black as they carried the cosmetic away on their downward path. If I had seen her at some random location, I wouldn’t have known who she was. Her hair had even changed somehow, it was disheveled and askew on her head in a very unnatural way. Like a bad wig that had been put on sideways. She continued with the same tone but a lot of her words had descended into some unintelligible repetitious muttering. I couldn’t understand anything but “sorry”, “didn’t mean it” and “please”. Only one other word uttered through those trembling lips was clear enough to understand and it hit me like a bolt of lightning. “Forgive me!” Everything instantly came into focus. “God No. What did you do?” My heart had begun pounding and my mind raced and as if to answer my question two thin almost black streams of a viscous yet freely flowing liquid trailed down the door behind her. I stared at the dual streams in disbelief as they grew in length in front of me. They seemed to take on a life of their own as they flowed in and out of the common Arcadian pattern of the front door. Following their path not because of the physical elements related to surface friction or the texture of the door itself, but because they wanted to. And they did not slow because they were being constantly replenished by the steady flow from the point of origin. The rivulets of blood quickly reached the floor and began to pool in thick concentric circular puddles on the tile of the entryway. It’s hard for me to recall each and every singular thought and emotion that was rushing in on me in those first few seconds. The most obvious emotion was the most powerful. Fear. But it intermingled with so many others and each followed in succession adding itself to the mix. Disbelief, sorrow, empathy regret for not having seen this coming and even a level of initial panic. Many thought feelings vied for the top spot within me and each one took its turn. But the singular most powerful emotion was about to rain thunderously down on me. All at once it rushed through me as the absolute dominant response to this overwhelming and unbelievable situation. In the forefront of my mind where logic rules supremely I was desperately trying to cling to the idea of the right response. That logic told me that pity and kindness were the most appropriate and any subsequent action must follow along that path. These things would be called for in handling an emotionally unstable and clearly hurt young woman who was having difficulty processing and reacting to the situation in which she currently found herself. This was a civil, logical and appropriate human response. That sounds good and sometimes I wished that is what happened. But it isn’t. Sometimes life is messy and sometimes the better version of ourselves that we convince ourselves is there in the mirror looking back at us every morning does not step forward when we wished that it would. I needed that reflection at this moment. And though I would find over the course of my life that he was very real and would do me proud on numerous occasions at this moment he was elusive. Ephemeral and unattainable. A phantasm born of a need to see the best in ourselves. I don’t think I have ever met anyone who wouldn’t change something in their past given the chance. A bad choice, A misspoken word, a simple regret. None of us wants to see the darkness within but the truth is that it dwells within all of us. It is opportunistic and it is not discriminating or subtle. And we feed it most of the time we don’t even know we are giving it what it needs. We are too busy feeling what the moment has thrust into our life at that moment it grows. Rapidly gaining strength. A force of nature. Like a flash flood. You barely even notice that it is raining or that your clothes were getting wet when you get swept up in a torrent so powerful that when it takes you off your feet and pulls you and under they don’t find your body until a week later ten miles away. And there’s not a damn thing you can do to stop it. When my mind got a firm grasp on her motivation, her self-serving reasoning my darkness tore through its cage doors and roared to the surface. Pain hatred, anger, frustration. These things broke my already tenuous grasp on those feelings of concern, empathy and pity and they fell away into the ether of blackness consuming me. An all-consuming blackness had me in its grip for the first time in my life. Everything she had put me through, all of the lies, the infidelity, the humiliation and embarrassment, even the little stuff like talking about me behind my back all of it fed the darkness. “You selfish psychotic bitch.” I coldly spoke as I walked toward her. I grabbed her arms forcing her to bring them forward. She didn’t fight it. In fact, she relented quickly. I rolled both forearms simultaneously and exposed her wrists. I honestly don’t know what I was expecting to see but the wounds were far worse than I imaged. Both cuts stretched laterally a few centimeters from the heel of the palm. I had no significant medical knowledge at the time but they looked very deep and they were laid open wide enough that the outer edges of each cut seemed to curl up and outward from the center. These were  self-inflicted wounds and for an instant I was locked into the impossible effort of answering the question, How in the hell could you force yourself to cut the second wrist after seeing what you had done to the first? Once again by default I was trying to apply my own rational thought to another persons irrational action in some vain attempt to find a comfortable, understandable answer that I could wrap my mind around. My monochromatic, pedestrian, plodding myopic adolescent mind. But that answer still to this day hasn’t come in any satisfactory form. The next thing that hit me was the sensation of the cold blood that coated my palms as I gripped her forearms. A viscous sticky substance I had never seen or felt in such a large volume. A faint metallic odor wafted upward between us but by the time I had noticed it I was already pulling her across the room back toward the couch. I was walking backwards as I pulled her forward and when we neared the couch I spun around and in a powerful slingshot snap I threw her to the sofa. “You manipulative selfish bitch.” I seethed as I reached up to my shoulder. Gripping the fabric firmly at the top of my arm I ripped the sleeve away from the shirt. I didn’t feel like there was time to go looking around for a fist aid kit or to find an alternate source for the long tourniquet style bandage I knew I would need. A long shirt sleeved seemed a viable solution in the moment. After ripping both sleeves off I gripped one of her wrists and tied it off as tightly as I thought was safe and in turn did the same for the other wrist. No more than a half a second passed before I found my right hand wrapped tightly around her throat I squeezed just hard enough to make it very hard for her to breathe. And though I was in the grip of a horrifying rage I recall exactly what I said. Gritting my teeth then croaking from a tight dry throat I asked the question that was lodged in my chest “Do you really what to die Renee?” She was grasping at my forearm with both hands trying to break my grip. But at that moment there was no hope of that. She managed to gurgle out that very short very succinct response that I already knew. “No”. “Are you sure, because we can end this for real right here and now. Lights out and all the pain goes away. Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that what you were trying to do?” “No please.” She croaked still gasping for air and pulling at my wrist. Her face had taken on a deep red tone. I immediately let go. Though I had known the answer to the question well before I asked it her response still flamed the already out of control flames. She had just admitted that she mutilated herself in a life threatening way simply to manipulate me and to get her way. That’s when I noticed that one of the makeshift tourniquets was no longer white and had soaked through to a dark crimson. It wasn’t holding and to make matters worse I was relatively certain that the reason it wasn’t holding was that I just forced her to attempt to break free from what she perceived as mortal danger. So she had fought against it with everything she had though everything she had was seriously diminished from blood loss. I had just risked killing her to make a point and the realization struck me that it was no different than what she had just done to me. The irony did not escape me. Looking back on it knowing what I know now I can honestly say that total blood loss was easily between a half and a whole pint. That dark hue of red had quickly disappeared. Her waxen parlor grew to a chalky, pale, and sickly appearance. She looked exhausted as her very lifes blood had drained away and her limp frame seemed to just sink into the couch. Finally grasping the full weight of the situation and pushing my anger off to the side for a moment I realized I needed help. Now I was starting to worry about her going into shock. I franticly reached for the phone sitting on the end table. “I’m calling 911” I said as my fingers smeared her blood all over the numbers and the receiver. At that moment her frail diminutive figure that was losing strength by the second erupted into a panicked animal driven by a new and deeply ingrained fear whose sole purpose was to stop that call from being placed come hell or high water. “Nooo! ” She screamed dragging the word out into a disturbingly eerie fusion of a high pitch screech and an almost guttural growling vowel sound as she snatched the phone from my hand. Clutching it with both hands and holding it tightly to her chest. In an unnaturally depraved way she looked like a small child devoid of reason or rationale who has absolutely no intention of sharing her new toy with any of the other kids. Her frame was rigid and she retreated drawing her body in tightly to the sofa. Assuming a shockingly guarded posture accentuated with the same look of penetrating terror. Her eyes were wide with a new sense of panic and fear that made the previous five minutes look like a casual dress rehearsal. As if the previous performance had only been the lead in to this new and much more unhinged finale. “Ranee, you need medical attention. I have to either call an ambulance or at the very least drive you to the emergency room. Now just give me the phone and I’ll call your mom.” I only thought she had reacted badly when I said 911 but the M word released an entirely new personality. A twisted expression of pain and anger contorted her face and she stood up abruptly on the sofa with the same hard stance. “Wow, she is really not taking suggestions in a very constructive manner now is she?” I thought. That musing notion had no more passed out of mind when the cordless hand set to which she had so tenaciously clung had become airborne. I was actually kind of startled by the sheer force she put into it as it flew across the room shattering against the living room wall a few feet behind me. The state of shocked confusion that was becoming uncomfortably familiar once again emerged in full. Being the naive inexperienced young man that I was it only hit me at that moment that this had clearly gone way beyond the poor reaction to a break up. She was acting like a woman possessed. She was exhibiting behavior more akin to someone fighting for their very survival. Had she always been this crazy and I just didn’t see it? Or was all of this some brand new disorder, some newly emerged mania, a freshly birthed delusional paranoia or schizophrenia? Doubtful I thought. I knew myself too well. I was keenly aware of my own myopic perspective. But whether it was my long standing state of denial or the emergence of some new emotional dysfunction for her result was exactly the same. In the minutes that followed I discovered her response to the phone was not without its foundation in reason. When confronted with the possibility of this living drama in which we were the starring players she was overwhelmed with a flood of horrifying memories. Images of a time before my arrival in her life. A time in which a 14-year-old girl who became pregnant, was forced to give up the child for adoption, suffered postpartum depression and subsequently attempted to take her own life. All of which resulted in an uncomfortably lengthy stay in an institution for the less than emotionally stable. A time and place that had irrevocably left its mark on her psyche. The thought of once again being forcibly committed to any same such facility was far beyond any coping tools or mechanisms she was equipped with. Once my mind had digested these facts my demeanor changed and I reassured her that we would deal with the wounds ourselves and that the events that had unfolded in that apartment on that day would remain forever hidden form those would seek to send her away again. Without leaving her alone for very long I gathered the items I would need to tend to her violently self-inflicted wounds to the best of my ability and waited with her until her friend and roommate had returned home and I could be reasonably assured that she was in no danger and that she would no longer seek to harm herself. I left and went back to my apartment where I spent the brief remainder of the day solemnly alone in my room until I went to bed. I did not eat that day. I shut my bedroom door and pulled up a chair near the window where I sat in silence staring out the window and reflecting on the decisions made and the actions taken for better or worse. I wondered what the long term implications and consequences for those decisions might ultimately become, I still don’t have those answers. Chapter 2 Beware the riteousness  I have spent far too much time procrastinating on this chapter. Mostly due to horrific nature of the content and partially the conflict of how it needed to be told. I finally decided to simply get to it. In 1987 I was a junior in high school and and once again my head and heart were filled with concepts like honor, nobility and defending the weak or those who cannot defend themselves. The world was extremely black and white. Though as teenagers we have that luxury. Throughout my junior year I had been developing a friendship with a person who would be my best friend by the end of the school year. We can call him Wayne. I had already been friends with his older brother (let's just call him George) for some time but had never met Wayne at that time. My first impressions upon seeing them together for the first time was that no two men could ever be more diametrically opposed. North and south poles of the same magnet. One with blonde hair one with bron. One with a stocky build and one tall and slim. One meticulous and uptight the other relaxed and carefree. I liked them both. They both spoke to and complimented aspects of my own personality. But then I was pretty tightly wound myself in those days and actually all over the freaking map in that ever evolving quest of teenagers to find out who they are and to establish an identity as an individual..  Publication Date: October 1st 2019 https://www.bookrix.com/-edensashes

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samilia the last summer book 2 of the second summer hy Publication Date: September 15th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-samalia

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kc hook Model Citizens Publication Date: July 2nd 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-kczeroo

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swaggerlisha secret away forever Text: hi guyz whats up what u doing said ashely oh nothing said jason i was just hanging out with a friend i is it her said ashely ummmm no are u lieing to me no u are i hate you!!! i am leaving far a waywait no Images: -cries- ashely!! are here?? yes ashely said i am sad wheres jason?? herei am sorry ok i am not cheating on u i k u are and idk we are through! All rights reserved. Publication Date: August 30th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-swaggerlisha

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ithuriel numb to myself bloom As im writing this i feel nervous. i dont know whether its the write thing to do or if its just some horrible mistake. i dont know who will read this, i dont know how they will react, will they laugh? will they cry? will they understand...? Well lets start with the formalities. My name.. is A. Just an A no other letters are necessary simple and direct. i live a quite normal life. i have a mother and a father and i even have a brother as well. we all live a quite life in a quite town. ideally i would be your model student, good grades, good friends, good goals. I thought thats what i had. I thought my life was right on track. I thought I was the ideal person. was i wrong? Its always like this, no? you see a perfect family who looks happy they were like a picture that would always smile no matter how old it got. but once that family is alone, once that family has no one looking, they fall.. but this isnt about my family, no, this is about the girl that stands with that perfect family and says she has that perfect life when in reality she is broken.. maybe i broke officially ( hmm..does it ever become official?) when i was young. Or maybe you cant break if you never knew that you needed to be fixed? maybe this was the first crack that appears in a glass mirror, its small, but now its prone to even more cracks, until it shatters. it was before school years, before a child ever needed to be taught about it. before i even needed to know these feelings. See, i had a neighbor. She was a nice enough girl, she was a tomboy and was a couple years older than i was. I remember her coming to my house to play. We would play with my barbie dolls in my room and pretended they were married and kissing. One day we were doing just that and thats when she asked me. ---------------------- "Hey, have you ever done that before?" "Done what?" i asked confused i looked at my barbie doll lying gently in my hand and looked up again when she spoke. "Kissed someone." she said with curiosity. "Nah. Im still a kid, thats for grown ups." I said remembering mommy telling me that when i asked about it when she read me stories. "So you've never ever done it?" she asked getting closer. "nope." "really? huh,well... ok lets play a game. its a fun game but we cant let any grownups know ok?" she said. "ok." she pushed me on the ground and i was about to cry but when she climbed on top of me she swallowed my tears with her lips crashing down on mine. i try to fight my way out of this suffocating embrace but she doesnt let me go. im confused and scared i could feel her hand going up my mickey mouse shirt and my face reddens. she finally takes a breath and looks at me and says..... "isnt this fun?" Publication Date: January 21st 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-ithuriel

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Jolynna Jean-Pierre Between us Part 1 : Breathe 'n' let Breathe Table of Contents School Favors part 1 School Favors part 2 Break up? or make-up? Memories The funeral The interview Prologue *stares into the rain* Oh, what a pain!!! Took all this space and did nothing to it. Do you ever notice why people move out of small town, Kentucky? Home of the Kentucky fried chicken!! *giggles* “Now that is funny.” *pushes chair away from desk**moves towards my main office desk* *thinks* “Why do I even stay here??” *sighs* *looks into camera* “Now, you see… when you look at life in an angle, Do you see square? Or is everything unfair?” *smiles* “Let me tell you something, when it comes to seeing square, I can truly tell you ALL about it, trust me.” *looks deeper into the camera* “Stick with me, and you’ll be alright.” *sighs* "Well, i guess its time to get back focus, huh?" *smiles* *giggles* "My apologies, how rude of me, the name's Jessy, short for Jessyca." *reaches to shake your hand**smiles* "Well, no need to know your name, because...*scratches my scalp*...you are reading a book about me, and my life as a so-called popular girl." *giggles**shakes my head* "You know i haven't got the slightess clue why people call me that" *smiles**knock...knock* "Who is it?" *door cracks open* "It's me, auntie" *walks towards the door**opens door**looks towards the camera**whispers* "It's my nephew" *opens the door* "What's good, nephew?!" *picks him up* "Auntie... *looks around*...who you talking to in here??" *smiles* "Nobody...just getting some ideas for school" "School?" "Yes, school" "Mhm...ok, auntie, can we get some ice cream?" "maybe later" *makes puppy face* "ok" "yeah, now go to grandma" "ok" *opens the door**closes the door* "Well, if you need to know, that was my four year nephew, jamie, short for Jammorieon." *giggles* " Bet you wondering who names their baby like that?...well i couldn't stop my sister from naming him after his father. Yep, and she's about to deliver a baby girl in a couple of months." *smiles* "I bet you wondering why i never mentioned a boyfriend, huh? I don't have one, last one didn't work out so well. So yeah, I'm single for the time being." *new text message* Reads:"Hey, it's shawn. Just checking up on you. Didn't see you at practice today, is everything alright?" *sighs**blushes* Types: "Everything is A OK over here, just had a lot of house chores to do, but i should be coming to practice tomorrow, though." *sends message* *sighs* Shawn, a typical sweet guy, very nice, and caring, adores children, 6'0, brown skinned, and has very nice abs. *smiles**new text message* Reads: "Cool, very cool. Can't wait to see you." Types: "Same here. :)". *sends message**yawns* "Oh boy, what time is it?" *looks at watch* "Crap!! It's 11:30pm. I've got to get me some shut eye. See yah in the morning" *turns off lights* *gets in bed* zzzz.... Chapter 1- School favors part 1 6:30 am.    *alarm* "beep...beep...beep" *stretches* "beep...beep...beep" "Alright, im up already" *presses the snooze button**yawns**removes cover and sheets**slides out of bed* "Get up!!" *smiles**sister looks up at me* "Are you crazy...do you know what time it is?" *looks at my watch* "Yep...its *adjusts my watch*6:40am" *widen eyes* "6:40!!" *runs back in my room**grabs my clothes* "Why you in such a rush for?" *dashes into the restroom**quickly brushes my teeth**gargals* "Ahhh..." *changes my clothes**sister stands in the hallway in her pjs* "hello!?...don't you hear me talking to you" *looks at her* "look...i have a jog to complete so please..." *puts in earphones**grabs bookbag**makes my way towards the door**thinks:am i forgetting something?" *continues thinking:Yes!Food!* *heads to the kitchen**grabs my to-go breakfast, and lunch**places it inside my bookbag**exits the house**jogs down the stairs* "Don't forget to pick up jamie from school today?!...Jessy!do you hear me?!Jessy!" *continues jogging**listens to : Annie-opportunity**jogs while enjoying the pre-morning view**jogs my way to the bus stop**slows down**takes earphones out**stands at the bus stop**people chatting from behind me**turns around* "what are these people doing here this early?" "hey jessy" *turns around**sees shawn**blushes* "hey..hey shawn" *smiles* "You coming to practice today?" "Yeah"*thinks about my schedule* "ah...wait, i'll be late" "why?" "I have to pick up my nephew from school today" "Want me to come with you?" "Are...Aren't you going to be late too?" *shawn smiles* "I'll be alright...plus it'll give me extra time to chill with you" "Awe...that's sweet of you" *twirls my hair**blushes* *shawn hugs me**thinks* " OMG...he smells so good..so so good" *bus pulls up**jogs onto the bus**finds a seat and sits down**shawn sits next to me**thinks* "OMG...let me check my messages" *unlocks my phone**goes to messages**scrolls down**whispers* " a new text message from shawn that i haven't read...humph" *opens message* Reads: "Hey jessy, it's shawn. I wasn't sure about how you would respond, but i was wondering if you would like to hangout more, but a bit more than friends, but im asking if you want to be my lady, mrs. jones" *blushes**sinks in my chair* "Are you okay, jessy?" *looks at shawn**whispers* "I...would love to be your mrs.jones" "huh?" *sits up* "i said i would love to be your mrs.jones" *shawn smiles* "really?!" *smiles* "yes" *shawn leans forward slowly**bus goes over a bump**shawn and i kiss**smiles* "now, its official" *shawn holds my hand**thinks: i felt...no i feel like my heart is about to explode with excitement* *bus stops* *shawn and i hold hands while walking off the bus**we walk towards the school**notices jeremy* "Is that jeremy?" *notices jeremy walking towards me* "Jessy! I've been looking all over for you, and who is this chump?" *glares at jeremy* Jeremy, a typical bully, 6'2, light skinned, football star of the school, wanna be ladies man. "Look, this handsome gentleman is shawn" *jeremy looks at me* "Jessy, please don't tell me you go with this loser?" *smiles* "No, i don't go with a loser...*looks at shawn*...i go with a man" *shawn kisses me**looks at jeremy* "now get lost somewhere" *continues holding hands with shawn while walking**heads to class**smiles* "Alright, we meet here before lunch?" "sure" "ok" *enters class* "Oh..my...lord, i've got the same class as jeremy" *jeremy shoves past me* "excuse me!" *jeremy turns around* "you said something" "yeah, don't push me the next time you see me" *jeremy laughs* "whatever" "whatever my butt.." *sits in my seat* *looks ahead at the Dry-Erase Board* Mr. Lawarence starts teaching. (5 minutes later) *dozes on and off* "Ms. Jones!!" *quickly wakes up* "yes, mr.lawarence?!" "Could you please go to Ms.oliver's classroom to borrow the over-head from her?" "Okay" *stands up and gets the hallpass* *exits the classroom* *walks to Ms.Oliver's classroom* *knocks on the door* *shawn opens the door* "welcome to ms.oliver's classroom, how may I help you?" *smiles* "Can you ask ms.oliver if mr.lawarence can borrow her over-head?" "Ok, wait here, please?" "Ok" *shawns goes to ms.oliver's desk* *whispers* "Excuse me, ms.oliver?...mr.lawarence wanted to know if he could borrow your over-head?" *points to the closet* "help Jessyca take the over-head to his classroom" *shawn gets the over-head* *exits the classroom* (Back at the Mr.Lawarence's classroom) *enters the classroom* "mr.lawarence...here is the over-head that you had asked for" "Thank you, place it right there in front of the Dry- Erase Board" *places the over-head in front of the Dry-Erase Board* *shawn exits the classroom* *sits down in my seat* (15 minutes later...) "Ok, class, you have homework on page 345-347, and on page 347, do the checkpoint and Question and Answer on that page" *bells ring* *grabs my book bag* *heads to the lockers* (while at my locker...) "i can't believe you broke up with me to go with that...that...that booggy chick!!" (peeks) *sees shawn and cierra talking* "she's not booggy, and i broke up with you because you was acting ratchet" "How...how dare you say im ratchet?!" *shawn notices me watching* (hides) *quickly gets my lunch, and runs away* *cierra sees me running* " Yeah, you better run B****" (stops) *turns around* "What did you say to me?" "you heard me, girl" "Oh, so now im a girl" *walks towards cierra* "If i was you, i would watch the way i'd talk to me" *shawn pulls me away from cierra* *quickly pulls my arm away from him* *glares at him* *walks away from shawn* (End of the school day) *walks towards the bus* (hears someone calling from the background) *turns around* *sees shawn* *quickly walks away towards the main road* "Jessy, wait!!" (stops) *turns around**looks at shawn* "What do you want shawn?" "Why did you avoid me all day?" *rolls my eyes and crossed my arms* *shawn grabs my shoulders* "what did i do?! tell me!!" *glares at shawn* "what did you do???...what do you think you did?!....you stood right there...very clear that i was watching you, but did you have the guts to stand up for me?? did you?!...NO!" "What are you talking about?!...baby i love you" "Don't call me baby!...i mean for a moment i...*tears fall from my face*..i thought you were a...a man who would stand up for me, whether against a girl, boy, man or woman, and NEVER allow someone to call me out of my name. But you allowed cierra to do so, and the worst thing about it was that you was neither surprised nor angry when she called me a @#%&$" "im...im soo sorry about that it happened so..." "It happened so quickly...how?? you allowed me time to walk towards her and time to stand up for myself and time to walk away and time to allow the entire school day to pass by without sending a text message appologizing abput the event nor trying to even reason with me on what had happened...so dont tell me, it had happened so quickly....for if i was TRULY your girlfriend, you would have done anything to keep me happy...even if it means standing up for me against your ex." *quickly moves away from shawn* "Baby....wait!!" (TO BE CONTINUED...) Chapter 2- School Favors part 2 (Previously on Chapter 1, *looks at shawn* "What do you want shawn?" "Why did you avoid me all day?" *rolls my eyes and crossed my arms* *shawn grabs my shoulders* "what did i do?! tell me!!" *glares at shawn* "what did you do???...what do you think you did?!....you stood right there...very clear that i was watching you, but did you have the guts to stand up for me?? did you?!...NO!" "What are you talking about?!...baby i love you" "Don't call me baby!...i mean for a moment i...*tears fall from my face*..i thought you were a...a man who would stand up for me again, whether against a girl, boy, man or woman, and NEVER allow someone to call me out of my name. But you allowed cierra to do so, and the worst thing about it was that you was neither surprised nor angry when she called me a @#%&$" "im...im soo sorry about that it happened so..." "It happened so quickly...how?? you allowed me time to walk towards her and time to stand up for myself and time to walk away and time to allow the entire school day to pass by without sending a text message appologizing abput the event nor trying to even reason with me on what had happened...so dont tell me, it had happened so quickly....for if i was TRULY your girlfriend, you would have done anything to keep me happy" *quickly moves away from shawn* "Baby...wait!!")     It's been 3 days since i last spoke to shawn,and some how i feel as if i over-reacted about the situation. *exits the house**slowly walks down the street**walks to the park* In my brain, i have to much pride to appologize, but deep inside, i truly just want to run into shawn's arms once more. *sighs* (hears a familiar voice from behind me) "never thought i'd run into you again" It's shawn!!  *smiles* "Shawn!..what on earth are you doing here?" *shawn laughs* "well, it is a park, isnt it? *feels dumb* "oh yeah i...i forgot" *tries to quickly walk away**shawn quickly grabs my hand* "please..wait...don't run anymore" *slowly turns around**shawn forces a hug onto me**smiles and hugs back*   Chapter 3- Break up? or Make-up? jk Chapter 4- Memories jk Chapter 5- The funeral g Publication Date: November 4th 2019 https://www.bookrix.com/-jojo24

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Anton Pavlovich Chekhov The Sea-Gull Publication Date: September 4th 2009 https://www.bookrix.com/-librarian

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-dianna-p-chantell-1/

Dianna P chantell chantell chapter 1(same old stuff, different year) waking up in my room i could see my mom standing next to my luscious printed door. Publication Date: November 12th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-sweetydee12

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-lucy-the-story-of-skylor/

Lucy !!!!!!!!!, !!!!!!! !!!!!!!!! The story of Skylor Skylor Enjoy BookRix GmbH & Co. KG 81371 Munich Saddness Skylor, awoke wants going on she said it was dark and cold she was lonely the only thing that she knew was gone her dad was gone she looked around nothing she felt terrible . Then  she saw some thing out of the  corner of her eye it was a  note it said a old friend  and a new enemy and if you call the cops Ur dad gets it. What could that mean she said, maybe John would know, John she called as she entered his  house want is it know, my dad is gone and who ever took him left this any I ideas . No idea sorry but maybe we could work together to find him. OK, so it's u, me and God let's go ,said Skylor. So  they started their journey ,do u even have a lead on how to find them ,asked John . Of course I do I have been tracking them since I called them answered Skylor. You called them , are you crazy do u what to get us killed ,asked John. Don't worry we will be fine ,don't u have any faith God will protect us ,answered Skylor . Well yes and we're are we going even, said John . To the abandoned warehouse on Gtoh road said Skylor. Sounds like trouble to me said John as they approached the warehouse.  Inside the warehouse They walked inside and the next thing they knew was they were in the middle of fight and John was giving orders. Then everything went blank ,she awoke what's going on she said why did u tie my up John, Because I am the old friend and new enemy. She looked at him ,but why ? ,she asked.That's a story u well have to be told a different time he answered .What a minute that. Means u stole my dad ,but why?she questioned.He walked out of the room without answering her.A bit later he came back in an asked ,join me .I plan to whip out the worlds power and the it's leaders.No ,Never ,U are a monster ,how could u? She looked around and said ,Why? Because, answered John. She turned away. She looked around some more .John said ,arg just join me.No said Skylor .Then john walked out of the room Skylor reached for a wrench,she used it to get the kids wicth she use to cut the rope.She grabbed her bag and jumped  out a window And took off .Once she got home she grabbed her stuff and dog let's go she call to Luke her pet dog.Then she. Went to a Motal and asked if They exsihiped dogs they ,when they answered yes ,she paid with a fake name and went to her room, she looked at Luke. This is a for now home she said as she went to sleep.She woke up still shaking off the pain she had so many people missing ,hurt,dead,and People who turned on her.                                                                                     ~~~~~     Flashback. ~~~~   U OK ? Skylor questioned her friend Abby .Fine ,she answered.U sure Skylor questioned again.Yeah fineeee.... She said as she fell back.They rushed her to the hospital .But she died shortly after do to liver failure, caused by a drug trial she was takeing.   Skylor looked at a picture of her and Abby on her computer ,Then remembered her friend Maggie was in the hospital from a plan crash so many thing falling apart in her life she why ,why now,why her,? Publisher: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG Implerstraße 24 81371 Munich Germany Text: 2016 Images: Lucy Editing: Lucy Translation: Lucy All rights reserved. Publication Date: April 19th 2016 https://www.bookrix.com/-bj6017b1de91e65 ISBN: 978-3-7396-4270-3

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hehe Complicated Story Publication Date: March 8th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-heya123456

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sevendeuce-never-again/

Sevendeuce Never Again The end is in sight Never Again When you are surrounded by nothing more then your own shadow, it is then that the realisation of light being present in order to cast your own shadow—Comes to light-- As he realised that notion that instant he saw his life and journey. That he was undertaking flash before his eyes. Long suppressed emotions that have been subdued ever since he can remember are beginning to surface accompanied with train of thoughts. He tried to regain his composure even though it was in vain and he started walking towards the edge of the hill. Over looking the vast city that appeared in front of him to help him to regain his composure, he calmly over looked the beautiful view. He seemed to be distracted for a mere few moments whilst the campfire that was burning behind him, released the few sounds of being wood being subjected to the intense heat, into the night air. Then suddenly the sky roared above him again and again, as if the sky mirrored what was happening within him, as he wrestled with his emotions. The sky released its entity and unleashed missiles shaped in the form of raindrops unto the vast area the storm covered. He raised his arms to welcome the rain and let his emotions run free too surface, he felt the anger and the pain take his body over and with the next roar of thunder he released a mighty emotion filled roar. As if to give the emotions that were building within him for oh so long a voice. As he fell to his knees he looked up to the very sky that had helped orchestrate the emotions within him, right then and there he knew exactly what he had to do. Any second thoughts or doubts he might have had until then, seemed insignificant compared to what just happened. For what had led him up to this very point seemed to be only thing on his mind... Text: Photos All rights reserved. Publication Date: December 26th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-sevendeuce

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-ally-kettering-why-must-i-go-and-you-stay/

Ally Kettering Why Must I Go And You Stay I dedicate this book to everyone who has ever felt lonely in their lives. Why Must I Go And You Stay Why do you stay, Why do I go. We could be happy together. With nothing to hurt us, With nothing to break our soul. So why do you stay, Why do I go. We could do anything, We could be famous, Be loved for who we are. So why do you stay, why do I go. Why must we come to an end. Why must I come to the end... Of living in this world.   Publication Date: November 3rd 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-bn3d652c5595725

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-kirstin-garcia-nadia/

Kirstin Garcia Nadia I do not own picture, i got it off google still in progress The beginning I am drowning, I’m drowning in what they call life. As if the breath from my very lungs were being ripped away…I then realized that this would be my last day as the person I was and become the person I was meant to be.   Chapter one: It’s a Monday morning and I can hear my foster mom calling me, “HEY! Wake up you’re going to be late”. My eyes widen as I looked at the time, “damn I’m going to be late on the first day”,  I dashed out of bed in a frenzy. I need to get dressed to make the bus I thought to myself. I quickly looked through my closet and finally made a decision on what I wanted to wear. my outfit consists of my combat boots with my black lace dress and my thigh high socks, I guess you could say that I liked to wear black. I failed to make the bus, I had to ask Andrew to take me to school "ugh" I hissed at the idea of my creepy foster dad driving me to school. I loathed the way he was always calling me beautiful and staring at me from afar, he didn’t make me feel comfortable. Every time I was alone with him I always waited for the moment when he would attack me, however, my foster mom would always come home I would feel somewhat relieved but she wasn’t any better than the monster she called her husband, I then decided to walk to school I didn’t want to risk Andrew getting in a bad mood and me become his punching bag in the end. I finally made it to school after a long forty-five minutes of walking, it was already the second period. I then heard a familiar voice calling my name “Nadia where were your first period, you missed a really important test” I then reply, “I’m sorry... I missed the bus and my parents weren’t home (I lied) …”  Katie then replied, “from now on I’m going to come pick you up at 7:00 am every morning “ …… “No you can’t do that” I replied “my parents will get angry and I don’t want to have to deal with them, but thank you for the offer”, For those of you who didn’t know Katie and I have been friends since I moved in with the Wilsons aka my foster parents. The day went by faster than I thought, I wasn’t ready to go home so I called into work and asked if I could cover anyone’s shift. Sally my boss said yes that my coworker Melissa had called in sick and that she would be out for a couple of days she said that I could cover those days if I wanted, I didn’t mind I was actually quite happy because I get to be away from home and It was more money towards savings and the more money I saved the further away I can get from this godforsaken town. I took two subways and then rode my bike the rest of the way you could say that work was a little far but I didn’t mind I liked the city, I lived a little way out of the downtown area of Seoul, South Korea ever since I was adopted. When I arrived to work I wasn’t late, in fact, I was forty-five minutes early so I had time to eat an early lunch then I clocked in and greeted my boss then continued with the rest of the day.   It was almost midnight when I got off from work, I gathered my things and headed towards the door but before I left I had to empty all the money from the cash register and put it in the safe I then would be able to say my goodbyes and go home. When I left It was dark and the subways had stopped running, I would have to ride my bike home which means I would get home around two in the morning then I would have to do my homework my chores only then I would be able to sleep this was my usual schedule, but I didn’t mind getting only a few hours of sleep just as long as I knew that I had everything I needed to do done. I finally made it home but to my surprise Andrew was awake and he had been drinking, I unlock the door and make my way inside but the sound of his heavy feet stomping and staggering towards me brought me to a stop. “Where have you been Nadia?” Said, Andrew “I was at work, sir...” I was waiting for him to just let me go and get my homework done so I could get some sleep Andrew then said “that is not acceptable, I will not let you come home at all hours of the night” I saw the fiery in his eyes. “Where’s Anna?” I asked “She’s not here she went on a business trip for a few days it’s just us two” My heart started to beat faster than I have ever imagined it could. “My dear Nadia come here and play with daddy, “said Andrew “I’m rather tired I'm going to sleep” I sprinted towards my door in hope that he wouldn’t catch me. I looked behind me and it looked as if a wild beast was hoping to catch his prey, “come here Nadia I just want to have some fun I promise I won’t hurt you”. When I reached my room and locked the door and leaned against it.   It was morning now and I could still hear the banging on the door even after he had left that horrid sound was imprinted and played back to back as if it was a broken record in my mind, I removed the dresser and unlocked the door “hello” I heard at the front door it was Child Protective Services, I was about to walk down to the door but then Andrew suddenly appeared and answered the door. “Hello my name is Mrs. Brown I am with Child Protective Services I am here to talk to Nadia, is she in?” “No, I don’t think she is,” said Andrew Without thinking I sprinted downstairs and said “yes I am here I just got in” I could feel Andrews’s evil gaze burning a hole through me. “We need to talk,” said the woman As we walked outside I could feel the cool breeze on my porcelain skin, it felt as if I am just now feeling the breeze of the wind and the shine of the sun for the first time. The woman who called herself Mrs. Brown asked me a lot of questions she then told me that my mother wasn’t dead and that she has been in contact with her I was stunned by the news I didn’t know what to say at that moment, I had spent all my life believing that my mother was rotting away in the ground somewhere. I was furious, my birth mother she was alive this whole time and she never once tried to get into contact with me she didn’t even try seventeen years. The woman saw my confusion, doubt, and sadness she then stopped me in my tracks “Nadia she doesn’t know that you’re alive, that’s why she hasn’t tried to contact you, but she will soon I have contacted her and confirmed that you are still alive I need you to go pack your things so we can go” I did as I was told and I rushed inside to get my things together but as I was on my way to my room I felt a hand grab my arm “where the hell do you think you’re going” said Andrew  “I’m leaving,” I said in a slightly annoyed tone. “The hell you are, you’re not going anywhere” he raised his hand I closed my eyes tightly, but before he could hit me he fell he to the floor the police where there, they had arrested him and took him in to be questioned. “Let’s hurry and go get your things,” said Mrs. Brown.     a week has passed since then and I still haven’t seen my mother they still haven’t told me anything about my mom, why fake her death who was after her that caused her to take these actions? ‘ma’am could you come with me please” said the guard “Where are we going” I replied a stern look The guard was a foreigner his Korean was weird but he was really good, on the way to where ever we were going we had a very nice conversation his name was Alexander, however, he went by “Alex” he was only six years older than I was I was surprised, he was the youngest guard in the unit and he was the first guy I talked to since I arrived here It was very nice and I enjoyed the conversation it made me smile and laugh something I didn’t do very often it was a nice change. Moments later we had arrived at the main office where I had seen Mrs. brown waiting I ran and hugged her and asked where she had been she said: “I brought someone who has been wanting to meet you”. I knew from the moment she said those words that from this day onwards is going to change Before I entered the room she Mrs. Brown told me if I’m not ready if I need more time she would understand. I stopped her and asked what her name was I wondered my whole life. “Min-seo” that’s your mother’s name Her name was beautiful and sweet like the cherry blossoms in spring but I didn’t want to meet her not looking like this not with a black eye and bruises up to my neck and down to my feet, I didn’t be to see the pain in her eyes whole she observed me and saw how my life had been until this point. “Uh, Mrs. Brown... I don’t want to see her right now” She looked at me with sad eyes I knew she knew why I didn’t want to see her not yet anyway “Okay honey I’ll tell her,” said Mrs. Brown I felt really bad, I wonder how sad min-set was? Three weeks have passed and the marks on my body are gone I told Mrs. Brown that I wanted to meet her but to my surprise she wasn’t there and she didn’t want to see me I wondered if it was my fault I didn’t mean to upset her… Mrs. Brown saw the confusion and pain in my eyes and gave me a hug, it felt nice it felt warm like it was actually genuine   Chapter two:     It has been a year already and I don’t remember how the sun felt on my skin, I’ve been kept in this facility that protects from the only god knows what my mother was hiding me from. I have no freedom here like I did on the outside but I can’t go back I’m dead to the world in order to keep me hidden I had to also fake my death they even had the news show my picture in the news saying I was involved in a car accident on the way to the airport to be sent abroad … I find it funny. I the year I have been here under the protection of CPS and the government, I started messing around with “jay” the guard that was in charge of me he was a very sweet and handsome young man and also very tall he was six foot five and he had icy blue eyes and blondish brown hair we weren’t dating it was more like if we needed affection or pleasure we would go meet each other in the dark of night. However, in time I found myself wanting him around I wanted to tell my feeling to him but that changed when he found a woman suited to him we haven’t talked since then… you could say I was upset but I understood why he didn’t choose me I wasn’t his match I wore black and had burgundy hair and the woman was blonde and had gorgeous green eyes she was a dance teacher and I was a girl who didn’t exist to the world. So I understood why it wasn’t me. It was awkward seeing in every day so I requested for a new guard when I met her I didn't know that we would become very good friends, she was beautiful she had black hair with purple underneath and her eyes were a silver blue color it was enchanting and when she talked she had a soothing voice “Hello I’m Mina,” said the new guard “Hello I’m Nadia nice to meet you” She was also five foot like me, I wondered if she would be able to take care of herself in this place so I decided to talk to her more and befriend her         Publication Date: April 17th 2018 https://www.bookrix.com/-fu0c6e48be0d165

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-dria-the-limit/

Dria The Limit Publication Date: August 17th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-gymnastic2010

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-ann-eva-graves-crystal-path/

Ann Eva Graves Crystal Path Based on a true story Publication Date: August 14th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-indian1951

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-kimmy-lou-i-thought-we-could-fly/

Kimmy Lou I Thought We Could Fly Enter your text here by copying it from any text editing software (e.g. M.S. Word). Publication Date: January 16th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-kimmybearwhite

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-precious-lancaster-the-lost-and-lonely/

Precious Lancaster The Lost And Lonely This Is To Taytay2000 And Alexandra64 Who Inspired Me Publication Date: June 15th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-precious13

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-ella-g-just-alex/

Ella G Just Alex. •N O T E•   This book may contain words. Also weird content.  But not THAT kind of weird content. I mean like skateboarding on rooftops while wearing a tutu and a pair of socks as gloves weird. Read On and comment if you want~  The book from chapter 4 is named "Fracture" by Megan Miranda.[the one when a girl fell cause of ice.] And of course, it's my favorite book. I recommend! Enjoy this Book♥︎ ∆1∆ So, I'm not one of those goodies. I'm not really good at anything, really. If you count getting on teachers' nerves, annoying people to death, and being creepy,  then it looks like I am good at something. So let me get this straight for you, I'm Alex. Alex Vallenson. I'm creepy, a girl, and really weird. I have one close friend, Xie. She's short, has dark blue hair that falls down to her elbows, mostly in a braid, and wears pullovers most of the time, like me. Call her my sister, yeah, but I wish that we were related... So we mixed our blood....Ta-da...  sisters...Yeah, I'm psychopathically weird. So tomorrow was National Hug Day, or national whatever day, or whatsoever. And I hated hugs, so I'm avoiding random people, as always. So, on my usual basis at hellish school, I have to speak on the speaker and announce the announcements. Stupid, huh? Yeah..So Xie and I walked down the halls, and arrived at an office with the megaphone and stuff. I yawned, and Xie giggled her humorous giggle, and I winked at her while I put up my feet on the desk, and spoke on the speaker.   "Hello, prisoners of Mackenson High School, and welcome back from the freedom of winter break. Sad, yeah? Yeah, I thought so too. So. Blah blah, blah, we have a Bake sale held by the amazing Lesable George, and a boring tea party with the volunteers tomorrow at 5, and thank you very much for listening, or walking away to talk to your friends, even I want to run away form this, but rest in peace, my dears and wait for Saturday. Goodbye."  I snickered, and jogged to the main hall with Xie, laughing all the way to our lockers. Soon after getting my books and stuff to go to the library with Xie, Principal Bickins arrived and said, "Alex Vallinson, why did you make that utterly rude announcement? You are SUPPOSED to say the full script! You are not allowed to say everything you WANT to say! And this is not a prison! This is a school! You should know better!"   He was out of breath, and he ran his hand over on the top of his bald head, and pulled up his extra large pants. "Well Mr. B, this school is kinda like a prison, and well, you should know that I am 'utterly' rebellious and stuff, and if you have a problem, tell it to my Complaints Department, which is really, the trashcan. Good day."  That was sassy. But, who cares? It is true. After I turned on my heel to go to Xie's locker, Mr. B yelled out, "ALEX VALLINSON! DETENTION FOR TWO WEEKS!" I looked out from my shoulder, and yelled back, "MR. B, I 'UTTERLY' DO NOT CARE! AND I'M FINE WITH TWO WEEKS!" Mr. B grumbled and walked away 'professionally' to his office, leaving the whole hall to laugh at my smart ass remark. I approved my sassiness, and walked to Xie."Ready?" "Yus. hold on, I have to get my books." I snickered, and and she scoffed, got her three books, and we walked to the quiet library.   ∆2∆ I like libraries. Sometimes they're dim, which is in my favor. And sometimes they're empty, which is also in my favor. And most importantly, they're filled with books. Magnificent books. That leave me at a cliff hanger, or dying to read on, and it leaves me at peace, instead of thinking what to do with myself. I always do things to keep my lingering mind off of thoughts that hurt me. Like reading. Or staying indoors with Xie. Maybe skateboarding, if I could learn. Last time I almost broke my wrist. Oh well.   Xie and I turned in our books, and got new ones. I always pick books that have an interesting title, and I check the first sentence to see if it got me hooked or not. Then I check the cover if it's not that cheesy. Or if it's not that weird.   So. As I was reading, I found this part about two people "conserving water", and well, it was so weird, I showed it to Xie. Turns out, she was already holding the edge of the bookshelf, keeping her light weight. I snorted, and went on to read. ∆3∆ Obviously, I loved books. Stories.  Ah, stories. Little patterns and the past and future behind letters. Maybe you can find that little story. Maybe you will love it. Maybe you will hate it. And, well, you will answer my question when you read books. If you even know what they are.   So, I was reading the first page of a book named Winder. Hm. Interesting. Weird. I put it down and pursed my lips tight, holding my laugh, since Mrs. Dellis is reading a book at her table already. She's the school's librarian, and a person that atleast UNDERSTANDS those stories like Xie and me. She's also a fortune teller, or something. Which is believable, saying that she's in her 50's, with not too much, and not to less makeup, always dressing ina  blazer, pencil skirt, black tights, heels, a turtleneck sometimes, and her dirty blonde hair in a tight bun. Sometimes I see gray strands, but it seems faded since her hair is a bit lighter.   So, I put the weird book about dandelions sailing in wind down, and walked from the library. I waved to Mrs. Dellis, and she waved back, and walked to the hall with Xie.   ∆4∆ "So, what books did you discover this time?" Xie asked. "Nothing much. Just a random book about dandelions flying in the wind." I replied. She snorted, and I chuckled.  We have weird books.  And interesting stories. Like, a story when a girl fell throught the ice got a coma, and was supposed to die and have a brain disfunction, but she was perfectly fine. I loved that book. Though it had twists and turns. But interesting.   So of course, me and Xie walked to the library again, and decided we should sit there and read until the bell rings. Mrs. Dellis waved again, and we waved back too, and sat down at the chairs. As soon as I flipped the first page of my book, I was transported to another world. well, in my mind.   When the bell rang, Xie went to History, and I went to English. I told her to meet me at the library again at second block, and we would just roam halls,  talking, reading books, and others.  We parted ways, and I walked toward the classroom, making sure I'd avoid eye contact. People judge way too easily. "Shy." Sure I am. "She hates people." Yeah, I do. "Ooh, she loves learning. Obviously. She has a ton of books.." Nope. I mean, I do love books, but learning can be very boring. ∆5∆ So as I got a hall pass from Ms. Zaline,  I met Xie at the lockers, and we walked around. We went to the bathroom, fixed our appearances, and talked about random stuff, and eventually got bored and went back to our classes. "Why not just say hi to him..it's like you're obsessed.." I went on. "I. Don't. Like. The guy. I like someone else...but with the same name...and SHE is a girl.." Xie went on. "Uh-huh. And all of this without telling me." I scoffed, and playfully punched her arm lightly. She just closed her eyes, and hummed a classical tune. I sighed, and got my book. "You and those books." She laughed. "Yeah..me and these books." I replied. "Pshh." She rolled her eyes, and linked her arm around mine. I continued reading, and came upon a very interesting sentence... Or note.   "Xie. Look at this." I told her, still keeping my eyes on the note. "Mm? Oh. That's weird." She took the note from my hand, and slowly and carefully unwrapped it. "Oh. It's a map..of our school." She looked surprised, but her mouth wasn't turned upright. Only her eyebrows were up, and her blue-brown eyes were on the paper. "Ah. Weird. But, we are obviously strong enough to go to the bathroom...and open a wall with a key slot. Oh! Here's the key." She took the rusted, gold key and we walked to the bathroom.   I took my book, and held it tight as if it was going to run away or fly away, and we fast walked to the bathroom. Xie fished out the rusted key from her black sweater, and put the key into the slot. I held her hand tight, and a door opened. Fantasy. And I thought it was fake. A blazing light shone, and I saw people dressed in coats that had tails behind them, and people with monocles, and women with powdered wigs. Xie was staring at the 1870 or 1840 scene, her eyes almost bulging. My mouth was an o, I could tell. I felt the old, mossy walls, and they were stone cold. I pulled my black jacket around me tighter, while Xie put her hands in her pockets, our arms still linked.    People gave us weird looks, abviously knowing we didn't fit in. I looked at Xie, and a thought hit us. We traveled throught time.  Just then, when I was about to turn around, a voice boomed above, and peopel didn't even hear it! "You are too fragile. Go back!" The voice echoed. And just at that moment, the world went black, Xie and I collapsed on the ground, our eyes closed. And we knew, that time was either going to change, or we'd messed around with our own lives. The word fragile danced in my mind. And suddenly, I stopped thinking and became totally unconscious.  Not thinking, not doing anything. Publication Date: May 30th 2020 https://www.bookrix.com/-sedfc4e6728a225

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-tamazya-why-me/

tamazya why me? school days Watson Family Text: tamazya Images: tamazya Editing: tamazya cook Translation: tamazya All rights reserved. Publication Date: July 22nd 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-tazzypooh13

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sumaiya-chowdhury-fingers/

Sumaiya Chowdhury Fingers The most dangerous thing To Jumana-For the idea. And Ushima Fingers can do many dangerous thing, here are some examples of what fingers can do to YOU! It can give a hug to your neck! Ain't that a thrill! It can hold a very nice looking weapons! Publication Date: November 7th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-seablue

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-charles-dufresny-the-village-coquette/

Charles Dufresny The Village Coquette CHARACTERS: The Baron The Widow, his neighbor Argon, another neighbor Girard Lucas, farmer Lisette, the coquette ACT I Girard (holding two letters and reading them) From Paris. To Monsieur Le Baron of Hamlet. Let's take care of this letter for him. He's not at home. (putting the Baron's letter in his pocket, he opens the other letter) And the other's for me, Girard. I dare to hope that the list of winning lottery numbers is in this letter. Right, my cousin, the master printer in Paris, favors the role I've taken. Love is my guide in this roguery. With this false lottery list I am going to obtain Lucas' daughter as my wife. Widow (entering) I am waiting for Mr. Argon. Why hasn't he come? Girard (reading the letter) From Paris. "My dear cousin, before having distributed the list of lottery winners, I've sent you a false list, as you asked me to do, so you can have a big joke in your village. You can make your rival believe that Farmer Lucas won the grand prize of one hundred thousand francs." With this, I hope to obtain my Lisette. Lucas, believing his fortune made, will cede me his lease on the farm. He's the type to be caught in such a snare. At bottom, it's for his own good. By making me his son-in-law, he can't lose. (to Widow) But, why are you standing around dreaming? Widow Because Mr. Argon is supposed to come find me. Girard He'll be here soon. He's still in the chateau. Widow I'm getting impatient. Girard What for? You're not excited by a tender love. It's an old lover, and you should wait without impatience, coldly. Widow Shut up, Girard. Shut up. You know how I value him. Girard To believe an old man is an old grey beard is no big crime. I honor him more, being his collector. The collection is small and for you, with all my heart, I wish I could pay him a one hundred thousand francs of income. Widow That would be too much for me, a former maid. That's what I was when I was in Paris. But here I have a higher rank which I obtained from my late husband, a head magistrate. Thus, I've been ennobled in this village, a fine nobility at bottom and which is worth a good bit, a nobility that one can take to Paris. Girard Let's renew our discussion and talk of Lisette again. Because, having so much power over her, being her neighbor, and a sort of surrogate parent, you are working hard to turn her into a coquette, instead of making her wiser. Widow Language of Paris. That's what will make her perfect. Girard Some perfection! Alas, you make her worse, when you come here to refine her wit. You make her heart more false and more vain. Widow At nine years, she was already a coquette in embryo. I have only pointed her in her natural direction--so her beauty will not prove worthless and she will profit by a fine marriage. I only want Lisette to be wise. She's naturally exquisite, and I've simply added to her talents all that I have learned. Girard With so many perfections you will make her a prodigy of coquetry. Widow So much the better, I tell you. That's what makes beauty and wit valued. We've argued about this so many times. By coquette I mean a girl who is very wise; who knows how to take advantage of other's foibles; who always exhibits sangfroid in the midst of dangers. One who profits from opportunity which she knows how to manage and uses her reason when we lose ours. A wise coquette is more knowing than anyone else because she is always exposed and always in a battle. One cannot deny that the strongest virtue is one that undergoes and survives the hardest tests. The coquette has prerogatives much more beautiful than a prude's. That beautiful right is the right of being happy. A prude, in her life, marries, but once or twice, but the clever coquette never marries at all. She flatters, she raises hopes, she promises, but she never gives in--thus through her wisdom leaving each one to his love and desires, she makes pleasure last. Girard In my opinion Lisette is making my pain too harsh. It's useless to complain to her father, alas, complaining is no good. He scorns me. Widow Yes, because you are leaving your condition in life. You are soliciting my relative and you are only a flat foot. Girard Very flat-footed, right. But, without belittling myself. Do I owe Lucas respect? He owes me some, perhaps. But now each of us rests on his pedestal, and for a collector to be the son-in-law of a farmer, it's by right of the game. Widow Good. It's an old game. Regretfully, I see your scheme is in ruins. Lisette repents of having considered you, and she says she no longer intends to have Girard. Now, the proud father and daughter find that your fortune is too recent. Everywhere you find ungrateful hearts, as in the village, even with regrets. But, during some times, gamble, pilfer, respect, trim, clip, loot and loot again. By force of conceit, you will come to listen. Girard Today my love appears bold to you, you blame my scheme. Listen, what is the mystery? I have, for more than a month, prowled, spun around, run about. And in my absence, alas, what has happened? My eyes are opening at last. Lucas is coming. I leave you. Until we meet again. (Exit Girard.) Widow Go to whatever hurries you. (Enter Lucas.) Lucas O fortune, fortune, when will I catch you? You always fly from me. Widow Always fortune on the brain? Lucas Yes, for it hates me. I do this, I do that--labor all my life. Labor for this one, labor for that one. I work for thirty years. After thirty years, here I am. To labor for another, it's small palliative. To work for oneself, that takes courage. To even everything up wouldn't it be right for the others, in their turn, to work for me? Widow Lucas wishes to reach the heights. Lucas Suddenly, yes, to find myself there, as in a miracle. I've got the character for it--no matter how hazardous. I gamble, win some, lose some, it's only that it doesn't make one happy. I've played double or nothing out of boredom. I have forty tickets for this lottery. Widow That's a very prudent way to place money. Lucas Yeah. Because I love big lotteries. I am going to make my fortune that way. Widow You will make your fortune through your daughter. The Baron loves her more and more. Lucas He's becoming hot. But my daughter lacks the feeling to marry him. Widow She's shrewd and subtle. Lucas It's beginning to make him keen. Widow And, the Baron, who's only a village Baron, hasn't, as you know, much brains. Lucas Not necessary to say he's a stupid, because all the world knows it well. But Lisette can hear us. Come on, daughter, come on. Madame and I were talking about how your wit satisfies her. She said you were so subtle, said you were so knowing. (Enter Lisette, listening.) Lisette (pretending naivete) Father, I don't know what she thinks of me. Lucas So much the worse, my daughter, so much the worse. Widow Today, you've joined some ornament to your simple country dress. Lisette It's to please the Baron, as you advised me. I am making myself over to be loved. I am obedient, and I intend, to please you, that he marry me quickly. So, that's why I added to my costume today. Widow You'd have made him love you, that's already done. But to make him marry you, you must double dose him with sighs, looks and little manners. Put to work my recent lessons. We shall try to please at first by simple attractions. A little affectation, lowering your gaze, being quiet, appearing embarrassed. A cold blooded man, seeing a great deal of simpering, will believe less what he sees. He will suspect, examine, and discover the pretence. But, when the dupe is taken--be affected without fear. The grossest kinds of affectation, far from quelling, charm his passions, and he seeks out the beauty of nature. Lucas I don't understand half your fine preaching. (dumbfounded) But what you say must be good, for you amaze. Widow Lisette understand perfectly. Lisette Not so much as you think. You have taught me well, speaking to me of these looks which make women so refined. But I am not so refined. I cannot do as they do. Widow Oh, you will go far. You know how to please, and how to pretend. Lisette You deceive yourself. I contradict myself in no respect. I please the Baron without feigning to please him. If he is deceived, I can never be. When I speak contrary to my thought, one can see in my manner that I am embarrassed. Widow The Baron could, by a tender turn about, mention again the contract he made the other day. He is changeable, peevish in his tenderness. Think to profit by his day of weakness. Has he promised again today? Lisette Alas, no. Widow He must have thought it over. It's his day to be reasonable, his good day. But we will recapture him. To make him sign, it's only needful to make him wait. If something can hasten this happy day, it's pretence. Pretend a violent love. Lisette Alas, I will pretend badly. Widow Then, I am uneasy. I intend to marry as much as Lisette. Monsieur Argon occupies me and I am going to see him. If he keeps his word, it will be all over today. (exits) Lucas You must pretend the widder lady says, and you don't know how to pretend a pretense. You say everything that comes into your head and that's a mistake. Have the virtue to lie a bit. You don't know how, and that upsets me. Lisette Oh, console yourself, father. If I am still stupid, I am not really stupid. I know how to pretend better than the Widow thinks. I have some tricks she hasn't seen yet. If I always tell her I am innocent, and that, despite her lessons, I am ignorant, it's all on purpose so she will be proud of me. Lucas Oh, you know what you're doing and I cannot complain of you. Lisette You are going to see how I intend to make a fortune. Lucas Fortune is our master. Lisette It is true--it is our master. But, if he should fail me? Lucas Ha! Ha! I see well what you intend. So as not to lack one, you will have two. Lisette Yes, at least, father. That's what I'm doing. But the other has less wealth, which annoys me. For Monsieur Baron--here's what I fear--his conversation does not entirely please me. I have spoken to him a lot in pretending to be innocent. No, for marriage he has no plans. He says he wants to stay single for ten more years. Lucas To remain single--oh, oh. He wants to marry you, so you can remain a virgin? Lisette To understand him, the loves of a nobleman for girls like me does us much honor Lucas No, no, of these nobles, love without marriage takes honor from girls that nothing gives back. Lisette One has much wealth, but he will deceive me. The other hasn't very much, but he will marry me. Lucas The other is this Girard, correct? Lisette Fie! Lucas I'll say fie to him. If he comes round, I'll kick him out. Lisette Kick him out? Ah, be careful. Let him be in love--that costs nothing. If the others fail, he may make his fortune. Who knows? Lucas Well said. So, there's to be three for one. But, who is the new one who you say is certain? Lisette If he marries me, the Widow will be very chagrined. Lucas (astonished by degrees and then understanding) The Devil! Lisette I will take her chance. Lucas Death! Lisette For I will break her marriage. Lucas Astounding! Lisette It is going to astonish you. For I will have the wealth intended for her. I will marry her lover. Lucas (crying out) My Lord! You will ruin her. She loves you as if you were her daughter. Lisette Can I do otherwise? I said no, at first. I really would have preferred not to wrong her. But she has given me lessons in fortune hunting. I've got to take advantage of my youth like others. The other lesson she gave me recently was to love at first for one's profit. I love the Widow, but-- Lucas But, you are able to love what profits you? These lessons are her own fault, and she deserves it. Lisette I'm in despair. At bottom, I have a good heart. I would prefer for her to marry the Baron. Lucas Yes, for he's more rich and you will gain by the change. In the case of the three lovers, here's how it goes: The Baron's worth more than Argon, he's got six times his money. Argon's better, worth more than Girard, and Girard's better than nothing. Lisette He's like nothing, yes, but with respect to the other two, we will keep your plans and mine secret. Lucas Yes, better to be secret. For these two good spouses won't be married, if they know about each other. Lisette The Baron's returning. Lucas Yes, I am going to do what you told me. Lisette Pretend to be enraged. We must see if he will marry me. (Enter Baron.) Lucas Oh, that's definitive. He'll marry you to death, for he looks thoughtful. Baron Lucas intends to leave me. This disturbs me. How can I bear not to see Lisette any more? Lisette (after having spoken low) Yell very loud, then leave without speaking to him. Lucas (loud so that the Baron hears) Yes, I intend to leave our master, and I'm going to start going about it. Lisette (pretending to be very angry to leave the Baron) No! Don't leave him! Lucas I have told him, and I am no traitor. I've told him of it a while ago, and I'm going. Lisette To leave to find a master! Lucas As you are growing up, it's a cruelty to stay here. In a village, you lose your time and your beauty. You can merchandise your youth better in the Paris marriage market. Yes, I will take you to Paris, and very soon, because time presses. Although a vertigo irritates me momentarily, what I want is only reasonable, and I shall be as bold as brass. (pushing his hat onto his head and passing before the Baron) I am upset to leave him, but death, I shall console myself. (exits) Baron He was very abrupt with me on a frivolous subject. Has he gone crazy? What can he intend to do? Lisette (twisting her handkerchief) I will never see you any more. I am in despair. Baron There's always some shadow maiming fortune. Lisette He's wrong, for, sir, I see what he is hoping. Baron He would suddenly become a great lord. Lisette (looking tenderly at the Baron) Yes, to see me a great lady, and that is my misfortune. He imagines something that can't be. The daughter of a farmer is not for his master. Baron You will be with me as if you were my own child. Lisette Oh, sir, that's not what he has in mind. Baron I believe he intends to pay me less rent. Lisette He intends something far different. Baron Yes, what a repayment. Lisette (starting to cry) No, that's not what one day you said; that day you were full of love for me. You intended, you said, to write a promise. You no longer love me! Baron That day was like today. My feelings were full for you. I love you, Lisette. Lisette And, if I still must leave? Baron Of my love, you will have a sure pledge. A contract. Lisette (stopping her tears) Today? Baron A marriage contract. It's already written. I did it right away, first thing. Second thing is to sign. Lisette You won't sign it? Baron I will sign. Lisette But, when? For my father is taking me off. He is so proud. Baron My word is reliable. Lisette I believe you, but my father-- Baron Yes, I will give you my oath. Lisette (crying again) Don't swear to me. I believe you already. But my father-- Baron I will go appease him. I swear to you. Lisette (crying and holding him by the arm) No, he's going to take me off. Of that I am sure. Baron No, no. I am going to keep Lucas. Lisette (pretending to be outré with rage against him) It's I who wish to leave, because you don't love me! (Exit Baron.) Lisette (suddenly stops crying) No--this is only a deceiver, who thinks me innocent. I must soon take my relative, the Widow's, lover. He has no wealth. That's my last resource. But, he's coming to the garden to speak to me. Let's continue. I played the naïve and tender. Now to play the dreamer. (Enter Argon.) Argon Yes, Lisette is going to return. (he turns to look closely at her) How pretty she is, dreaming. How many charms I see. She sighs. Good! I feel that she is for me. What are you dreaming of? (Lisette, after having let Argon look her over, pretends to be astonished to see Argon so near her.) Lisette Oh! You've startled me so! I was dreaming--that I have so much freedom--suddenly in the garden. Argon That's what charmed me. You've already told me, not that I am loved, but that you will soon love me. Lisette I am confused by what you are thinking. I ask pardon. To love you would be to lack respect for you. Argon Lack respect? Yes, I intend to. A too respectful love obtains nothing. Lisette But, I don't love. Speak more. Encourage me, then. Argon To give you courage, I make a contract. But, complete my wishes. (The Widow enters and listens.) Argon Add a word to your looks, your sighs. This word is a great word. Tell me--"I love you." Lisette I've told you a hundred times--and to myself, a thousand. Argon To yourself? Lisette Alas, yes. Argon What naivete! Lisette Why hide it from you if it is the truth? Argon Behold love. Behold pure sincerity. This calls me to love, like nature. There, Lisette, here's the role I have taken. I intend to take you, in secret, to Paris, for I will, at first, marry you secretly. Let's hide all from the Widow. She would be jealous of it. I will marry you without her knowing anything of it. In her place, in a word, you will have all my wealth. Lisette I want nothing from you, but your person. Give her all your wealth. Argon But, if I give it to her, what will the two of us and our children live on? Lisette I don't want it for myself, but you'll need it. Argon (taking her hand) There, let us separate. No, stay here. Lisette I am staying. Argon Go--and be in the nearby woods in an hour. (he kisses her hand) Go quickly. Wait! The marriage is made. Lisette (perceiving the Widow) Ah! All is discovered. Argon I am an indiscreet fool! (Exit Lisette.) Widow What have I heard? I am struck mute with shock! Argon And I! I am mute with shame. From frankness, I am going to admit to you that what you have seen--I am wrong. The marriage I contracted with you ought to prevent me from making another. But, as friendship alone made ours, it would seem love is stronger. Still, I was wrong to betray you thus. But, if you know how Lisette loves me, from friendship for me, you yourself would say--marry her, sir, I freely consent. What pleasure, at my age of fifty-four years, to be loved for myself. Yes, only for my person. For she refused my wealth which I would give, only wanting me. But, I am doubly wrong to betray you, to anger you. From prudence, I ought never to speak of Lisette. Yes, Madame, I am wrong, a hundred times wrong. But she will be my wife. Widow I cannot recover. This blow is overwhelming. I excuse Argon. At bottom, he loves blindly. As for me, I really deserve for Lisette to deceive me. But, for this marriage--it is necessary that I break it. Were the good Argon never to marry me, let us try to disabuse him-- from friendship. CURTAIN ACT II The Widow is overwhelmed with chagrin. Girard is holding in his hand a packet of letters for the Baron. He separates one letter and substitutes another. Girard Without breaking the seal, and without compromising myself, I half open the Baron's letter and replace the false with the true. My hand trembles for this is my first attempt in falseness. Widow (dreaming, not listening) Argon will marry Lisette? Girard He will never marry my charming coquette. This will see to him--as I told you. Widow Very good! But, let me digest my spite. The one who married me, marries my coquette. Was this what I raised Lisette for? With impunity, Lisette has played me this trick, when I instructed her to pretend love. I was the plaything of her apprenticeship. I thought she would absorb no malice from the instruction I gave her. Just a little grain of it for perfection. I ought to have realized from my own example, that malice, once seeded in a woman's heart, profits, multiplies and grows like weeds. Girard In malice, Lisette is fertile, yet I love her, I adore her, and I will make her my wife. But, what am I saying? I ought to remember, Madame-- (ironically) that you don't give Lisettes to Girards. As I am only a tax collector, I ought through respect for you, her, and myself, to let her marry your lover. Widow At her age, to manage, under my eyes, three lovers at the same time! Coquettes of Paris and coquettes of the country--some ready language, some trickery. My word, all is equal for coquetry. Girard (ironically) You intended to give her to some great lord. Widow Ah, I will give her to the devil, with all my heart. Girard I beg you for preference over him at least. Widow So be it but at least provide me some confidence that you will succeed. Girard You know all. We must lure our credulous, stupid, avaricious, and amorous Baron with this false lottery into offering Lisette marriage, and if she accepts, for Argon to see she's engaged. Widow Lisette ought to give up Argon for the Baron. The Baron is rich and the trick is so good. Girard Yes, but I mustn't lose Lisette. Widow If Argon is undeceived, I will be satisfied. Girard May he see her half-married to the Baron. Widow Completely married, if necessary. Girard Completely? Hell, no! Widow He's coming. Girard My insurance which I well know how to use-- (Enter Baron. Girard presents a packet to the Baron.) Girard I am returning from the post office and I have the honor to give the gentleman what he asked me to bring. (Exit Girard.) Baron (to Widow) Neighbor, my love is going to make me despair. Lisette intends to leave. Widow I take the place of mother to her. I guarantee her tender, wise, and sincere. You don't know how much she is worth. She wants a contract, that's her only fault. And, you don't wish to make one. Baron I intend to marry her. Who told you otherwise? But, to do such a thing, the later the better. I will marry when I am much older. Widow Eh! You are old enough, sir, for a wife. Baron I am very irresolute. I blame myself for it. Ha, ha, good, this letter is from one of my friends. It's for the lottery we've all subscribed to. Widow Is it, then, published? Baron Yes, exactly. It's the list. Widow I am sure to win. A physiognomist has seen great sums of money on my face. What I must do, he told me, to earn it, is to buy a lottery. It's the most prompt way to win for a wise woman. Baron Hum! Hum! I know, by heart, the puzzle of each. The numbers, the names, I don't see one. Let's read-- Ah! Widow What's the matter? Baron Something I see irritates me. Widow What is it, then? From where does this sudden dolor come? Baron Lucas: one hundred thousand francs. Widow To the farmer, the Grand Prize? But, let's see. Reread it. Is it, indeed, his name? Lucas? Baron I am not the master of my scorn. Widow Grand Prize to Lucas? You are ruining us, traitor. Baron To Lucas, the Grand Prize. Widow You won't allow it. Oh, Fate, unjust Fate, that Lucas be enriched. Baron I cannot recover. His good fortune desolates me. Widow (pretending a quick thought, accompanied by joy) But, let us rejoice and laugh. Baron Are you crazy? Widow No, at first we both had a stupid inspiration. It's surprised us. Baron Well? Widow You are angry that chance has just enriched Lisette's fortune. Fortune, on the contrary, is favoring you. It has determined to make you happy. Baron Oh, oh! Widow For the money, and without any love, these days, the most noble marry Lisettes. Baron Right, one hundred thousand francs would pay off my debts. This motive and love will excuse all. Widow Yes, but you must marry instantly, before this lottery becomes known. This is delicacy. She will believe she owes your tenderness more. Lucas will get the Grand Prize, but while he is unaware of it, the fool must be taken, so that he gives all his wealth to Lisette. Wealth, present and to come. Baron Yes, but be discreet. I will say that I am taking Lisette without a sou. Widow The joke is that everybody will believe you're a fool. (Enter Lisette.) Baron Here, Lisette, here. (The Widow goes to find Lisette, who listens from the depths of the theatre.) Widow Your fortune is made, Lisette. It is I who am procuring it. Hug me, Lisette. Baron Your tears have softened me, Lisette. I surrender. Let's sign the contract as quickly as I can inform the notary. Lisette (aside, while the Widow and the Baron talk in low voices) Do they wish to deceive me? For I understand nothing. (she dreams profoundly) (Enter Argon.) Argon (aside) An explanation would be very nice here. Lisette Ah, here they both are. All is lost. What to do? Argon (to the Baron) What did Girard warn me? But, it's your custom. I've often seen you boast of love. You believe yourself loved by Lisette, then, sir? Baron The proof of this is that I am making her my wife. Argon Girard made no mistake. You intend to overwhelm her with your wealth. But she cannot betray her love for me. Baron She hasn't any love for you. I swear it. Argon It's you who flatter yourself to a fault, I assure you. Baron I tell you, she has never loved anyone but me. Argon I am sure of her heart and her good faith. Decide between us to finish the dispute. Baron I disdain it. Repeat for the one hundredth time that you love me tenderly. Lisette Me, tell you that? Truly, I take little care, sir. It is from respect that I let you speak. I believed, at first, that you were boasting, to laugh. But, without offending you, sir, I will tell you, I have no love for you, nor will I ever have. Baron What? Why? Widow What does she say? Ah, how great is my shock! Baron What do you say? Argon Must she tell you again? Baron What? Haven't you said a hundred times that you love me? Lisette Me? No. Argon (charmed) What naivete. Widow (angry that Lisette has not fallen into the trap) What do I hear? Baron What? Your tears, your sighs? Lisette Were lies. Argon I know my neighbor. Without a doubt, it is a dream that he has seen you in tears and heaving sighs. At his age, while sleeping, these are pleasant notions. Baron But, I haven't dreamed what you have written. Lisette It's my father, and Madame is there to tell you so. Widow I am enraged. Argon I know Lucas is ambitious. He prefers your wealth; for you're worth more to him. But, besides, I believe her--what likelihood is there that Lisette, who always says what she thinks, has spoken to you of love, when she loves me? Lisette What are you saying, sir? I have believed, in good faith, that you spoke in jest that you love me; but this joke is not true. Argon Eh--what? Widow (aside, delighted) What is her plan? Does she dream, or is it I who dream? Argon It's in vain that you still think the secret is necessary. (to Baron) We made a secret of our love. (to Lisette) Speak, I permit you to speak freely. Lisette If you permit me to speak freely, I don't love you. Widow She's frank enough about that. Argon How indignant I am! Baron By God, I've my revenge. Argon But, I understand nothing. Speak clearly, I wish it. Tell them that you intended to manage us both. Lisette I had no intention of managing either of you, I assure you, and you can see it quite well. Widow That's speaking plainly. Lisette For, hold on, I prefer my liberty, a hundred times, to all your grand honors and quality. To be the wife of a great lord, I would be a servant. As for your kindnesses, of which I am cognizant, pardon me if I refuse them. In a word, both of you wish to marry me, but I will never marry either one of you. Baron There's your dismissal. Argon It is also yours. Baron I cannot recover from my astonishment. Argon Leave her, forget her, that's sufficient to punish her. Baron Well said. No more love. Argon Yes, we scorn Lisette Baron (to Widow) She has a hundred thousand francs which I still regret. Widow (low) Keep it up your sleeve. We are going to speak to her. Argon (low) Madame. Widow Well, sir? Argon Would you go get a notary to come to your house? We are going to conclude our business instantly. (Argon exits.) Widow (to Baron, low) He abandons her, for you that's the main thing. I am going to rid you of a rival. Baron No, I don’t understand at all. Widow Neither do I. But, prudence dictates that one go in the greatest hurry. (Exit Baron and Widow. Argon returns from the other side, and looks to see if the Widow sees him.) Lisette (dreaming, alone) I think--yes, from what I've seen, I've done well, I believe. When they are with me, by themselves, as they will be, I will know what to do to have them back. Argon (aside) The Widow is already far away. Let's Let's penetrate this mystery. From scorn, I have banished all animosity. I return solely from curiosity, to see what reasons you will have to give me. Lisette Permit me to laugh, seeing you so angry. What? Didn't you see what my plan was? Argon (enraged) No, I didn't see it, and all subterfuge is in vain. Lisette I told the Baron the truth, without ruse or subterfuge, for fear he would continue in his mistake. I didn't wish to deceive him. Argon (still enraged) I understand perfectly. But, why speak to me as to him? To refuse me? Me? Me? Lisette Let's talk about him first. You see me delighted. I have punished that liar the way I have quite wanted to. Argon (still enraged) But me, me? Lisette Patience. He wanted to marry me today, and my father is on his side. And you wanted the jealous Widow to see that I love you and will marry you. If they knew that I can love you they would get me locked up. Argon Ha! Ha! Lisette Truly, I would have completely spoiled the mystery. You told me yourself before to keep quiet. Argon You've done very properly. Yes, you're right, and I am the fool. To deceive the Baron--yes, I see the pretence is prudent and useful. Lisette I believe, too, well done, at least. Argon How charming Lisette is. I am not blind, I see clearly that Lisette prefers me to a far richer man. What love! What wit! Lisette I have no wit. Love has added to my customary want of it. Argon We must secretly-- Lisette Yes, but let's separate. I will go alone, in secret, to your place for a short while. Argon Without your father-- Lisette He's coming. Leave me, for I tremble if the Baron and he should see us together. (Exit Argon. Enter Lucas and the Baron.) Lisette (aside) Here I am sure of one, but he's my second choice. Let's retake the other one. He's back to speak to me. Lucas She must have gone crazy and what she said astonishes me. You say she doesn't love you and refuses to be a Baroness? Baron (to Lisette) You have just revived my wrath. Ah, how I ought to kill my love for you. How can you, at your age, have the audacity to give me the lie-- me, and look in my face, and tell me that you don't love me? Lisette (pretending to have a grudge against him) Yes, I have maintained it to your face, for it is true. Baron Without doubt, it happened unexpectedly to you, some vapor which disturbed your senses and memory. For how else could I believe that, after the ardent love you've shown me? Lisette (adding to her simulated scorn) I never loved you. Baron Still? I am outraged. You have told me a hundred times, and before your father. Lisette I never said it to you. Baron She makes me despair. Lisette (softening) No, never, or at least-- Baron At least? Lisette If I said it, I repent it so much. I have so much scorn, that if I said it, I will say the contrary, always to the whole wide world, to yourself, to my father. (pretending tenderness) What the world will know, that I loved you, and that, when I cried from love, you didn't want to marry me. No, no, and against you, my courage has returned. Me! I love you? I would indeed have little heart. My love was honest and yours was deceitful. Lucas (who has softened, taken in and almost crying) I've seen--she's right. Baron Then it's from rage, suspecting my love is not sincere, that you have told me you don't love me? Lisette Yes, exactly. Am I wrong? Baron You love me then? Lisette Alas! Baron Let's forget all this, Lisette, let's go quickly to a notary. May a contract be the prize of your sincere love. Let's hurry. (Exit Baron.) Lucas (transported with joy) Quickly, quickly! Lisette (low to her father, holding him by the arm) Let's go softly. Lucas I'm going to be papa to a Baroness. Lisette Oh, I doubt it. Lucas Why? He's making you his wife and says so. Lisette No, I can see some trick. Lucas He marries, and that's that. Lisette I don't believe a word of it, father. Lucas To not believe the wedding, when it's come? Lisette I believe he's deceiving me. First, I saw the Widow when Argon spoke of the business in a fret with Girard. Raging, despairing--and now she's just embraced me, knowing that I deceived her, she comes to caress me. Lucas Yes, it's treason. Lisette The Baron refused me. Then, suddenly, he changes and wants me. Lucas It's a trick. Lisette (after having dreamed) If the Widow and Girard, who know how to trick, said to the Baron: pretend to marry her and as soon as she agrees, won't Argon be disgusted? Lucas Oh--that's it! I see clearly. Lisette (dreaming again) For me, I don't see. For, on the other side, perhaps the Baron really wanted to marry me. That would embarrass, no, yes, the more I think about it-- May I have enough wit and not be too clever by half. Lucas Listen to my good advice. I have marvelous ideas. For, in the state where things are perilous, you have wit, but in a family affair, a father, as they say, is older than his daughter. Here then is my good advice. Let's go find the Baron. He's the most important. Lisette No. Lucas No? Lisette No. Lucas It's the second who is good. Lets go find Argon. Lisette No. Lucas Then I don't know any more than an animal? Oh, my third advice, it's to have a tete-a-tete. Lisette Go find the Baron alone. Lucas Yes, I understand. Lisette And, I alone am going to find Mr. Argon. You finish one side, I will finish the other. Lucas Wow! That's very good. I will marry them both before the notary. Lisette As for me, when both contracts are drawn up--I will see. The first one to sign--that's the one I'll take. Lucas You will take hastily. It's the chance of the game. Let's sign two contracts soon, for fear we will lack one. Lisette Mr. Argon's waiting for me. I'm off. (Exit Lisette.) Lucas (alone) Go, quick, go. But how can she get that all out of her own head? I believe she must have two brains, for she always amazes me. Yes, she's only my daughter. By God, her wit is already far ahead of mine. (Enter Girard) Girard (aside) Let's latch on to the father. I risk nothing, for without him the Baron can conclude nothing. By making him read this phony list, let us disturb his head. Let's throw the dice. (counterfeiting the newsboys) Lists, lists of winners! Lucas Lottery winners! Let's see a bit. What did you say there? Girard Let's see if this lottery came out good. Lucas What do I see there? Don't I see the seal? Girard Clever. Are you curious? (putting the list on the side where Lucas is not) Read here. Lucas Very well. But show me better then. Girard To an avaricious reader--oh beautiful thought. May a happy fool with a lucky number-- Lucas Ha, ha, that's it! Girard Yes, it is. Hum, hum. Lucas Let's see that. Girard (turning the list to the other side) With pleasure. Let's see. Lucas Eh! I can't see anything that way. Girard (turning the other side even worse) Let's read. Let's see. Ah! (Girard is moving and raising and lowering the paper so Lucas can't see.) Lucas (with a little joy) What is it? Show me then, friend. Girard No. I was mistaken. But, hum, hum. I hope-- (letting Lucas see the paper) God, I don't see a thing. Lucas Ah, by God, I see. Let's see quickly there, Girard. I see something about me. Girard (hiding the list) No, it's nothing at all. Lucas (joyfully) And I have seen. My name is there! Girard Take it easy. You probably have won nothing. I will give you a hundred francs at best. Lucas No, no. I've seen what I've seen. Lucas, it's my name. Girard If you have, at least I want to be reimbursed. Return my money, it's my only resource. Lucas All right. Show quickly. Girard It's one of the numbers. It's at least a thousand francs. I have seen several zeroes. Lucas Several zeroes? I intend to see as many as grains of sand. Girard You're a man insatiable for zeroes. Lucas (joyous) Ah, it's ten thousand francs. Girard Curious, yes, I see. But, if that isn't the numeral? Lucas By God, I'm really frightened. Girard Let's confirm. Lucas (thoughtful) Yes, there it is, the fifth. Girard (giving the list) Read it over, and calculate it yourself. Lucas (taking the list, upset) My heart beats--beats. I am quite transported. I'm afraid to have seen double, and to have counted too many. One, two, three, four, and five. Girard Let's say-- Lucas (upset) One, two, three, did I say three? Girard Yes. Lucas Ah, I see the number that's formed. I'm a bit overwhelmed. Girard In short, Lucas has the Grand Prize? Lucas Ouf! Girard (relaxing) Relax. Take off your coat. Lucas The Grand Prize! Girard Since one is rich, one must get a little better clothes. Lucas One hundred thousand francs! Girard How much we'll drink at Lucas' place! Lucas Let's go quickly to Paris. Girard I will get you a carriage and horses. Lucas Ah, I believe I'll die of luxury. Let's see the lottery quickly, so I can see myself first again. Girard Are you going to remain a farmer? Lucas (indignant) Me! A farmer. Girard Forgive me for saying the word. I quite see the question is crazy. Well, give me your rents. You won't want them. You'll be a great lord. I am a poor devil, and your loyal friend. You will give them to me for this good news. Lucas Yes. Get me a carriage and horses that go very fast, very fast. Girard Yes, like birds. But, at first, in passing, let's stop at the notary to give me the rents. All right, father? Lucas Yes, I won't need it myself. I will leave you all the rents from my timberland. I am going straight to Paris to get some nobility. CURTAIN ACT III Argon is trying to avoid showing himself to the Widow, who grabs him by the arm. Widow I will prove it all to you. Can you doubt it? But, stay one minute, at least to listen to me. Argon Time presses. I have Lisette and the notary together. If Lucas appears I will finish the business. In love, moments are precious to an older person. Widow If you marry, a quarter of an hour later, you will have time to be tired of Lisette and to repent a foolish act. Pardon the word, it's from friendship for you. My zeal is not mixed with any jealous transport. Better if you never marry me or the coquette. Be undeceived and I will be satisfied. Eh--can you remain blind. I will prove to both you and the Baron how she trapped you at once reconciling, by the same management, traitorous simplicity and naïve lies. By the cleverest tricks and the most lively manners, she's figured out how to get love without giving any. She cold-bloodedly talks in the most tender way and pretends with effrontery to be timidly embarrassed. Tears which go right to the heart and which bother her not at all. She abuses his weakness and yours. In offering you one hand, she gives him the other. Thus a French coquette delivers perfidy with both hands, and if she needs it will find another hand for a third. Argon You've said it twenty times. But for the hundredth time, you still must prove it. Widow Speak low. I see the Baron and Lucas. Keep aside and you will perhaps be able to see that not only Lucas prefers his master to you, but also Lisette. Argon Let's see. I would be undeceived. (Argon goes to the side. Enter Girard.) Widow Well? Girard Lucas is occupied with his Grand Prize. Widow But, does the Baron intend to marry-- Girard Patience. I am given all the rents in advance. For it is I, who have managed all. Lucas is metamorphosized into a great lord. Since he has seen the lottery, his sudden riches trouble his head, and have changed his type. He has nothing human remaining except his form and his pride. Grave, deciding with a wink of his eye, disdaining to speak or speaking by sentence. He believes people applaud his silence. Saluting with his big head, puffed up, swollen, Lucas has become subtly inflated with a contagious disease. He can be seen thrusting his paunch two steps ahead of himself. Widow In that case, Girard, we must-- But Lisette is running this way. Mr. Argon is following her. Things aren't turning out right. Girard No. Widow I am going to join Argon right away. Amuse these two here. Girard All that one plans, does not succeed. (Exit Widow. Lucas is walking in grandly. The Baron, hat in hand, follows Lucas, who puts his hat back on first.) Baron Yes, I beam with pleasure that fortune has fulfilled your wish. Lucas Although my fortune may be much higher than yours, I would be father and companion to you, always. (slaps him on the shoulder) For I am not proud. Baron Indeed, I see that, Lucas. Girard You see that the gentleman doesn't underrate himself. He deserves to fill a great office. Lucas Haven't you retained a fine place for me at the Post? For that's why I am going to Paris. Girard I already told you, they're looking for a carriage softer than a bed for you. Lucas But, what's keeping the carriage. I don't want to have to wait. Girard The horses will soon be here at your orders. Wait for them here. Hola, lackey, hola, some chairs. (Lackeys enter with chairs. Lucas exchanges greetings with the Baron and seats himself first.) Lucas Let's not have any manners while I'm here. Baron Let's talk about our business. Lucas (not replying) I've got a great idea just now. Baron We were discussing-- Lucas In seeing me, all Paris is going to feast me. The one who won the Grand Prize. Baron Before you leave-- Lucas All the world will be beggars except me, because my wealth will divert me. While I am in the grain, I am going to see people cry famine. What a pleasure! Baron Then, Lucas, do you intend to reach a conclusion for my ardent love? Lucas They're going to propose to me some pretty expenses, pretty horses, and pretty families to marry into. This business will increase wealth. I'll buy whatever's for sale. Girard But, to ennoble you, you would have a gentleman for a son-in-law. Baron Lisette is waiting for us. Lucas I'll have all this, indeed, for when one is very rich, one attracts all that for nothing. Baron You promised me-- Lucas (with an important air) Huh! Baron To finish-- Lucas What? Baron Our business. Lucas What business? Baron Ours, I have had the notary there, to write the contract. He's waiting only for you. We are agreed between us. Lucas Ah, I believe that I remember something of it. Damn, when one has so much business, one thinks only of the best. Yes, we spoke of marriage, but it cannot be. There's only, but a bit-- Girard What do I hear? What, then, you already intend to disown it? Baron Remember, Lucas, that I was your master. Girard Lucas, remember that there's great honor, a handsome alliance to have a lord for a son-in-law. Lucas Oh, it's money which makes the best marriages. Baron What, you no longer intend? Lucas I want no part of your lineage. Baron What? Lucas But, it's necessary to listen to me. I am a native of this hamlet. That means, that from friendship, I love your earth, your chateau. Yet, it's not mine if you become my son-in-law. My opinion is it would be better if you sold it to me. Baron You're joking, I believe. Sell you my chateau? Lucas It is all dilapidated, but I will make a lot of improvements. Baron He's gone crazy. Girard (low) This rascal scorns you. Lucas The land will ennoble me. That's what I want of you. While at Paris I increase my money, you keep the land fallow. Girard You will be his farmer. Baron (rising) This is too much insolence. Girard (to Baron) Sir, calm down. I promise you revenge. Lucas (aside, also rising) This little gentleman, he heard all that. He owes money everywhere, but he believes he is to be respected. But, I will have his chateau. He'd better leave. He has some creditors. I will have it through the law. Girard (after having spoken low to the Baron) We have done all, sir, for your good. But to revenge yourself, better say nothing. (Enter Lisette.) Lisette I have been looking for you everywhere. Ouf! I'm out of breath. To find you, father, took a lot of trouble. I have run--for they say--but I don't believe it--I heard it everywhere--the Grand Prize. These are the compliments that greet me everywhere. They say a hundred thousand francs. Is it true, father? Lucas True. Lisette (impressed) A hundred thousand francs! (Enter Argon and the Widow.) Argon (who runs after her) Well, are you fleeing from me? Speak! Since you've heard about the lottery, and you know the news, you scorn me. Lisette Yes. Argon This is a handsome fortune. But, it ought not to attract your scorn to me. Answer me, at least. Will you marry me? Lisette I obey my father. He has told me that he wishes to defer this business. (low to Lucas and making a sign with her eyes to him) Tell him that it's you who refuse. Lucas Good, good. Lisette That costs nothing. Get me off. Lucas No. Lisette (signaling with her eyes) Tell them something that will end my engagement, at least. Lucas Eh! You trouble yourself too much about them. Leave off your winking. Not necessary for any polish. You have what you need to marry. Widow Her father covets her, the opulent fool. Foolishness that he doesn't try to excuse. Argon By her own fault, she herself disabused me. As for me, so as not to risk another love trick, I'm engaging myself to you. Widow Friendship without love. That's what we agree makes a good marriage. Love is restless and bores itself in a household. Baron You would have had our wealth. You will be confounded. Lucas Let them say--then you will have three times more, four times more. Lisette Let's go quickly to Paris to be in abundance. Lucas Between the land and our money--there's the difference. Their land and their chateau. It's nothing but a little plot. It will never increase, no, not even an abortion. But my money is in a great adventure. It will swell at first, and then like a river, it will increase. Lisette Increase. Lucas Increase--it will increase. Lisette Ah, how I will have lovers who will respect me. What happiness! I will see brilliant fortunes. What a following I am going to have. Lackeys, servants. Girard And valets de chambre--for page--Girard. Lucas Let them bring on my horses. Widow They will harness you a carriage. Girard Go on foot, from fear that your carriage will break down. This is going to reform the pomp of your train. (giving the list to Lisette) This is the true list. Widow Yes, the reversal is very afflicting. But you've shone already for your money. A hundred thousand francs for you in the air. Baron One hundred thousand francs to laugh at. Lisette What are they talking about? What? Lucas (looking for the place where the prize was shown in his other list) Eh! Go on, go on, let them talk. Here, here. It's here. For Lucas, the Grand Prize. Baron You will not buy my chateau, master fool. Lucas (troubled) It was there. Girard The zeroes are left. Lisette Oh! Father, they are mocking you. Argon Yes, here's the mystery. Widow You have nothing. Girard But nothing--gets nothing. I made the false list, and I found wealth. I've gotten all of Lucas' rents. My love for you makes heroic sacrifices. I give them all to you, Lisette. Argon Let's go to supper at my place. Baron Yes, let's go. Girard Yes, I have pity for the trouble in which I see you. These gentlemen, without their ranks. My offer ought to please you. They have made their fortune, and I have my fortune to make. But, I am, in a day, by myself, more amorous than the two of them can be in a month. They have not been able to acquire a young girl. But nobility acquires more than riches. Lisette (to widow) How much I owe you, Madame! It's you who turned my spirit upside down, in telling me that one must be a coquette. Widow I am well punished for my bad advice. I agree, I was wrong. Lisette (to Girard) I listened to her. You must have a Baron, she always said. No, I would never have thought of anyone but you, except for her. If I had followed my natural inclination, from tenderness I would have chosen you. Girard Eh! Choose me then! Lucas will consent. Lucas (in going) Ouf! Girard Speak Lucas Ouf! Girard Two times ouf, in mute language, is worth one yes. Widow That's the fate of a coquette. After high prospects, one sees her, sooner or later, confused, confounded, and reduced to a Girard. CURTAIN Publication Date: May 20th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.dufresny

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RWBY lover, Asuna Yuuki Kirito's Surprise part 5 The beach love story When saturday came gal had been ready since shes been wanting to go all day, asuna woke up and got dressed to go as she wore a sweater over her bikini "Kazuto wake up its time to go to the beach" kazuto woke up with a slightly annoyed face "huh, beach? oh right were going today" he jumped up outta bed and took a show and got dressed as kazutos aunt came walking into the kitchen, "so are you all ready to go to the beach" she said with a smile on her face as asuna and gal smirked at one another as in there minds they were thinking of ways to win kirito over "um you're not thinking what i think you're think of right, please tell me you're not" he said with a scared look on his face, "i dont know are we" they both looked at him in a very passionate way. they grabed him and dragged him into the car as they drove away to the beach, when they got there kazuto had gotten outta the car grabing everything and walking down to the beach as they set up he rested since he held everything, as soon as they finished setting up yuuki and gal started working on there plans to make kazuto fall in love with them, "what are you doing " they both ran away hiding there plans, "He will be mine again" yuuki said with a smirk. "i will make him love me more then that girl yuuki" gal said while running. kazuto had fallen asleep under the umbrella as asuna cuddled up to him about to kiss him but she stopped because she saw Gal hugging up to kazuto "He's my boyfreind" yuuki yelled "shhh he's sleeping" gal said putting his head on his lap, kazuto had awoke from the movement think it was yuuki "i love you" he said not know it was gal " i love you to my dearest brother" gal said with a smirk on her face looking at yuuki. "huh" yuuki yelled hiting kazuto on top of the head "no stop it i thought she was you ow" kazuto yelled with a beat up look and Gal grabbed kazuto and put his face in to her chest, "leave him alone he's mine" yuuki yelled wth a very serious face as kazuto was squirming trying to get free from her grasp". "huh, you're liking the way shes doing that kazuto" she grabbed him ad pulled him away as she did kazuto was knocked out by then " you killed him gal!" yuuki screamed angrily "no i didnt he just passed out" Kazuto's aunt was waving everybody to come eat "Kazuto you have your hand full with these two dont you" Yuuki and gal hugged up to him close as they both yelled " well he is my boyfreind" they both said it simultaniously but kazuto just sighed and continued to eat "well lets go home everyone" kazuto's aunt said with a smile. Publication Date: October 9th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-dnf10382a424525

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Meemai Winter changed us Dissapearing on this cold night Snow blinds my sights I'm searching the light How am I suposed to win these fights Tears turn to ice My eye is frozen We both payed the price Is this the future He has chosen I never thought it'd be this way I wonder what you saw All I can do for you is pray The ice became in a state of thaw You sank to the pit Together with my heart I can't but I have to submit Why did we have to part I wonder what you saw in that last moment I wonder what you felt when the tires lost grip Did you feel winters evil intent Was it a painfull cold winter dip It tears down my heart And it tore down your life You slowly depart And so it will take mine with this knife A knife out of ice Winter will kill us both Yes we both pay the price I decided to make that oath Publication Date: January 8th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-meemai

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Sarah McAllister Rediscovering Ezra Dedicated to and inspired by the lives of my friends Madeline and Austin. Coming Soon My new book, Rediscovering Ezra is coming very soon , so please stay tuned!       - Sarah  Prologue.     Dustin.       Grade four.       Wrong.       All that that school year at Campbell Elementary School had ever been was wrong .       I could describe to you all my experiences in the fourth grade in a handful of words: lies, misconception, oppression, delinquiency. . . and just plain wrong .       And it just so happened that wrong  found itself at my doorstep on a sunny Wednesday at reccess when Aaden Deans tapped my shoulder.        And my life became tainted by wrong  ever since.    Publication Date: November 14th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-lx14c18047d7a55

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Tyler McAlister Sympathetic Apathy Jarrie Merca, Cindy, and John McAlister. Sympathetic Apathy    "There has always been violence in art. There is violence in the Bible, violence in Homer, violence in Shakespeare, and many psychiatrists believe that it serves as a catharsis rather than a model."-Stanley Kubrick Act I: Thomas Marcus   - Chapter 1: The Morning   It was just another average morning before work.  I woke up at seven o' clock as I did every day.  I ran through my morning routine as I did every day, I am Thomas Marcus, CEO of my family's company, and just about the only one who truly cares about it.   After finishing everything I need to upstairs I head down to the kitchen to ready all the paper work I need.  I'm meeting a filmmaker today who's production is being funded by my company.  Not really my personal decision but my advisers said it'd be of good interest as it would open up more business oppertunities later on.  As I made my way to the kitchen there was a knock at the door.  The average person's first thought would be: Who the fuck is at my house this early in the morning uninvited?     However, I know exactly who it is, and surely enough as I open the door, I'm correct.  It's my younger brother Raymond, dressed in a red shirt and black slacks, as always he's wearing that fucking stupid hat.  I gesture to him to come inside.  "Well good morning to you too", he says.  I inform him immediately that I do NOT have time for a conversation so he better just hurry up and tell me what I need to know.   He asks me if I want to go see Stephen, Stephen is the youngest of us brothers, and he's been very sick for quite awhile now, he's in some sort of a coma while also battling heavy cancer.  It'd be pointless for me to put forth the extra effort to go see a person who isn't even there, I inform Raymond of this and make my way out of the door, for whatever reason, he follows.   I've now popped in my headphones by this point to block him out, I'm playing Chris De Burgh's "The Lady in Red", Raymond is shouting some non sense at me by this point but I can no longer hear, I'm finally in my car but the bastard continues to persist.  I roll down my window and ask, "Can I help you?" "Thomas you need to go see your brother".  I tell him as an exiting sentence, "I'll go see my brother when he wakes up from his little nap", and make my exit.   He shouts something as I drive away but I can't hear him by this point as my main focus right now is to get to work, I have a 10:45 meeting this morning with a Douglass Sherman, and hired gun working with a gang of rapscallons looking to make some money. That is where I need to be Raymond, THAT is where I need to be. Chapter 2: The Office   As I make my way into the office I look around at all my employees, not knowing a single one of them by names.  As far my concern goes they're all pieces of money floating out of my pocket.  No time for thinking about them, I have to get to my office before I miss the appointment I have, I cross through the minature lobby area that we have right outside of my office where my secretary, Nancy, a 20 something year old woman sits at a wooden desk, taking calls for me, notfying me of appointments and so on.   "Good morning mr. Marcus"!  I give her a cold gaze as I make my way into my office, what use would any sort of small talk do here?  That sort of thing is intended for friendly get togethers at a musty bar, or a family reuninion.   I sit down in my chair, preparing for the daily stress of the day.  As I catch a glempse at the time. 10:43AM.  I get a buzz on my machine from Nancy saying "Sir, your 10:45 is here".  Send him in I tell her, and cancel my 11 o' clock, my initial 11 o' clock was to be a meeting with a charity orginizer, this was not a meeting put together by me but by that generous bastard Raymond.  The only some what useful sibling I have right now.   My office door slowly swings open suddenly I see the face of a white man, a VERY white man, he's blonde hair blue eyes like you'd expect.  But he isn't entering the room, he's just leaning in and peering around at my office, "You Thomas"? he asks me.  I inform him that the dependancy of my indentity is on whether or not he's my 10:45, he begins to peer out the door, as if looking for someone to support him through this situation, by now I'm infuriated with this man's absolute bullshitting about in MY office, "IT'S A SIMPLE YES OR NO!" I scream at him, "Yes, yes that's me" he reports back to me, I command him to shut the door and stop letting out all the air.   FINALLY he makes his way in, he's about 5'8" in height, wearing a grey muscle shirt with blue jeans and some tennis shoes.    He has a seat in the chair infront of me, finally we can start the meeting, but before I even get a word out, he says "CEO huh?  wanna explain why your office looks like uh.. shit?"  How dare him?  Insult the interior of my office when he looks like he just got out junior high, or maybe work some fast food job, the chair he was sitting in is probably worth more then his house, I won't be assaulted by a peasant.  I ask him why some punk white kid like himself is getting involved with the people he is, when he looks like a fucking boy scout.  You can see in his face that this registered on an emotional level.   I proceed with the meeting asking if he's going to be helping the band removes some diamonds from a dishonest bank who lost a fair share of my company's money last month.  The dazed look of confusion just tells me what kind of individual I'm dealing with.  This fucking idiot. "We're fucking stealing them!  What don't you fucking understand?!" I exclaimed at the poor fucker.   I guess I thought I was speaking in my head but Douglass decides, we should start over, reintroduce ourselves.  After doing this I decide, I'm not the one he should be talking to, I'll have Nancy send him to our lead operater in the "illicit activities" department, Mason Porterfield, Mason, while not the leader of the group was the planning brain of the operations, making him a much more useful item in my eyes.   After doing this, Douglass is now threatening me with the usage of a "Vincent".  Asking me things like "Do you know who I am?"  I certainly knew what he was going to be, dead, if he didn't get the fuck out of my office.  He can tell Vincent all he wants, I didn't even know who Vincent was.   Finally he exits, but I still hear the faint cries coming from outside my office door.  I open it and there he is, talking on the phone to what I can only assume is "Vincent" after some more brief insults, he finally leaves.  Upon seeing the time I realized I must be going, I tell Nancy to tell any calls I get no, I proceed out of my office to meet this filmmaker I'm funding.   Hopefully, he'll be a bit more stern then that of the soft fleshed individual I just came into contact with.  The drive over there is pleasant enough, Brad Mehldau's "Blame It on My Youth" blares out the speaker of my car, music is the only place that I find peace within this world of absent minded morons, I had been greeted with two of those just this morning, first my brother Raymond feels compelled to try to talk me into going and seeing out comatose state brother, next I'm confronted with a so called criminal who can't even pick up on the hint of "we're robbing a fucking bank".  But the momentary relaxtion wouldn't last very long as it was in the blink of an eye that I was at the movie studio, a building constructed of bricks with a sign on front that "Memento films".  I head for set B to meet this filmmaker. Chapter 3: The Filmmaker   I enter the set and it looks more like a big theatre for plays or musicals, though the smell of wasted money was in the air, I was none too excited to see what I found.  There was my girlfriend, Vivian, a blonde haired woman who was just a little bit shorter then me and height but not lacking in personality, for someone who enjoys upbeat people that is, I merely had her about so I could maintain an image, she runs up and hugs me after I've made my way down the steps of the set, I have to remind her of what personal space is and why it's an important factor when dealing with someone like me, but before I can finish I'm interrupted, "WHAT THE FUCK"?!   I can only assume this is the filmmaker I'm supposed to speak to, he orders my girlfriend back onto the stage and then turns to me, "Who the fuck are you?  Are you an actor?  GET THE FUCK OFF MY SET".   While no doubt I deserve to be shouted at like this, from his perspective this is completely unwarrented, and impolite, especially to someone who's funding your bullshit creation.  I infrom him who I am, this subtles his tone, I still haven't caught his name by this point but we go ahead and watch the film in which he has created, or rather, he watched his film and I imagined all of the different highways that the money we spent on this could have gone to, I almost felt like the charity would've been a more profittable experience then this.   I feel betrayed, dirty, economically raped.   This will be fixed, after we get out of the film screening, he asks me what I thought of the film.  I compared it to that of Space Jam (the god awful Looney Tunes movie with Micheal Jordan),  offended, he tries to defend the god awful piece of work we just saw, no doubt, I should have seen this coming from a filmmaker, but being the BUISINESS man I am, I give him 3 weeks, exactly 3 fucking weeks to redo all of this, I know this is an impossible task, but I do it anyways, who is he to stop me?  I own his whole production. He can't tell me what is and what isn't, that's my job, I've put my head phone's back in, and am now listening to Huey Louis and the News, he's talking some non sense, something about, wait, Raymond?  How does he know about that?  I can't let him know I'm concerned but, he somehow knows Raymond stopped by my house?  I need to leave.   This man knows too much and I don't like the direction that this is heading.  I tell him there's no negiotating here, I begin to walk away, I notice, no argument from him, he merely turns around and heads out the other door, as if nothing happened, what was the man?  Was it a man?  What sort of human would react so inhumanely?  What was WRONG with this person?  I feel like he may be my match.  Perhaps I'm over reacting a bit, I mean, I'm a well known individual, in both the business and the crime world, but I'm not dangerous, he must know this, was nothing, perhaps he had met Raymond before hand.   It was nothing, I felt hungry, I needed to make a quick stop, perhaps a Subway would do me in fine, it's fast enough, while I'm not a common eater of cheap foods as it's below me, it's certainly needed at this moment.  A quick stop there, then back to the office. Chapter 4: Return To The Office, Make Way For The Bar   The filmmaker was a fucking fool.  Just like the rest of the people I'd met today, it was simply an off day for me today.  Fuck's sake.  Every day is, every day is the same.  Fools, all of you, fucking fools.  I'd lost track of the time some how, I was supposed to meet Vivian at the bar in 20 minutes, I need to make it quick or I'll be late, something I simply do not tolerate from myself, why would I tolerate it from anyone else?   Back to my car, not even notifying Nancy I was in such a hurry.   While I don't relatively care about what Vivian thinks, I do care about whether I'm on time or not.   I arrive outside the structure, it's gated in like a private community.  I sway the gate open and make my way towards the patio area of the bar.   Wait a moment, that's the filmmaker from earlier, what's he doing here?  For that matter, where's Vivian?  The time to be here has past, I'll give her a call right now.   The phone rings for about four tones before she finally answers.  I ask, her where are you?  She says she's having trouble finding the place.  I make my way towards the back alley area of the bar incase the discussion turns heated.  The bar is playing a smooth jazz tune and I wouldn't want to ruin the ambiance.   Upon going through the door way I find the individual from earlier, the boy scout, Douglass I believe.  He appears to be pissing into a trash can.  Confused but still maintaining my conversation with Vivian, I decide to let her know that our relationship is over and I will not tolerate someone being late.   Now to confront the boy scout.  He hasn't realized, or noticed, who I am yet.  "What the fuck are you doing?"  I asked him, to which he retorted, "What the fuck does it-"  A sweep of realization came over his face as he began to grip the gravity of the situation.  "Vincent!  Vincent!" he shouts to what I can only assume is the rest of the bar.  I've been waiting to meet the ever present Vincent since Douglass mentioned him a few hours ago.   The door that let to the bar swings open, at first the light is too bright for me to be able to tell who it is.  As my eyes adjust to the light I come to the realization that it's the filmmaker from earlier, that's who Vincent is?  This force to be reckened with is one of my employees?  Hardly laughable, by this point Douglass has fallen to the ground in a drunken stuper of some sort.  I'm fed up.   All I wanted was a nice night out and I'm greeted to this, a drunk, a failing employee, and a now ex girlfriend whom I hope to never hear from again, repulsive, the situation is absolutely repulsive, and I won't stand for it any more, these two we're now arguing with each other over what, I don't even know as I was no longer listening.  "Fuck you!  Fuck you! You're fired! You're fired!"  and I made my exit, knowing that firing the filmmaker would come back on me in a bad way but that's a situation I'm willing to put up with.   I needed to go back to work, to file some papers and then I would head home, hopefully not to my brother again.  I also promised my mother I would call today.  I must tend to these other obligations, my work was finished for today.  But there will always be a tomorrow, with new work, new possibilites.   Act II: Vincent Nash   - Chapter 5: To Mason's   There was me, that is Vincent, and my good friend Douglass on the floor.  Douglass had just gotten him and I out of our jobs.  Infuriated on the inside but calm and cold on the outside per usual.  My instincts work quickly, I have to go see Mason, he's about the only hope I can have in a sitution like this right now.  Thomas isn't going to get away with what he's done to me.   Douglass in his drunken stuper is wanting to come along but I can't let that happen.  "I want to go see Mason too", alright, let me help you up buddy, I help him up, but not before popping him in the leg with a bullet from the uzi I was carrying.   It tore through just quickly enough to where he'd be downed, but there'd also be no injury, while drunk he still felt the sting of the bullet, and was now screaming like a banshee.   On my way out I make sure the bartender understands the stipulations of what's happening while waving my gun at him like a mad man.  What he hears in there, he doesn't hear, and for $70, he'll lock up and close shop right now, and for my final question "Do you see me?"  To which he replies, "see who sir?"  Luckily he understood the concept so sadly I didn't get to pump him full of lead like I would have any other witness.   Upon getting to my car I wait to confirm that the bartender is leaving and isn't calling the cops.  A few bullets and some money can ALWAYS sway things in your favor.   On my way to Mason's now.  To talk about the cock sucking CEO that just robbed me of two jobs I worked, oh so hard to get.  Mason's house wasn't too far off from the bar.  I'd get there quickly, no issues.   The problem was explaining the issue to Mason without him losing his shit, in this world, you have two types of psychos, and Mason and I are examples of those two types.  Mason, with the proper time and planning, can be really smart about going through things, but in the heat of the moment, he panics.   I'm the opposite, but of course I'll always turn to violence when it's a possiblity, sweet, sweet violence.   I pass parked cop cars on the way there, this is good, this means Douglass can't be heard outside of the bar.  I'd go back for the poor fucker once we needed him.   I'm now pulling up into his drive way, which has a circular design, which is good in case of my need for a quick get away, park your car facing the street, lock all the doors except for the driver's.   Now I can go into Mason's home, I won't be knocking and going through the front door.  I go to the window on the side of the house and force it open, after carefully around the house, checking to make sure Mason was home alone, I approach the bedroom to where I find him sitting on his bed listening to a record, the tune sounding similar to "I wanna marry a light house keeper".  Suddenly he notices me in the door way, "FUCKING JESUS!" He falls over, knocking the lamp off the stand.  "No just me I'm afraid" I say.  "What the fuck are you doing here?"  I go ahead and explain to him the whole episode that occurred back at the bar.   Mason of course tells me that I'm not fired from the bank job, but that's not what concerns me, my family has been expecting to see my project for months, and now It's all been cut away from all of us.  Mason says I can't kill him.  It's not an option.  I'd be doing us all in if I killed him.   Mason wasn't the person I needed to go to, I realize this now as he forces me out of his home.   I know where I need to go.   Chapter 6: The Church   I knew I'd find the answer here.  God has never failed me before, as I walk through the church to the praying ground, I feel a strange sensation walking past each person, why are they here?  What have they done?  Or what haven't done?  No one goes to church to have a good time.  Unless they're a bunch of teenages kids who can't make a friend outside of a widespread religion.  These people have problems like any one else, like I do.  I love the design of the church.  The carpet is red like blood, with a crest of gold like color rolling through it.  Light, shining through the windows, as if god is guiding me through the hall.  Finally I'm here, I will have the talk that I've needed with god.  He knows what I shall do, and I will heed his advice.      It's been seven hours.   I've finally come to my conclusion on what needs to be done.  I know what I have to do.    I need to go home.  I start the evening off with a bit of planning I need to be gone for the next few hours.  I'd take a small vacation then come back to do what I need to.   I pack everything I need, clothes, pills, and my gun of course, can't go anywhere without that.  It'd be a quickie, but I needed to head dead straight out of town, and kill ANYONE, I come into contact with because otherwise, the jig is up.  And I'm exposed.   I get a few miles out of town when suddenly I realize I forgot the most important factor of my trip.  a mask.  I'd stop at the first sport shop and take several, the employee at the counter has now become liable to become a victim.  I walk inside and instantly he spots me.   I know already that I can't let him live.   Luckily we're alone in the store, and the cameras are not strategically place.  I take out the wire.  I call him over, ask if he can read some fine print where we're hidden from the camera by a clothing rack.   He kneels down to read it but it's already too late for our poor friend here, I wrap the wiring around his neck and pull it tightly, in this way, not only is this cutting off his air, but it's slicing his throat at the same time.  A minute or two passes before he gives in.   Hide him in the clothing rack, wash off your hands, take the security footage, grab the masks, leave.  We're clear.  Now, I've got to get to Baker before I end up taking my enjoyment out on someone else.   Act: III: Revelations    Back to Thomas. Chapter 7: The Suicide   I made it home without the interruption of Raymond here, which is strange but, I'm not going to question it.  I have a voicemail on my machine but by this point, I don't care anymore.  I've had a very fucked up day and I don't want to put up with anymore people.  I need to sleep.   I've awoken, it's a new day of misery dealing with these fucking people.  I run through my morning routine as I always do, then make my way down stairs.  There's not a knock on the door like there usually is, as a matter of fact there's nothing, no call, no Raymond showing up at my door.  My morning is of peace.   I must head to work, I'll ask for my voicemails there.  I'm riding to work, I have strange feeling that something bad has happened, but I'll ignore it for now, suddenly my phone is ringing, but why?  Who would have reason to call me?  I've never seen this number before.   I answer, it's the boy scout, he sounds as if he's in tears.  "Vincent's gone!  What did you you do to him you evil bastard!?"  Vincent?  Gone?  Presumably Mason took matters into his own hands and ended him for me.   That's one less issue.  I hang up on the man.   Mostly because I've arrived in the workplace parking lot but also because I'm annoyed with his voice.  I need to get in, I'm sure I missed a lot while I was away yesterday.  I get to my office.  When  I get there, Nancy informs that there hasn't been any calls for me, except for one that's been left on my voicemail, from my brother Raymond.   I guess, I'll give it a listen just to see he has to say I suppose.  I enter my office and have a seat in my chair, leaning over to the machine to hit the play button.  "You've one new message" *Beep*, Raymond sounds as if he's been sobbing.  "Thomas, I can't take the way you've been treating this family, and now Stephen's gone, he past away last night and I don't feel like I'm gonna be able to go on without him, because the way you act is anything but a sibling, you used to be my brother Thomas, now you're just another business associate.  I still love you.  And I want you to know I forgive you."  There's a loud pop, something that you'd hear in an action movie.   A wave of terror I haven't experienced in years rolls over me.  Nothing but chills.  My mind is going, I can feel it.   This is unreal, this is a trick of some sort.  I'll go to Raymond's house, he strategically moved into a house that's not too far from the business, I try to keep my composure as well as I can, notifying Nancy that I'm going out on a business meeting, can't let her know that it's for personal reason or I'd seem like I didn't care about my work.   I'm making my way over to Raymond's house, twenty thoughts hitting my brain per minute.   I've arrived at his house, I'm not knocking I'm going straight in, the whole place is alreadu wrapped in crime scene tape but that's not going to stop me, I need to see my brother, I need to know this is true, I get inside and the house is set up as it usually is, my brother has had the same arrangement in his house for all the years he's lived here.   I wander inside, to nothingness, there's a strange silence to the place when the sound is broken by a man yelling at me "WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU GOD DAMN BASTARD?!"  Who the fuck is he?  Why's he here?  He certainly doesn't resemble anything that of an officer or of a detective.   "Who the fuck are you?"  I ask him,  he retorts with "I'm the owner of this home!  What're you doing here?!"  What?  "My brother's lived here for years".  He tells me no one's lived here except him, for about 5 years now.  What? What is happening?  Even more terror rushes over me.  Who the fuck is this guy?  He forces me out of his home, when I get outside, there's no longer crime tape anymore.   What's happening?  Am I seeing things?  Fuck's sake.   I need to talk to someone, I'll go talk to mother, she knows Raymond, Raymond, my brother.   I have two brothers, I know it. Chapter 8: Mom's help    I'm heading over to my mother's house.  It's been awhile since I've seen her but surely she'll help me.  My mom has also remained in the same house since we were kids, it's only a few blocks away from mine, the drive over there is usually pleasant but the pleasance is over shadowed by the harrowing situation that I can't find my brother after I heard him kill himself and now some man is trying to tell me that he was never there at all?  This is madness, madness on madness.   I'm outside my mother's house now, I walk up to the door and knock, my mother of course, answers the door, she's a sweet old lady, only standing about 5'2" in height, small in comparison to her children.  Which is me, Stephen, and Raymond.   I ask her if I may come in for a bit to discuss something with her, she of course is fine with it, I assume she knows the circumstances too.  I have a seat in our living room where my mother sits across from me, we start it off with basic garble about how one's day is, and so on.   I finally ask her, mother?  Have you heard the news?  "Yes it's terrible isn't it?"  Yes!  She knows!  I'm not crazy after all.  So she knows all about Raymond.  "Who's Raymond?"  Waves of terror followed like a fucking tsunami.  "Raymond, my brother, the middle one."  "I only have two children Thomas."  Fucking Jesus.   This can't be real, I storm out of the home, lost, confused, unaware of my suroundings.  I need help.  I can feel the panic surging over me like steak knifes on every particle of skin on my body.   I get in my car, my mom seems to be rushing out the front to catch me, but I'm too quick for that.   I need to move, I need to get somewhere, I don't know where, I'll go as far as I can, I just need some where to think for awhile.   Just to think things over.   I've had my whole fucking life to think things over, what good is a few minutes going to do me now?  How could this happen?  Why does no one remember Raymond?  Given he's not known for making appearances, how would our own mother forget who he is?   I've driven my car somewhere out of town, a few miles out, merely taking a moment to think over what happens.  What has happned.   My entire reality being shattered before my eyes.  I never put forth the effort to take care of someone because I felt like Raymond had taken care of that.  But now I realize, no one was taking care of anything.  I had left people out with my cold cruel self.  I will change, I must go home, make some important phone calls, apologize.   Chapter 9: Seeking Forgiveness    I arrive to my house and immediately get on the phone to talk to my mother and apologize for this evening, I suppose I should also call Vivian but we'll call my mother first.  Apologize for running in unannounced and causing a commotion.  She, as always is the understanding mother that she's always been, we talk for a few hours discussing what we can do bout the situation at hand and how I can better my behavior, I'll also be seeing a psychologist about Raymond to see what can be done there.   I tell my mother that I love her and that I will see her very soon.  I call Vivian shortly after, disregarding it's late, I have to tell her hwo very sorry I am for my behavior earlier, And that I only wish to improve now.  The tone rings about 3 times and she picks up with a surprised "Thomas"?   "Yes, this is Thomas".   I apologize for everything, and promise that I'll make it up to her tomorrow, I'll spend all of tonight planning out the next day.  Which isn't exactly what I plan to do tonight, but I will make it up to her tomorrow, I need to find out where Vincent went to.   Apologize to him and Douglass and give them both their jobs back, I really have no other option.  Tie up all loose ends, since Vincent is missing, I'll call Douglass first, I call him but I only get his voice mail so I leave him a lengthy message to get my point across and hope that works.   Mason will probably be the first person to ask about this, so I'll give him a call to let him know Vincent is welcomed back on to the team.   Mason isn't picking up either, I leave a similar voice message with some words directed completely for Vincent. In the hopes that I can make things better then what they were.   I won't be able to sleep now so I go ahead and make myself something to eat.   Perhaps I'll read a book while I'm here, I had plenty laying on the bar yesterday before I attended work.  I feel a sensation I haven't felt in a long time, relaxation, freedom of worries.  This is what I've been missing out on for so long.  With fixing my relationships with other people brings this whole new cosmic sheen of happiness.  I could get used to this.   But, what's this?  A knock on my door?  It's fucking 2 in the morning?   Who would becoming here at this hour?  Steadily skeptical I make my way to the door.  Slowly open it, and peer through the glass door that comes before it.  But there is no one there?  I step outside to see if it's possibly some teenagers playing a prank of sorts, but to no avail.   They're probably in the distance watching me wandering about my exterior like an idiot.  I wandering back inside, but wait?  My back door is open.  This has to be some sort of trickery of some evil bastards.  I begin walking toward the back door, but as I past the opening of the living room, a loud pop, and then darkness. Chapter 10: Vincent's Revenge    I'd done it.  I killed the evil bastard, popped him right in the side of his head.  Only problem is I think the gun is going to cause a commotion amongst the neighbors, I must be quick, while I'm already stained with the blood that surfaced from the side of Marcus' head, I certainly haven't left any trace of me, all that's necessary now, is to make it look like a suicide before making my quick exit.   We'll just assume he left no note. Put the gun in his hand, aim it toward the point of contact, no, slightly off since he wouldn't be able to hold it still after blowing his brains out.  Okay, turn off the television in the living room which was playing American Psycho by this point, fitting for the mood.   Check out front for any signal of commotion, none so far yet.  I feel like a mistake has been made somewhere.  Almost like I was set up to kill him, no time for that.  Confirm that I've left everything untouched, all is well, make sure the body's position makes it liable to be a suicide, everything should be clear.  Leaving is the objective now, make my way to my car in the alley way.   Take off the gloves and the mask.  These have to be ditched somewhere.  Take them home and burn them I suppose.  Don't speed off, but also don't look to comfortable.  I've driven my car out of the alley way.  But I'm not scott free yet.   The cops might follow my tire marks which is why I can't make a straight burst for my house, I'll stop at a fast food joint after I change my clothes at the park because, the blood covered burgarly attire just doesn't seem fitting for an average Tuesday night.  Especially around 2 in the morning.   Was anyone open around this time?  There!  A sign is lit up, I'll go back there after I hit the park.  It's just down the road here, okay.  Park.  Confirm no one's around to see this.  It appears to be clear from what I can see, grab the clothing in the back, rag off any bodily fluids or brain matter on my skin.   We're almost free.  Change quickly, take the car out of park.  Begin driving to that diner we saw earlier.  Walk inside, have a seat at the counter, be straight foward, don't act suspicious.   "Hey there honey, what can I get for you?" she asks, I order just a cheeseburger with a Sprite and some medium fries, be casual.  The woman was about 40 years old, with red hair.  Her tone of voice half made me want to kill her but I'm not in the mood to clean this one up.   She brings the food in record time.  "Heard we had a suicide up in Richmen"  Shit, news is traveling fast here, have to act ignorant to it, "Really who?"  I asked.  "Some suit, CEO of some company.  Apparently shot him self in his house".  I nod to her and it appears our conversation is over.   Killing her would be difficult but not impossible, of course news of Tommy boy is moving fast.  He's big shot CEO, this southan broad wouldn't be missed after a week or two.  No, no Vincent, we have to carry on.  Go home.  Before the cops start pinning you as a possible suspect, I pay my bill and leave.  I've done what I had to do.  I'd go see Mason about it in the morning and see if he'd suspect me.     It'd been 5 hours, I hadn't sleep on account of the situation.  I sent Mason a text message.  He knows I'm coming or at least he should, I would knock on the door this time.  Be normal.  We start the morning with some small talk, the weather, the job, then I bring it to his attention that Thomas committed suicide, he seemed unaware that I killed him, or he knew and just didn't want to acknowledge it, I was going to question it, but I couldn't help but have this smirk over take my face.  "What're you so happy about Vincent?  WE still have a job to do."   Oh Mason, I've already got a job done.     Text: Tyler McAlister Images: Shane Hendon All rights reserved. Publication Date: October 28th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-twa71e9e4662555

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-zoe-pare-somethings-never-end/

Zoe Pare Somethings Never End Growing up in a family that wont stop yelling. When I was 10, my great uncle died. What he left behind was my great aunt, and a devastated family of 10. Don’t get me wrong, he was old, we were kind of expecting it. Not my great aunt though. She loved my great uncle, sometimes. In my family as you get older, you kind of get, well angrier. But it’s the angry kind of love. We’re not Italian so it’s not that kind of yelling, my family background is Polish. We’re known for not dying until we’re pretty much a 1000 years old. My great uncle died on a Saturday. Sunny with few clouds, he was 103. The funeral was set to go on Monday. Being a child at that point I remember lots of key things during that Sunday. My whole mother’s side was crammed into a small farm house. When my great uncle first came to Canada he first bought an apartment in Toronto. He later then met my great aunt, some where in their marriage he chose to sell their nice apartment and move to the country saying “City’s not for me, it’s the country where I aught to be!” My great uncle loved to sing, wasn’t good at it, but he liked to sing. It drove my great aunt crazy! See she was more of a quiet person. She worked in a library until she met my great uncle. She also kept things bottled up for awhile, until she got old and started yelling at everything that made a sound. Including my great “always singing” uncle. All Sunday I spent the day outside playing with cousins I’ve never seen before but they swore they knew me. As Monday grew closer, the whole family was expecting my great aunt to be a mess. Not a single tear yet. Monday came and they rolled my great uncle out into a dusty old wooden funeral parlor. The air was stale, just like my great uncle. Being only a child, running around in a building like this was wonderful. My imagination exploded into amazing adventures of jungles and exploring lost cities. As Monday came to a close, people left to go home. And the little country house became a little less crammed, until it was just my mother, father, and myself. It was a Wednesday when my great aunt started talking again. She was talking before, but now she was letting things out, as I said she keeps things bottled up. As usual in my family when your not wanted you’re sent outside to “play”. While wondering around playing with sticks and rocks, I noticed my great aunt walking down the dirt road. I quickly turned it into a game, spying on my great aunt. Well, it never really worked out. Truth be told half way down the road my great aunt turned around and yelled “I can see you child! For Christ’s sake get out of the bush!! You’re walking with me now!” she enjoyed yelling when she could so I quickly dropped my stick and followed like a little dog. As we neared the end of the dirt road, I saw the cemetery where my great uncle was put to rest in. My heart beat faster, while my imagination went wild with ideas of what we were going to do. As she got closer to the headstone my great aunt told me she needed a word with my great uncle and that I should sit down some where and not be a bother. Taking a seat on some other old guy’s headstone I watched and listened to my great aunt. She burst out screaming stomping her brittle feet and swinging her arms. Telling my great uncle all her problems she had about him over the years. She told him how angry she was when he broke her vase. When he forgot her birthday, why he didn’t even get her flowers for Valentines Day, and the list went on. As a child I had little sense of time, but for my 8th birthday my parents had gotten me a pink watch with flowers all over it. I watched as the big hand went past 12 to 1 and then to 2. Finally, I heard car wheels crushing dirt and rocks coming closer to the cemetery closer and closer it came. My mother came running out and picked me off of the headstone of that old guy. And we went home with my great aunt mumbling in the back seat of the car. Looking back on that day, I don’t see how we ever got my great aunt into that car in the first place. But what I do still clearing remember to this day is that until my great aunt died, she went back to that cemetery every day. Sun, rain, hail, and snow couldn’t keep my great aunt away from yelling at my great uncle. My mother laughs every time she tells other people of the story. She says even with my great uncle dead she was never done yelling at him. Now when I die, I predict that I’ll see them both, my great uncle slumped over in his rocking chair mindlessly fiddling around with something and my great aunt screaming and waving her arms in the background. God do I love what’s to come. Publication Date: February 17th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-walking.sideways

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-courtney-shows-our-lips-are-sealed/

Courtney Shows Our Lips Are Sealed So everyone knows the phrase, “What you don't know won't hurt you.” Well that's not true for this transgender teen. Born in a small town just outside of Bastrop, Texas, eight-teen year old Peter Holland faces the peer pressure and all of the drama going around. He would walk the halls instead of being in class. He would keep to himself and try to hide whenever the bell rang. On field trips he would stay on the bus and read a boring book. Well, until he met this girl. Her name was Maddie. He knew it was love at first sight and he wanted to let her know. He would put love notes in her locker before she got out of class, signed by anonymous of course. He did this until she saw him drop one into her locker on her way to the restroom. Publication Date: August 18th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-whyyouhasfunnyname

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-john-kendrick-bangs-the-bicyclers-and-three-other-farces/

John Kendrick Bangs The Bicyclers and Three Other Farces Contents: The Bicyclers A Dramatic Evening The Fatal Message A Proposal Under Difficulties THE BICYCLERS CHARACTERS: MR. ROBERT YARDSLEY, an expert. MR. JACK BARLOW, another. MR. THADDEUS PERKINS, a beginner. MR. EDWARD BRADLEY, a scoffer. MRS. THADDEUS PERKINS, a resistant. MRS. EDWARD BRADLEY, an enthusiast. JENNIE, a maid. The scene is laid in the drawing-room of Mr. and Mrs. Thaddeus Perkins, at No. --- Gramercy Square. It is late October; the action begins at 8.30 o'clock on a moonlight evening. The curtain rising discloses Mr. and Mrs. Perkins sitting together. At right is large window facing on square. At rear is entrance to drawing-room. Leaning against doorway is a safety bicycle. Perkins is clad in bicycle garb. Perkins. Well, Bess, I'm in for it now, and no mistake. Bob and Jack are coming to-night to give me my first lesson in biking. Mrs. Perkins. I'm very glad of it, Thaddeus. I think it will do you a world of good. You've been working too hard of late, and you need relaxation. Perkins (doubtfully). I know that--but--from what I can gather, learning to ride a wheel isn't the most restful thing in the world. There's a good deal of lying down about it; but it comes with too great suddenness; that is, so Charlie Cheeseborough says. He learned up at the Academy, and he told me that he spent most of his time making dents in the floor with his head. Mrs. Perkins. Well, I heard differently. Emma Bradley learned there at the same time he did, and she said he spent most of his time making dents in the floor with other people's heads. Why, really, he drove all the ladies to wearing those odious Psyche knots. The time he ran into Emma, if she hadn't worn her back hair that way she'd have fractured her skull. Perkins. Ha, ha! They all tell the same story. Barlow said he always wore a beaver hat while Cheeseborough was on the floor, so that if Charlie ran into him and he took a header his brain wouldn't suffer. Mrs. Perkins. Nevertheless, Mr. Cheeseborough learned more quickly than any one else in the class. Perkins. So Barlow said--because he wasn't eternally in his own way, as he was in every one else's. (A ring is heard at the front door.) Ah! I guess that's Bob and Jack. Enter Jennie. Jennie. Mr. Bradley, ma'am. Perkins. Bradley? Wonder what the deuce he's come for? He'll guy the life out of me. (Enter Bradley. He wears a dinner coat.) Ah, Brad, old chap, how are you? Glad to see you. Bradley. Good-evening, Mrs. Perkins. This your eldest? [With a nod at Perkins. Mrs. Perkins. My eldest? Bradley. Yes--judged from his togs it was your boy. What! Can it be? You! Thaddeus? Perkins. That's who I am. Bradley. When did you go into short trousers? Perkins (with a feeble laugh, glancing at his clothes). Oh, these-- ha, ha! I'm taking up the bicycle. Even if it weren't for the exhilaration of riding, it's a luxury to wear these clothes. Old flannel shirt, old coat, old pair of trousers shortened to the knee, and golf stockings. I've had these golf stockings two years, and never had a chance to wear 'em till now. Bradley. You've got it bad, haven't you? How many lessons have you had? Perkins. None yet. Fact is, just got my wheel--that's it over there by the door--pneumatic tires, tool-chest, cyclometer, lamp--all for a hun. Bradley (with a laugh). How about life-insurance? Do they throw in a policy for that? They ought to. Perkins. No--but they would if I'd insisted. Competition between makers is so great, they'll give you most anything to induce a bargain. The only thing they really gave me extra is the ki-yi gun. Mrs. Perkins. The what? Perkins. Ki-yi gun--it shoots dogs. Dog comes out, catches sight of your leg-- Bradley. Mistakes it for a bone and grabs--eh? Perkins. Well--I fancy that's about the size of it. You can't very well get off, so you get out your ki-yi gun and shoot ammonia into the beast's face. It doesn't hurt the dog, but it gives him something to think of. I'll show you how the thing works. (Gets the gun from tool-box.) This is the deadly weapon, and I'm the rider-- see? (Sits on a chair, with face to back, and works imaginary pedals.) You're the dog. I'm passing the farm-yard. Bow-wow! out you spring--grab me by the bone--I--ah--I mean the leg. Pouf! I shoot you with ammonia. [Suits action to the word. Bradley (starting back). Hi, hold on! Don't squirt that infernal stuff at me! My dear boy, get a grip on yourself. I'm not really a ki-yi, and while I don't like bicyclists, their bones are safe from me. I won't bite you. Mrs. Perkins. Really--I think that's a very ingenious arrangement; don't you, Mr. Bradley? Bradley. I do, indeed. But, as long as we're talking about it, I must say I think what Thaddeus really needs is a motormangun, to squirt ammonia, or even beer, into the faces of these cable-car fellows. They're more likely to interfere with him than dogs--don't you think? Perkins. It's a first-rate idea, Brad. I'll suggest it to my agent. Bradley. Your what? Perkins (apologetically). Well, I call him my agent, although really I've only bought this one wheel from him. He represents the Czar Manufacturing Company. Bradley. They make Czars, do they? Perkins (with dignity). They make wheels. The man who owns the company is named Czar. I refer to him as my agent, because from the moment he learned I thought of buying a wheel he came and lived with me. I couldn't get rid of him, and finally in self-defence I bought this wheel. It was the only way I could get rid of him. Bradley. Aha! That's the milk in the cocoanut. eh? Hadn't force of mind to get rid of the agent. Couldn't say no. Humph! I wondered why you, a man of sense, a man of dignity, a gentleman, should take up with this-- Perkins (angrily). See here, Brad, I like you very much, but I must say-- Mrs. Perkins (foreseeing a quarrel). Thaddeus! 'Sh! Ah, by-the- way, Mr. Bradley, where is Emma this evening? I never knew you to be separated before. Bradley (sorrowfully). This is the first time, Mrs. Perkins. Fact is, we'd intended calling on you to-night, and I dressed as you see me. Emma was in proper garb too, but when she saw what a beautiful night it was, she told me to go ahead, and she--By Jove! it almost makes me weep! Perkins. She wasn't taken ill? Bradley. No--worse. She said: "You go down on the ' L.' I'll bike. It's such a splendid night." Fine piece of business this! To have a bicycle come between man and wife is a pretty hard fate, I think--for the one who doesn't ride. Mrs. Perkins. Then Emma is coming here? Bradley. That's the idea, on her wheel--coming down the Boulevard, across Seventy-second Street, through the Park, down Madison, across Twenty-third, down Fourth to Twenty-first, then here. Perkins. Bully ride that. Mrs. Perkins. Alone? Bradley (sadly). I hope so--but these bicyclists have a way of flocking together. For all I know, my beloved Emma may now be coasting down Murray Hill escorted by some bicycle club from Jersey City. Mrs. Perkins. Oh dear--Mr. Bradley! Bradley. Oh, it's all right, I assure you, Mrs. Perkins. Perfectly right and proper. It's merely part of the exercise, don't you know. There's a hail-fellow-well-metness about enthusiastic bicyclists, and Emma is intensely enthusiastic. It gives her a chance, you know, and Emma has always wanted a chance. Independence is a thing she's been after ever since she got her freedom, and now, thanks to the wheel, she's got it again, and even I must admit it's harmless. Funny she doesn't get here though (looking at his watch); she's had time to come down twice. [Bicycle bells are heard ringing without. Mrs. Perkins. Maybe that is she now. Go and see, will you, Thaddeus? [Exit Perkins. Perkins (without), That you, Mrs. Bradley? [Mrs. Perkins and Bradley listen intently. Two Male Voices. No; it's us, Perk. Got your wheel? Bradley and Mrs. Perkins. Where can she be? Enter Perkins with Barlow and Yardsley. They both greet Mrs. Perkins. Yardsley. Hullo, Brad! You going to have a lesson too? Barlow. Dressed for it, aren't you, by Jove! Nothing like a dinner coat for a bicycle ride. Your coat-tails don't catch in the gear. Bradley (severely). I haven't taken it up--fact is, I don't care for fads. Have you seen my wife? Yardsley. Yes--saw her the other night at the academy. Rides mighty well, too, Brad. Don't wonder you don't take it up. Contrast, you know--eh, Perk? Fearful thing for a man to have the world see how much smarter his wife is than he is. Perkins (turning to his wheel). Bradley's a little worried about the non-arrival of Mrs. Bradley. She was coming here on her wheel, and started about the same time he did. Barlow. Oh, that's all right, Ned. She knows her wheel as well as you know your business. Can't come down quite as fast as the "L," particularly these nights just before election. She may have fallen in with some political parade, and is waiting to get across the street. Bradley (aside). Well, I like that! Mrs. Perkins (aside). Why--it's awful! Yardsley. Or she may possibly have punctured her tire--that would delay her fifteen or twenty minutes. Don't worry, my dear boy. I showed her how to fix a punctured tire all right. It's simple enough--you take the rubber thing they give you and fasten it in that metal thingumbob, glue it up, poke it in, pull it out, pump her up, and there you are. Bradley (scornfully). You told her that, did you? Yardsley. I did. Bradley (with a mock sigh of relief). You don't know what a load you've taken off my mind. Barlow (looking at his watch). H'm! Thaddeus, it's nine o'clock. I move we go out and have the lesson. Eh? The moon is just right. Yardsley. Yes--we can't begin too soon. Wheel all right? Perkins. Guess so--I'm ready. Bradley. I'll go out to the corner and see if there's any sign of Mrs. Bradley. [Exit. Mrs. Perkins (who has been gazing out of window for some moments). I do wish Emma would come. I can't understand how women can do these things. Riding down here all alone at night! It is perfectly ridiculous! Yardsley (rolling Perkins's wheel into middle of room). Czar wheel, eh? Perkins (meekly). Yes--best going--they tell me. Barlow. Can't compare with the Alberta. Has a way of going to pieces like the "one-hoss shay"--eh, Bob? Yardsley. Exactly--when you least expect it, too--though the Alberta isn't much better. You get coasting on either of 'em, and half-way down, bang! the front wheel collapses, hind wheel flies up and hits you in the neck, handle-bar turns just in time to stab you in the chest; and there you are, miles from home, a physical, moral, bicycle wreck. But the Arena wheel is different. In fact, I may say that the only safe wheel is the Arena. That's the one I ride. However, at fifty dollars this one isn't extravagant. Perkins. I paid a hundred. Yardsley. A wha--a--at? Perkins. Hundred. Barlow. Well you are a--a--good fellow. It's a pretty wheel, anyhow. Eh, Bob? Yardsley. Simple beauty. Is she pumped up? Perkins. Beg your pardon? Yardsley. Pumped up, tires full and tight--ready for action--support an elephant? Perkins. Guess so--my--I mean, the agent said it was perfect. Yardsley. Extra nuts? Perkins. What? Yardsley. Extra nuts--nuts extra. Suppose you lose a nut, and your pedal comes off; what you going to do--get a tow? Barlow. Guess Perkins thinks this is like going to sleep. Perkins. I don't know anything about it. What I'm after is information; only, I give you warning, I will not ride so as to get round shoulders. Yardsley. Then where's your wrench? Screw up your bar, hoist your handles, elevate your saddle, and you're O.K. What saddle have you? Perkins (tapping it). This. Barlow. Humph! Not very good--but we'll try it. Come on. It's getting late. [They go out. Perkins reluctantly. In a moment he returns alone, and, rushing to Mrs. Perkins, kisses her affectionately. Perkins. Good-bye, dearest. Mrs. Perkins. Good-bye. Don't hurt yourself, Thaddeus. [Exit Perkins. Mrs. Perkins (leaving window and looking at clock on mantel). Ten minutes past nine and Emma not here yet. It does seem too bad that she should worry Ed so much just for independence' sake. I am quite sure I should never want to ride a wheel anyhow, and even if I did-- Enter Yardsley hurriedly, with a piece of flannel in his hand. Yardsley. I beg pardon, Mrs. Perkins, but have you a shawl-strap in the house? Mrs. Perkins (tragically). What is that you have in your hand, Mr. Yardsley? Yardsley (with a glance at the piece of flannel). That? Oh--ha-ha-- that--that's a--ah--a piece of flannel. Mrs. Perkins (snatching the flannel from Yardsley's hand). But Teddy--isn't that a piece of Teddy's--Teddy's shirt? Yardsley. More than that, Mrs. Perkins. It's the greater part of Teddy's shirt. That's why we want the shawl-strap. When we started him off, you know, he took his coat off. Jack held on to the wheel, and I took Teddy in the fulness of his shirt. One--two--three! Teddy put on steam--Barlow let go--Teddy went off--I held on--this is what remained. It ruined the shirt, but Teddy is safe. (Aside.) Barring about sixty or seventy bruises. Mrs. Perkins (with a faint smile). And the shawl-strap? Yardsley. I want to fasten it around Teddy's waist, grab hold of the handle, and so hold him up. He's all right, so don't you worry. (Exit Mrs. Perkins in search of shawl-strap.) Guess I'd better not say anything about the Pond's Extract he told me to bring--doesn't need it, anyhow. Man's got to get used to leaving pieces of his ankle-bone on the curb-stone if he wants to learn to ride a wheel. Only worry her if I asked her for it--won't hurt him to suffer a week. Enter Bradley. Bradley. Has she come yet? Yardsley. No--just gone up-stairs for a shawl-strap. Bradley. Shawl-strap? Who? Perkins (outside). Hurry up with that Pond's Extract, will you? Yardsley. All right--coming. Who? Who what? Bradley. Who has gone up-stairs after shawl-strap--my wife? Yardsley. No, no, no. Hasn't she got here yet? It's Mrs. Perkins. Perk fell off just now and broke in two. We want to fasten him together. Barlow (outside). Bring out that pump. His wheel's flabby. Enter Mrs. Perkins with shawl-strap. Mrs. Perkins. Here it is. What did I hear about Pond's Extract? Didn't somebody call for it? Yardsley. No--oh no--not a bit of it! What you heard was shawl- strap--sounds like extract--very much like it. In fact-- Bradley. But you did say you wanted-- Yardsley (aside to Bradley). Shut up! Thaddeus banged his ankle, but he'll get over it in a minute. She'd only worry. The best bicyclers in the world are all the time falling off, taking headers, and banging their ankles. Bradley. Poor Emma! Enter Barlow. Barlow. Where the deuce is that Ex-- Yardsley (grasping him by the arm and pushing him out). Here it is; this is the ex-strap, just what we wanted. (Aside to Bradley.) Go down to the drug-store and get a bottle of Pond's, will you? [Exit. Mrs. Perkins (walking to window). She can't be long in coming now. Bradley. I guess I'll go out to the corner again. (Aside.) Best bicyclers always smashing ankles, falling off, taking headers! If I ever get hold of Emma again, I'll see whether she'll ride that-- [Rushes out. Mrs. Perkins. It seems to have made these men crazy. I never saw such strange behavior in all my life. (The telephone-bell rings.) What can that be? (Goes to 'phone, which stands just outside parlor door.) Hello! What? Yes, this is 1181--yes. Who are you? What? Emma? Oh dear, I'm so glad! Are you alive? Where are you? What? _Where_? _The police-station_! (Turning from telephone.) Thaddeus, Mr. Barlow, Mr. Yardsley. (Into telephone.) Hello! What for? What? Riding without a lamp! Arrested at Forty-second Street! Want to be bailed out? (Drops receiver. Rushes into parlor and throws herself on sofa.) To think of it--Emma Bradley! (Telephone-bell rings violently again; Mrs. Perkins goes to it.) Hello! Yes. Tell Ed what? To ask for Mrs. Willoughby Hawkins. Who's she? What, _you_! (Drops the receiver; runs to window.) Thaddeus! Mr. Yardsley! Mr. Barlow!--all of you come here, quick. [They rush in. Perkins with shawl-strap about his waist--limping. Barlow has large air-pump in his hand. Mrs. Perkins grows faint. Perkins. Great heavens! What's the matter? Barlow. Get some water--quick! [Yardsley runs for water. Mrs. Perkins. Air! Give me air! Perkins (grabbing pump from Barlow's hand). Don't stand there like an idiot! Act! She wants air! [Places pump on floor and begins to pump air at her. Barlow. Who's the idiot now? Wheel her over to the window. She's not a bicycle. They do so. Mrs. Perkins revives. Perkins. What is the matter? Mrs. Perkins. Mrs. Willoughby Hawkins--arrested--Forty-second Street--no lamp--bailed out. Oh, dear me, dear me! It'll all be in the papers! Perkins. What's that got to do with us? Who's Mrs. Willoughby Hawkins? Mrs. Perkins. Emma! Assumed name. Barlow. Good Lord! Mrs. Bradley in jail? Perkins. This is a nice piece of--ow--my ankle, my ankle! [Enter Bradley and Yardsley at same time, Bradley with bottle of Pond's Extract, Yardsley with glass of water. Bradley. Where the deuce did you fellows go to? I've been wandering all over the square looking for you. Perkins. Your wife-- Bradley (dropping bottle). What? What about her--hurt? Mrs. Perkins. Worse! [Sobs. Bradley. Killed? Mrs. Perkins. Worse--l-lol-locked up--in jail--no bail--wants to be lamped out. Bradley. Great heavens! Where?--when? What next? Where's my hat?-- what'll the baby say? I must go to her at once. Yardsley. Hold on, old man. Let me go up. You're too excited. I know the police captain. You stay here, and I'll run up and fix it with him. If you go, he'll find out who Mrs. Hawkins is; you'll get mad, and things will be worse than ever. Bradley. But-- Barlow. No buts, my dear boy. You just stay where you are. Yardsley's right. It would be an awful grind on you if this ever became known. Bob can fix it up in two minutes with the captain, and Mrs. Bradley can come right back with him. Besides, he can get there in five minutes on his wheel. It will take you twenty on the cars. Yardsley. Precisely. Meanwhile, Brad, you'd better learn to ride the wheel, so that Mrs. B. won't have to ride alone. This ought to be a lesson to you. Perkins. Bully idea (rubbing his ankle). You can use my wheel to- night--I--I think I've had enough for the present. (Aside.) The pavements aren't soft enough for me; and, O Lord! what a stony curb that was! Bradley. I never thought I'd get so low. Yardsley. Well, it seems to me that a man with a wife in jail needn't be too stuck up to ride a bicycle. But--by-by--I'm off. [Exit. Mrs. Perkins. Poor Emma--out for freedom, and lands in jail. What horrid things policemen are, to arrest a woman! Bradley (indignantly). Served her right! If women won't obey the law they ought to be arrested, the same as men. If she wasn't my wife, I'd like to see her sent up for ten years or even twenty years. Women have got no business-- Barlow. Don't get mad, Brad. If you knew the fascination of the wheel you wouldn't blame her a bit. Bradley (calming down). Well--I suppose it has some fascination. Perkins (anxious to escape further lessons). Oh, indeed, it's a most exhilarating sensation: you seem to be flying like a bird over the high-ways. Try it, Ned. Go on, right away. You don't know how that little ride I had braced me up. Barlow (wish a laugh). There! Hear that! There's a man who's ridden only eight inches in all his life--and he says he felt like a bird! Perkins (aside). Yes--like a spring chicken split open for broiling. Next time I ride a wheel it'll be four wheels, with a horse fastened in front. Oh my! oh my! I believe I've broken my back too. [Lies down. Bradley. You seem to be exhilarated, Thaddeus. Perkins (bracing up). Oh, I am, I am. Never felt worse--that is, better. Barlow. Come on, Brad. I'll show you the trick in two jiffies-- it'll relieve your worry about madam, too. Bradley. Very well--I suppose there's no way out of it. Only let me know as soon as Emma arrives, will you? Mrs. Perkins. Yes--we will. [They go out. As they disappear through the door Thaddeus groans aloud. Mrs. Perkins. Why--what is the matter, dear? Are you hurt? Perkins. Oh no--not at all, my love. I was only thinking of Mr. Jarley's indignation to-morrow when he sees the hole I made in his curb-stone with my ankle--oh!--ow!--and as for my back, while I don't think the whole spine is gone, I shouldn't be surprised if it had come through in sections. Mrs. Perkins. Why, you poor thing--why didn't you say-- Perkins (savagely). Why didn't I say? My heavens, Bess, what did you think I wanted the Pond's Extract for--to drink, or to water the street with? O Lord! (holding up his arm). There aren't any ribs sticking out, are there? Barlow (outside). The other way--there--that's it--you've got it. Bradley (outside). Why, it _is_ easy, isn't it? Perkins (scornfully). Easy! That fellow'd find comfort in-- Barlow (outside). Now you're off--not too fast. Mrs. Perkins (walking to window). Why, Thaddeus, he's going like the wind down the street! Perkins. Heaven help him when he comes to the river! Barlow (rushing in). Here we are in trouble again. Brad's gone off on my wheel. Bob's taken his, and your tire's punctured. He doesn't know the first thing about turning or stopping, and I can't run fast enough to catch him. One member of the family is in jail--the other on a runaway wheel! [Yardsley appears at door. Assumes attitude of butler announcing guest. Yardsley. Missus Willerby 'Awkins! Enter Mrs. Bradley, hysterical. Mrs. Bradley. Oh, Edward! [Throws herself into Barlow's arms. Barlow (quietly). Excuse me--ah--Mrs. Hawkins--ah--Bradley--but I'm not--I'm not your husband. Mrs. Bradley (looking up, tragically). Where's Edward? Mrs. Perkins. Sit down, dear--you must be completely worn out. Mrs. Bradley (in alarm). Where is he? Perkins (rising and standing on one leg). Fact is, Mrs. Bradley--we don't know. He disappeared ten minutes ago. Yardsley. What do you mean? Mrs. Bradley. Disappeared? Barlow. Yes. He went east--at the rate of about a mile a minute. Mrs. Bradley. My husband--went east? Mile a minute? Perkins. Yes, on a bike. Yardsley, take me by the shawl-strap, will you, and help me over to that chair; my back hurts so I can't lie down. Mrs. Bradley. Ned--on a wheel? Why, he can't ride! Barlow. Oh yes, he can. What I'm afraid of is that he can't stop riding. Bradley (outside). Hi--Barlow--help! Mrs. Bradley. That's his voice--he called for help. Yardsley (rushing to window). Hi--Brad--stop! Your wife's here. Bradley (in distance). Can't stop--don't know how-- Barlow (leaning out of window). By Jove! he's turned the corner all right. If he keeps on around, we can catch him next time he passes. Mrs. Bradley. Oh, do, do stop him. I'm so afraid he'll be hurt. Mrs. Perkins (looking out). I can just see him on the other side of the square--and, oh dear me!--_his_ lamp is out. Mrs. Bradley. Oh, Mr. Yardsley--Mr. Barlow--Mr. Perkins--do stop him! [By this time all are gazing out of window, except Perkins, who is nursing his ankle. Perkins. I guess not. I'm not going to lie down in the road, or sit in the road, or stand in the road to stop him or anybody else. I don't believe I've got a sound bone left; but if I have, I'm going to save it, if Bradley kills himself. If his lamp's out the police will stop him. Why not be satisfied with that? Bradley (passing the window). For Heaven's sake! one of you fellows stop me. Yardsley. Put on the brake. Barlow. Fall off. It hasn't got a brake. Bradley (despairingly, in distance). Can't. Mrs. Perkins. This is frightful. Perkins (with a grimace at his ankle). Yes; but there are other fearful things in this world. Mrs. Bradley. I shall go crazy if he isn't stopped. He'll kill himself. Yardsley (leaving window hurriedly). I have it. Got a length of clothes-line, Mrs. Perkins? Barlow. What the dickens-- Mrs. Perkins. Yes. [She rushes from the room. Mrs. Bradley. What for? Yardsley. I'll lasso him, next time he comes around. Perkins (with a grin). There'll be two of us! We can start a hospital on the top floor. Mrs. Perkins (returning). Here--here's the line. [Yardsley takes it hurriedly, and, tying it into a noose, hastens out. Perkins (rising). If I never walk again, I must see this. [Limps to window. Mrs. Bradley. He's coming, Mr. Yardsley; don't miss him. Barlow. Steady, Bob; get in the light. Mrs. Perkins. Suppose it catches his neck? Perkins. This beats the Wild West Show. [A crash. All. He's got him. [All rush out, except Perkins. Perkins. Oh yes; he learned in a minute, he did. Easy! Ha, ha! Gad! it almost makes me forget my pain. Enter all, asking. "Is he hurt? How do you feel?" etc. Yardsley has rope-end in right hand; noose is tied about Bradley's body, his coat and clothing are much the worse for wear. Mrs. Bradley. Poor, dear Edward! Bradley (weakly kissing her). Don't m-mind me. I--I'm all right-- only a little exhilarated--and somewhat--er--somewhat breathless. Feel like a bird--on toast. Yardsley, you're a brick. But that pavement--that was a pile of 'em, and the hardest I ever encountered. I always thought asphalt was soft--who said asphalt was soft? Perkins. Easy to learn, though, eh? Bradley. Too easy. I'd have gone on--er--forever--er--if it hadn't been for Bob. Mrs. Bradley. I'll give it up, Ned dear, if you say so. Mrs. Perkins (affectionately). That's sweet of you, Emma. Bradley. No, indeed, you won't, for--er--I--I rather like it while it's going on, and when I learn to get off-- Yardsley. Which you will very shortly. Barlow. You bet! he's a dandy. I taught him. Bradley. I think I'll adore it. Perkins. Buy a Czar wheel, Brad. Best in the market; weighs only twenty pounds. I've got one with a ki-yi pump and a pneumatic gun you can have for ten dollars. Jennie (at the door). Supper is served ma'am. [Exit. Mrs. Perkins. Let us go out and restore our nerves. Come, Emma. [She and Mrs. Bradley walk out. Yardsley (aside). I say, Brad, you owe me five. Bradley. What for? Yardsley. Bail. Barlow. Cheap too. Yardsley. Very. I think he ought to open a bottle besides. Perkins. I'll attend to the bottles. We'll have three. Barlow. Two will be enough. Perkins. Three--two of fizz for you and Bob and the ladies, and if Bradley will agree, I'll split a quart of Pond's Extract with him. Bradley. I'll go you. I think I could take care of the whole quart myself. Perkins. Then we'll make it four bottles. Mrs. Perkins (appearing at door with her arm about Mrs. Bradley). Aren't you coming? Perkins (rising with difficulty). As fast as we can, my dear. We've been taking lessons, you know, and can't move as rapidly as the rest of you. We're a trifle--ah--a trifle tired. Yardsley, you tow Bradley into the dining room; and, Barlow, kindly pretend I'm a shawl, will you, and carry me in. Bradley. I'll buy a wheel to-morrow. Perkins. Don't, Brad. I--I'll give you mine. Fact is, old man, I don't exactly like feeling like a bird. [They go out, and as the last, Perkins and Bradley, disappear stiffly through the portieres, the curtain falls. A DRAMATIC EVENING CHARACTERS: MR. THADDEUS PERKINS, a victim. MR. EDWARD BRADLEY, a friend in disguise. MR. ROBERT YARDSLEY, an amiable villain. MR. JOHN BARLOW, the amiable villain's assistant. MRS. THADDEUS PERKINS, a martyr. MRS. EDWARD BRADLEY, a woman of executive ability. JENNIE, a housemaid. The scene is placed in the drawing-room of Mr. and Mrs. Thaddeus Perkins, of New York. The time is a Saturday evening in the early spring, and the hour is approaching eight. The curtain, rising, discovers Perkins, in evening dress, reading a newspaper by the light of a lamp on the table. Mrs. Perkins is seated on the other side of the table, buttoning her gloves. Her wrap is on a chair near at hand. The room is gracefully over-furnished. Mrs. Perkins. Where are the seats, Thaddeus? Perkins. Third row; and, by Jove! Bess (looking at his watch), we must hurry. It is getting on towards eight now. The curtain rises at 8.15. Mrs. Perkins. The carriage hasn't come yet. It isn't more than a ten minutes' drive to the theatre. Perkins. That's true, but there are so many carriage-folk going to see Irving that if we don't start early we'll find ourselves on the end of the line, and the first act will be half over before we can reach our seats. Mrs. Perkins. I'm so glad we've got good seats--down near the front. I despise opera-glasses, and seats under the galleries are so oppressive. Perkins. Well, I don't know. For The Lyons Mail I think a seat in the front row of the top gallery, where you can cheer virtue and hiss villany without making yourself conspicuous, is the best. Mrs. Perkins. You don't mean to say that you'd like to sit up with those odious gallery gods? Perkins. For a melodrama, I do. What's the use of clapping your gloved hands together at a melodrama? That doesn't express your feelings. I always want to put two fingers in my mouth and pierce the atmosphere with a regular gallery-god whistle when I see the villain laid low by the tow-headed idiot in the last act--but it wouldn't do in the orchestra. You might as well expect the people in the boxes to eat peanuts as expect an orchestra-chair patron to whistle on his fingers. Mrs. Perkins. I should die of mortification if you ever should do such a vulgar thing, Thaddeus. Perkins. Then you needn't be afraid, my dear. I'm too fond of you to sacrifice you to my love for whistling. (The front-door bell rings.) Ah, there is the carriage at last. I'll go and get my coat. [Mrs. Perkins rises, and is about to don her wrap as Mr. Perkins goes towards the door. Enter Mr. and Mrs. Bradley. Perkins staggers backward in surprise. Mrs. Perkins lets her wrap fall to the floor, an expression of dismay on her face. Mrs. Perkins (aside). Dear me! I'd forgotten all about it. _This_ is the night the club is to meet here! Bradley. Ah, Perkins, how d' y' do? Glad to see me? Gad! you don't look it. Perkins. Glad is a word which scarcely expresses my feelings, Bradley. I--I'm simply de-lighted. (Aside to Mrs. Perkins, who has been greeting Mrs. Bradley.) Here's a kettle of fish. We must get rid of them, or we'll miss The Lyons Mail. Mrs. Bradley. You two are always so formal. The idea of your putting on your dress suit, Thaddeus! It'll be ruined before we are half through this evening. Bradley. Certainly, Perkins. Why, man, when you've been moving furniture and taking up carpets and ripping out fireplaces for an hour or two that coat of yours will be a rag--a veritable rag that the ragman himself would be dubious about buying. Perkins (aside). Are these folk crazy? Or am I? (Aloud.) Pulling up fireplaces? Moving out furniture? Am I to be dispossessed? Mrs. Bradley. Not by your landlord, but _you_ know what amateur dramatics are. Bradley. I doubt it. He wouldn't have let us have 'em here if he had known. Perkins. Amateur--amateur dramatics? Mrs. Perkins. Certainly, Thaddeus. You know we offered our parlor for the performance. The audience are to sit out in the hall. Perkins. Oh--ah! Why, of course! Certainly! It had slipped my mind; and--ah--what else? Bradley. Why, we're here to-night to arrange the scene. Don't tell us you didn't know it. Bob Yardsley's coming, and Barlow. Yardsley's a great man for amateur dramatics; he bosses things so pleasantly that you don't know you're being ordered about like a slave. I believe he could persuade a man to hammer nails into his piano-case if he wanted it done, he's so insinuatingly lovely about it all. Perkins (absently). I'll get a hammer. [Exit. Mrs. Perkins (aside). I must explain to Thaddeus. He'll never forgive me. (Aloud.) Thaddeus is so forgetful that I don't believe he can find that hammer, so if you'll excuse me I'll go help him. [Exit. Bradley. Wonder what's up? They don't quarrel, do they? Mrs. Bradley. I don't believe any one could quarrel with Bessie Perkins--not even a man. Bradley. Well, they're queer. Acted as if they weren't glad to see us. Mrs. Bradley. Oh, that's all your imagination. (Looks about the room.) That table will have to be taken out, and all these chairs and cabinets; and the rug will never do. Bradley. Why not? I think the rug will look first-rate. Mrs. Bradley. A rug like that in a conservatory? [A ring at the front-door bell is heard. Bradley. Ah! maybe that's Yardsley. I hope so. If Perkins and his wife are out of sorts we want to hurry up and get through. Mrs. Bradley. Oh, we'll be through by twelve o'clock. Enter Yardsley and Barlow. Yardsley. Ah! here we are at last. The wreckers have arrove. Where's Perkins? Barlow. Taken to the woods, I fancy. I say, Bob, don't you think before we begin we'd better give Perkins ether? He'll suffer dreadful agony. Enter Mrs. Perkins, wiping her eyes. Mrs. Perkins. How do you do, Mr. Barlow? and you, Mr. Yardsley? So glad to see you. Thaddeus will be down in a minute. He--ah--he forgot about the--the meeting here to-night, and he--he put on his dress-coat. Yardsley. Bad thing to lift a piano in. Better be without any coat. But I say we begin--eh? If you don't mind, Mrs. Perkins. We've got a great deal to do, and unfortunately hours are limited in length as well as in number. Ah! that fireplace must be covered up. Wouldn't do to have a fireplace in a conservatory. Wilt all the flowers in ten minutes. Mrs. Perkins (meekly). You needn't have the fire lit, need you? Barlow. No--but--a fireplace without fire in it seems sort of--of bald, don't you think? Yardsley. Bald? Splendid word applied to a fireplace. So few fireplaces have hair. Mrs. Bradley. Oh, it could be covered up without any trouble, Bessie. Can't we have those dining-room portieres to hang in front of it? Yardsley. Just the thing. Dining-room portieres always look well, whether they're in a conservatory or a street scene. (Enter Perkins.) Hello, Thaddeus! How d' y'? Got your overalls on? Perkins (trying to appear serene). Yes. I'm ready for anything. Anything I can do? Bradley. Yes--look pleasant. You look as if you were going to have your picture taken, or a tooth pulled. Haven't you a smile you don't need that you can give us? This isn't a funeral. Perkins (assuming a grin). How'll that do? Barlow. First-rate. We'll have to make you act next. That's the most villanous grin I ever saw. Yardsley. I'll write a tragedy to go with it. But I say, Thad, we want those dining-room portieres of yours. Get 'em down for us, will you? Perkins. Dining-room portieres! What for? Mrs. Perkins. They all think the fireplace would better be hid, Thaddeus, dear. It wouldn't look well in a conservatory. Perkins. I suppose not. And the dining-room portieres are wanted to cover up the fireplace? Yardsley. Precisely. You have a managerial brain, Thaddeus. _You_ can see at once what a dining-room portiere is good for. If ever I am cast away on a desert island, with nothing but a dining-room portiere for solace, I hope you'll be along to take charge of it. In your hands its possibilities are absolutely unlimited. Get them for us, old man; and while you are about it, bring a stepladder. (Exit Perkins, dejectedly.) Now, Barlow, you and Bradley help me with this piano. Pianos may do well enough in gardens or pirates' caves, but for conservatories they're not worth a rap. Mrs. Bradley. Wait a moment. We must take the bric-a-brac from the top of it before you touch it. If there are two incompatible things in this world, they are men and bric-a-brac. Mrs. Perkins. You are _so_ thoughtful, though I am sure that Mr. Yardsley would not break anything willingly. Barlow. Nothing but the ten commandments. Yardsley. They aren't bric-a-brac; and I thank you, Mrs. Perkins, for your expression of confidence. I wouldn't intentionally go into the house of another man and toss his Sevres up in the air, or throw his Royal Worcester down-stairs, except under very great provocation. (Mrs. Perkins and Mrs. Bradley have by this time removed the bric-a- brac from the piano--an upright.) Now, boys, are you ready? Bradley. Where is it to be moved to? Yardsley. Where would you prefer to have it, Mrs. Perkins? Mrs. Perkins. Oh, I have no preference in the matter. Put it where you please. Yardsley. Suppose you carry it up into the attic, Barlow. Barlow. Certainly. I'll be glad to if you'll carry the soft pedal. I'm always afraid when I'm carrying pianos up-stairs of breaking the soft pedal or dropping a few octaves. Yardsley. I guess we'd better put it over in this corner, where the audience won't see it. If you are so careless that you can't move a piano without losing its tone, we'd better not have it moved too far. Now, then. [Barlow, Yardsley, and Bradley endeavor to push the piano over the floor, but it doesn't move. Enter Perkins with two portieres wrapped about him, and hugging a small stepladder in his arms. Bradley. Hurry up, Perkins. Don't shirk so. Can't you see that we're trying to get this piano across the floor? Where are you at? Perkins (meekly). I'm trying to make myself at home. Do you expect me to hang on to these things and move pianos at the same time? Barlow. Let him alone, Bradley. He's doing the best he knows. I always say give a man credit for doing what he can, whether he is intelligent or not. Of course we don't expect you to hang on to the portieres and the stepladder while you are pushing the piano, Thad. That's too much to expect of any man of your size; some men might do it, but not all. Drop the portieres. Perkins. Where'll I put 'em? Yardsley. Put them on the stepladder. Perkins (impatiently). And where shall I put the stepladder--on the piano? Mrs. Perkins (coming to the rescue). I'll take care of these things, Thaddeus, dear. Bradley. That's right; put everything off on your wife. What shirks some men are! Yardsley. Now, then, Perkins, lend us your shoulder, and--one, two, three--push! Ah! She starts; she moves; she seems to feel the thrill of life along her keel. We must have gained an inch. Once more, now. My, but this is a heavy piano! Bradley. Must be full of Wagnerian music. Why don't you get a piano of lighter quality, Perkins? This isn't any kind of an instrument for amateur stage-hands to manage. Perkins. I'll know better next time. But is it where you want it now? Yardsley. Not a bit of it. We need one more push. Get her rolling, and keep her rolling until she stands over there in that corner; and be careful to stop her in time, I should hate to push a piano through one of my host's parlor walls just for the want of a little care. (They push until the piano stands against the wall on the other side of the room, keyboard in.) There! That's first-rate. You can put a camp-chair on top of it for the prompter to sit on; there's nothing like having the prompter up high, because amateur actors when they forget their lines, always look up in the air. Perkins, go sit out in the hall and imagine yourself an enthusiastic audience--will you?-- and tell us if you can see the piano. If you can see it, we'll have to put it somewhere else. Perkins. Do you mean it? Mrs. Bradley. Of course he doesn't, Mr. Perkins. It's impossible to see it from the hall. Now, I think the rug ought to come up. Mrs. Perkins. Dear me! what for? Yardsley. Oh, it wouldn't do at all to have that rug in the conservatory, Mrs. Perkins. Besides, I should be afraid it would be spoiled. Perkins. Spoiled? What would spoil it? Are you going to wear spiked shoes? Barlow. Spiked shoes? Thaddeus, really you ought to have your mind examined. This scene is supposed to be just off the ballroom, and it is here that Gwendoline comes during the lanciers and encounters Hartley, the villain. Do you suppose that even a villain in an amateur show would go to a ball with spiked shoes on? Perkins (wearily). But I still fail to see what is to spoil the rug. Does the villain set fire to the conservatory in this play, or does he assassinate the virtuous hero here and spill his gore on the floor? Bradley. What a blood-and-thunder idea of the drama you have! Of course he doesn't. There isn't a death in the whole play, and it's two hours long. One or two people in the audience may die while the play is going on, but people who haven't strong constitutions shouldn't attend amateur shows. Mrs. Perkins. That's true, I fancy. Mrs. Bradley. Very. It would be very rude for one of your invited guests to cast a gloom over your evening by dying. Yardsley. It is seldom done among people who know what is what. But to explain the point you want explained, Thaddeus: the rug might be spoiled by a leak in the fountain. Mrs. Perkins. The fountain? Perkins. You don't mean to say you're going to have a fountain playing here? Bradley. Certainly. A conservatory without a fountain would be like "Hamlet" with Yorick's skull left out. There's to be a fountain playing here, and a band playing in the next room--all in a green light, too. It'll be highly effective. Perkins. But how--how are you going to make the fountain go? Is it to spurt real water? Yardsley. Of course. Did you ever see a fountain spurt sawdust or lemonade? It's not a soda-water fountain either, but a straight temperance affair, such as you'll find in the homes of all truly good people. Now don't get excited and raise obstacles. The thing is simple enough if you know how to do it. Got one of those English bath-tubs in the house? Perkins. No. But, of course, if you want a bath-tub, I'll have a regular porcelain one with running water, hot and cold, put in--two of 'em, if you wish. Anything to oblige. Yardsley. No; stationary bath-tubs are useful, but not exactly adapted to a conservatory. Barlow. I brought my tub with me. I knew Perkins hadn't one, and so I thought I'd better come provided. It's out in the hall. I'll get it. [Exit. Mrs. Bradley (to Mrs. Perkins). He's just splendid! never forgets anything. Mrs. Perkins. I should say not. But, Mr. Yardsley, a bath-tub, even an English one, will not look very well, will it? Yardsley. Oh, very. You see, we'll put it in the centre of the room. Just move that table out into the hall, Thaddeus. (Enter Barlow with tub.) Ah! now I'll show you. (Perkins removes table.) You see, we put the tub here in the middle of the floor, then we surround it with potted plants. That conceals the tub, and there's your fountain. Perkins. But the water--how do you get that? Bradley. We buy it in bottles, of course, and hire a boy to come in and pour it out every two minutes. How dull you are, Perkins! I'm surprised at you. Perkins. I'm not over-bright, I must confess, when it comes to building fountains in parlors, with no basis but an English bath-tub to work on. Yardsley. Did you ever hear of such a thing as a length of hose with a nozzle on one end and a Croton-water pipe at the other, Thaddeus Perkins? Mrs. Perkins. But where is the Croton-water pipe? Mrs. Bradley. In the butler's pantry. The hose can be carried through the dining-room, across the hall into this room, and it will be dreadfully effective; and so safe, too, in case the curtain catches fire. Mrs. Perkins. Oh, Emma! You don't think-- Perkins. Cheerful prospect. But I say, Yardsley, you have arranged for the water supply; how about its exit? How does the water get out of the tub? Yardsley. It doesn't, unless you want to bore a hole in the floor, and let it flow into the billiard-room below. We've just got to hustle that scene along, so that the climax will be reached before the tub overflows. Barlow. Perhaps we'd better test the thing now. Maybe my tub isn't large enough for the scene. It would be awkward if the heroine had to seize a dipper and bail the fountain out right in the middle of an impassioned rebuke to Hartley. Perkins. All right--go ahead. Test it. Test anything. I'll supply the Croton pipes. Yardsley. None of you fellows happen to have a length of hose with you, do you? Bradley. I left mine in my other clothes. Mrs. Bradley. That's just like you men. You grow flippant over very serious matters. For my part, if I am to play Gwendoline, I shall not bail out the fountain even to save poor dear Bessie's floor. Yardsley. Oh, it'll be all right. Only, if you see the fountain getting too full, speak faster. Barlow. We might announce a race between the heroine and the fountain. It would add to the interest of the play. This is an athletic age. Perkins. I suppose it wouldn't do to turn the water off in case of danger. Barlow. It could be done, but it wouldn't look well. The audience might think the fountain had had an attack of stage fright. Where is the entrance from the ballroom to be? Yardsley. It ought to be where the fireplace is. That's one reason why I think the portieres will look well there. Mrs. Perkins. But I don't see how that can be. Nobody could come in there. There wouldn't be room behind for any one to stand, would there? Bradley. I don't know. That fireplace is large, and only two people have to come in that way. The rising curtain discloses Gwendoline just having come in. If Hartley, the villain, and Jack Pendleton, the manly young navy officer, who represents virtue, and dashes in at the right moment to save Gwendoline, could sit close and stand the discomfort of it, they might squeeze in there and await their cues. Mrs. Perkins. Sit in the fireplace? Yardsley. Yes. Why not? Perkins. Don't you interfere, Bess, Yardsley is managing this show, and if he wants to keep the soubrette waiting on the mantel-piece it's his lookout, and not ours. Yardsley. By-the-way, Thaddeus, Wilkins has backed out, and you are to play the villain. Perkins. I? Never! Barlow. Oh, but you must. All you have to do is frown and rant and look real bad. Perkins. But I can't act. Bradley. That doesn't make any difference. We don't want a villain that the audience will fall in love with. That would be immoral. The more you make them despise you, the better. Perkins. Well--I positively decline to sit in the fireplace. I tell you that right now. Mrs. Bradley. Don't waste time talking about petty details. Let the entrance be there. We can hang the curtain on a frame two feet out from the wall, so that there will be plenty of room behind for Hartley and Pendleton to stand. The frame can be fastened to the wood-work of the mantel-piece. It may take a screw or two to hold it, but they'll be high up, so nobody will notice the holes in the wood after it comes down. The point that bothers me is this wall- paper. People don't put wall-papers on their conservatories. Perkins (sarcastically). I'll have the room repapered in sheet- glass. Or we might borrow a few hot-bed covers and hang them from the picture moulding, so that the place would look like a real greenhouse. Yardsley. Napoleonic idea. Barlow, jot down among the properties ten hot-bed covers, twenty picture-hooks, and a coil of wire. You're developing, Perkins. Mrs. Perkins (ruefully, aside). I wish Thaddeus's jokes weren't always taken seriously. The idea of my drawing-room walls being hung with hot-bed covers! Why, it's awful. Yardsley. Well, now that that's settled, we'll have to dispose of the pictures. Thaddeus, I wish you'd take down the pictures on the east wall, so that we can put our mind's eye on just how we shall treat the background. The mere hanging of hot-bed covers there will not do. The audience could see directly through the glass, and the wall-paper would still destroy the illusion. Perkins. Anything. Perhaps if you got a jack-plane and planed the walls off it would suffice. Bradley. Don't be sarcastic, my boy. Remember we didn't let you into this. You volunteered. Perkins. I know it, Bradley. The house is yours. Barlow. I said you had paresis when you made the offer, Perkins. If you want to go to law about it, I think you could get an injunction against us--or, rather, Mrs. Perkins could--on the ground that you were non compos at the time. Mrs. Perkins. Why, we're most happy to have you, I'm sure. Perkins. So 'm I. (Aside.) Heaven forgive me that! Yardsley. By-the-way, Thad, there's one thing I meant to have spoken about as soon as I got here. Er--is this _your_ house, or do you rent it? Perkins. I rent it. What has that to do with it? Bradley. A great deal. You don't think we'd treat _your_ house as we would a common landlord's, do you? You wouldn't yourself. Yardsley. That's the point. If you own the house we want to be careful and consider your feelings. If you _don't_, we don't care what happens. Perkins. I don't own the house. (Aside.) And under the circumstances I'm rather glad I don't. Yardsley. Well, I'm glad you don't. My weak point is my conscience, and when it comes to destroying a friend's property, I don't exactly like to do it. But if this house belongs to a sordid person, who built it just to put money in his own pocket, I don't care. Barlow, you can nail those portieres up. It won't be necessary to build a frame for them. Bradley, carry the chairs and cabinets out. [Bradley, assisted by Perkins, removes the remaining furniture, placing the bric-a-brac on the floor. Barlow. All right. Where's that stepladder? Thaddeus, got any nails? Mrs. Perkins. I--I think we'd rather have a frame, Mr. Yardsley. _We_ can have one made, can't we, Thaddeus? Perkins. Certainly. We can have anything made. (Aside.) I suppose I'd build a theatre for 'em if they asked me to, I'm such a confounded-- Yardsley. Oh no. Of course, if you'd prefer it, we'll send a frame. I don't think nails would look well in this ceiling, after all. Temporarily, though, Barlow, you might hang those portieres from the picture-moulding. Barlow. There isn't any. Yardsley. Well, then, we'll have to imagine how it will look. Mrs. Bradley. All the bric-a-brac will have to be taken from the room. Yardsley. True. Perkins, you know the house better than we do. Suppose you take the bric-a-brac out and put it where it will be safe. Perkins. Certainly. [Begins to remove bric-a-brac. Yardsley. Now let's count up. Here's the fountain. Barlow. Yes; only we haven't the hose. Bradley. Well, make a note of it. Mrs. Perkins. Emma, can't we help Thaddeus? Mrs. Bradley. Of course. I'll carry out the fender, and you take the andirons. [They do so. Yardsley. The entrance will be here, and here will be the curtain. How about footlights? Bradley. This bracket will do for a connection. Any plumber can take this bracket off and fasten a rubber pipe to it. Yardsley. First-rate. Barlow, make a note of one plumber, one length of rubber pipe, and foot-lights. Bradley. And don't forget to have potted plants and palms, and so forth, galore. Barlow. No. I'll make a note of that. Will this sofa do for a conservatory? Yardsley. Jove! Glad you mentioned that. Won't do at all. Thaddeus! (No answer.) I hope we haven't driven him to drink. Bradley. So do I. I'd rather he'd lead us to it. Yardsley. Thaddeus! Perkins (from without). Well? Yardsley. Do you happen to have any conservatory benches in the house? Mrs. Perkins (appearing in doorway). We have a patent laundry table. Barlow. Just the thing. Yardsley (calling). Bring up the patent laundry table, Thaddeus. (To Bradley.) What is a patent laundry table? Bradley. It's what my wife calls the cook's delight. It's an ironing-board on wash-days, a supper table at supper-time, and on the cook's reception days it can be turned into a settee. Yardsley. It describes well. Perkins (from a distance). Hi! come down and help me with this thing. I can't carry it up alone. Yardsley. All right, Perk. Bradley, you and Barlow help Thaddeus. I'll move these other chairs and tables out. It's getting late, and we'll have to hustle. [Exit Barlow. Bradley meanwhile has been removing pictures from the walls, and, as Yardsley speaks, is standing on the stepladder reaching up for a painting. Bradley. What do you take me for--twins? Yardsley. Don't get mad, now, Bradley. If there's anything that can add to the terror of amateur theatricals it's temper. Mrs. Bradley (from without). Edward, come here right away. I want you to move the hat-stand, and see how many people can be seated in this hall. Bradley. Oh yes, certainly, my dear--of course. Right away. My name is Legion--or Dennis. Yardsley. That's the spirit. (A crash is heard without.) Great Scott! What's that? Mrs. Perkins (without). Oh, Thaddeus! Bradley. They've dropped the cook's delight. [He comes down from the stepladder. He and Yardsley go out. The pictures are piled up on the floor, the furniture is topsy-turvy, and the portieres lie in a heap on the hearth. Enter Mrs. Perkins. Mrs. Perkins. Dear, dear, dear! What a mess! And poor Thaddeus! I'm glad he wasn't hurt; but I--I'm afraid I heard him say words I never heard him say before when Mr. Barlow let the table slip. Wish I hadn't said anything about the table. Enter Mrs. Bradley. Mrs. Bradley. These men will drive me crazy. They are making more fuss carrying that laundry table up-stairs than if it were a house; and the worst of it is our husbands are losing their tempers. Mrs. Perkins. Well, I don't wonder. It must be awfully trying to have a laundry table fall on you. Mrs. Bradley. Oh, Thaddeus is angelic, but Edward is absolutely inexcusable. He swore a minute ago, and it sounded particularly profane because he had a screw and a picture-hook in his mouth. Yardsley (outside). It's almost as heavy as the piano. I don't see why, either. [The four men appear at the door, staggering under the weight of the laundry table. Perkins (as they set it down). Whew! That's what I call work. What makes this thing so heavy? Mrs. Bradley (as she opens a drawer and takes out a half-dozen patent flat-irons and a handle). This has something to do with it. Why didn't you take out the drawer first? Yardsley. It wasn't my fault. They'd started with it before I took hold. I didn't know it had a drawer, though I did wonder what it was that rattled around inside of it. Bradley. It wasn't for me to suggest taking the drawer out. Thaddeus ought to have thought of that. Perkins (angrily). Well, of all-- Mrs. Perkins. Never mind. It's here, and it's all right. Yardsley. That's so. We musn't quarrel. If we get started, we'll never stop. Now, Perkins, roll up that rug, and we'll get things placed, and then we'll be through. Barlow. Come on; I'll help. Bradley, get those pictures off the rug. Don't be so careless of Mrs. Perkins's property. Bradley. Careless? See here now, Barlow-- Mrs. Bradley. Now, Edward--no temper. Take the pictures out. Bradley. And where shall I take the pictures out to? Yardsley. Put 'em on the dining-room table. Perkins (aside). Throw 'em out the window, for all I care. Bradley. Eh? Perkins. Nothing. I--er--I only said to put 'em--er--to put 'em wherever you pleased. Bradley. But _I_ can't say where they're to go, Thaddeus. This isn't my house. Perkins (aside). No--worse luck--it's mine. Mrs. Perkins. Oh--put them in the dining-room; they'll be safe there. Bradley. I will. [He begins carrying the pictures out. Perkins, Barlow, and Yardsley roll up the rug. Yardsley. There! You fellows might as well carry that out too; and then we'll be ready for the scene. Barlow. Come along, Thaddeus. You're earning your pay to-night. Perkins (desperately). May I take my coat off? I'm boiling. Mrs. Bradley. Certainly. I wonder you didn't think of it before. Perkins. Think? I never think. Yardsley. Well, go ahead in your thoughtless way and get the rug out. You are delaying us. Perkins. All right. Come on. Barlow, are you ready? Barlow. I am. [They drag the rug out. Yardsley. At last. (Replaces the tub.) There's the fountain. Now where shall we put the cook's delight? Mrs. Perkins. Over here, I should say. Mrs. Bradley. I think it would be better here. Bradley (who has returned). Put it half-way between 'em, Yardsley. I say give in always to the ladies; and when they don't agree, compromise. It's a mighty poor woman that isn't half right occasionally. Mrs. Bradley. Edward! Yardsley (adopting the suggestion). There! How's that? Perkins (returning). Perfect. I never saw such an original conservatory in my life. Mrs. Perkins. I suppose it's all right. What do you think, Emma? Mrs. Bradley. Why, it's simply fine. Of course it requires a little imagination to see it as it will be on the night of the performance; but in general I don't see how it could be better. Barlow. No--nor I. It's great as it is, but when we get the hot-bed covers hung, and the fountain playing, and plants arranged gracefully all around, it will be ideal. I say we ought to give Yardsley a vote of thanks. Perkins. That's so. We're very much indebted to Yardsley. Yardsley. Never mind that. I enjoy the work very much. Perkins. So glad. (Aside.) I wonder when _we_ get a vote of thanks? Bradley (looking at his watch). By Jove, Emma, it's after eleven! Mrs. Bradley. After eleven? Dear me! I had no idea it was as late as that. How time flies when you are enjoying yourself! Really, Edward, you ought not to have overlooked the time. You know-- Bradley. I supposed you knew we couldn't pull a house down in five minutes. Perkins. What's become of the clock? Mrs. Perkins. I don't know. Who took the clock out? Barlow. I did. It's under the dining-room table. Mrs. Bradley. Well, we mustn't keep Bessie up another moment. Good- night, my dear. We have had a delightful time. Mrs. Perkins. Good-night. I am sure we have enjoyed it. Perkins (aside). Oh yes, indeed; _we_ haven't had so much fun since the children had the mumps. Yardsley. Well, so-long, Perkins. Thanks for your help. Perkins. By-by. Barlow. Good-night. Yardsley. Don't bother about fixing up to-night, Perkins. I'll be around to-morrow evening and help put things in order again. [They all go out. The good-nights are repeated, and finally the front door is closed. Re-enter Perkins, who falls dejectedly on the settee, followed by Mrs. Perkins, who gives a rueful glance at the room. Perkins. I'm glad Yardsley's coming to fix us up again. I _never_ could do it. Mrs. Perkins. Then I must. I can't ask Jennie to do it, she'd discharge us at once, and I can't have my drawing-room left this way over Sunday. Perkins (wearily). Oh, well, shall we do it now? Mrs. Perkins. No, you poor dear man; we'll stay home from church to- morrow morning and do it. It won't be any harder work than reading the Sunday newspapers. What have you there? Perkins (looking at two tickets he has abstracted from his vest- pocket). Tickets for Irving--this evening--Lyons Mail--third row from the stage. I was just thinking-- Mrs. Perkins. Don't tell me what you were thinking, my dear. It can't be expressible in polite language. Perkins. You are wrong there, my dear. I wasn't thinking cuss-words at all. I was only reflecting that we didn't miss much anyhow, under the circumstances. Mrs. Perkins. Miss much? Why, Thaddeus, what _do_ you mean? Perkins. Nothing--only that for action continuous and situations overpowering The Lyons Mail isn't a marker to an evening of preparation for Amateur Dramatics. Enter Jennie. Jennie. Excuse me, mim, but the coachman says shall he wait any longer? He's been there three hours now. [CURTAIN] THE FATAL MESSAGE CHARACTERS: MR. THADDEUS PERKINS, in charge of the curtain. MRS. THADDEUS PERKINS, cast for Lady Ellen. MISS ANDREWS, cast for the maid. MR. EDWARD BRADLEY, an under-study. MRS. EDWARD BRADLEY, cast for Lady Amaranth. MR. ROBERT YARDSLEY, stage-manager. MR. JACK BARLOW, cast for Fenderson Featherhead. MR. CHESTER HENDERSON, an absentee. JENNIE, a professional waitress. The scene is laid in the library of the Perkins mansion, on the afternoon of the day upon which an amateur dramatic performance is to be held therein. The Perkins house has been given over to the dramatic association having the matter in charge. At right of library a scenic doorway is hung. At left a drop-curtain is arranged, behind which is the middle hall of the Perkins dwelling, where the expected audience are to sit. The unoccupied wall spaces are hung with paper-muslin. The apartment is fitted up generally to resemble an English drawing-room; table and chair at centre. At rear stands a painted-canvas conservatory entrance, on left of which is a long oaken chest. The curtain rising discovers Mrs. Perkins giving a few finishing touches to the scene, with Mr. Perkins gazing curiously about the room. Perkins. Well, they've transformed this library into a scene of bewitching beauty--haven't they? These paper-muslin walls are a dream of loveliness. I suppose, as the possessor of all this, I ought to be supremely happy--only I wish that canvas conservatory door hadn't been tacked over my reference-books. I want to look up some points about-- Mrs. Perkins. Oh, never mind your books, Thaddeus; it's only for one night. Can't you take a minute's rest? Perkins. One night? I like that. It's been there two already, and it's in for to-night, and all day to-morrow, I suppose. It'll take all day to-morrow to clean up, I'll wager a hat. I'm beginning to rue the hour I ever allowed the house of Perkins to be lured into the drama. Mrs. Perkins. You're better off than I am. I've got to take part, and I don't half know my lines. Perkins. I? I better off? I'd like to know if I haven't got to sit out in front and watch you people fulfil your diabolical mission in your doubly diabolical way, and grin at the fearful jokes in the dialogue I've been listening to for weeks, and make the audience feel that they are welcome when they're not. What's been done with my desk? Mrs. Perkins. It's down in the laundry. You're about as-- Perkins. Oh, is it? Laundry is a nice place for a desk. Plenty of starch handy to stiffen up a writer's nerve, and scrubbing-boards galore to polish up his wits. And I suppose my papers are up in the attic? Mrs. Perkins. No; they're stowed away safely in the nursery. Now please don't complain! Perkins. Me? Complain? I never complain. I didn't say a word when Yardsley had my Cruikshanks torn from their shelves and chucked into a clothes-basket and carried into the butler's pantry, did I? Did I say as much as one little word? I wanted to say one little word, I admit, but I didn't. Did I? If I did, I withdraw it. I'm fond of this sort of thing. The greatest joy in life is to be found in arranging and rearranging a library, and I seem to be in for joy enough to kill. What time are the--these amateur Thespians coming? Mrs. Perkins (looking at her watch). They're due now; it's half-past four. (Sits down and opens play-book. Rehearses.) No, not for all the world would I do this thing, Lord Muddleton. There is no need to ask it of me. I am firm. I shall-- Perkins, Oh, let up, my dear! I've been getting that for breakfast, dinner, and tea for two weeks now, and I'm awfully tired of it. When I asked for a second cup of coffee at breakfast Sunday, you retorted, "No, not for all the world would I do this thing, Lord Muddleton!" When I asked you where my dress ties were, you informed me that it was "what baseness," or words to that effect; and so on, until I hardly know where I am at. (Catches sight of the chest.) Hello! How did that happen to escape the general devastation? What are you going to do with that oak chest? Mrs. Perkins. It is for the real earl to hide in just before he confronts Muddleton with the evidence of his crime. Perkins. But--that holds all my loose prints, Bess. By Jove! I can't have that, you know. You amateur counterfeiters have got to understand just one thing. I'll submit to the laundering of my manuscripts, the butler's-pantrying of my Cruikshanks, but I'll be hanged if I'll allow even a real earl, much less a base imitation of one, to wallow in my engravings. Mrs. Perkins. You needn't worry about your old engravings. They're perfectly safe, I've put them in the Saratoga trunk in the attic. (Rehearsing.) And if you ask it of me once again, I shall have to summon my servants to have you shown the door. Henry Cobb is the friend of my girlhood, and-- Perkins. Henry Cobb be-- Mrs. Perkins. Thaddeus! Perkins. I don't care, Bess, if Henry Cobb was the only friend you ever had. I object to having my prints dumped into a Saratoga trunk in order that he may confront Muddleton and regain the lost estates of Puddingford by hiding in my chest. A gay earl Yardsley makes, anyhow; and as for Barlow, he looks like an ass in that yellow- chrysanthemum wig. No man with yellow hair like that could track such a villain as Henderson makes Muddleton out to be. Fact is, Henderson is the only decent part of the show. Mrs. Perkins (rehearsing). What if he is weak? Then shall I still more strongly show myself his friend. Poor? Does not-- Perkins. Oh, I suppose it does--(Bell rings.) There comes this apology for a real earl, I fancy. I'll let him in myself. I suppose Jennie has got as much as she can do sweeping my manuscripts out of the laundry, and keeping my verses from scorching the wash. [Exit. Mrs. Perkins. It's too bad of Thaddeus to go on like this. As if I hadn't enough to worry me without a cross husband to manage. Heigho! Enter Perkins with Yardsley. Yardsley holds bicycle cap in hand. Yardsley. By Jove! I'm tired. Everything's been going wrong to- day. Overslept myself, to begin with, and somebody stole my hat at the club, and left me this bicycle cap in its place. How are you getting along, Mrs. Perkins? You weren't letter perfect yesterday, you know. Mrs. Perkins. I'm getting it all right, I think. I've been rehearsing all day. Perkins. You bet your life on that, Henry Cobb, real Earl of Puddingford. If you aren't restored to your estates and title this night, it won't be for any lack of suffering on my part. Give me your biking cap, unless you want to use it in the play. I'll hang it up. [Exit. Yardsley. Thanks. (Looks about the room.) Everything here seems to be right. Perkins returns. Mrs. Perkins (rehearsing). And henceforth, my lord, let us understand one another. Perkins. Certainly, my dear. I'll go and have myself translated. Would you prefer me in French, German, or English? Yardsley. I hope it goes all right to-night. But, I must say, I don't like the prospect. This beastly behavior of Henderson's has knocked me out. Perkins. What's the matter with Henderson? Mrs. Perkins. He hasn't withdrawn, has he? Yardsley. That's just what he has done. He sent me word this morning. Mrs. Perkins. But what excuse does he offer? At the last moment, too! Yardsley. None at all--absolutely. There was some airy persiflage in his note about having to go to Boston at six o'clock. Grandmother's sick or something. He writes so badly I couldn't make out whether she was rich or sick. I fancy it's a little of both. Possibly if she wasn't rich he wouldn't care so much when she fell ill. That's the trouble with these New-Englanders, anyhow--they've always got grandmothers to fall down at crucial moments. Next time I go into this sort of thing it'll be with a crowd without known ancestors. Perkins. 'Tisn't Chet's fault, though. You don't suspect him of having poisoned his grandmother just to get out of playing, do you? Mrs. Perkins. Oh, Thaddeus, do be serious! Perkins. I was never more so, my dear. Poisoning one's grandmother is no light crime. Yardsley. Well, I've a notion that the whole thing is faked up. Henderson has an idea that he's a little tin Booth, and just because I called him down the other night at our first rehearsal he's mad. That's the milk in the cocoanut, I think. He's one of those fellows you can't tell anything to, and when I kicked because he wore a white tie with a dinner coat, he got mad and said he was going to dress the part his own way or not at all. Perkins. I think he was right. Yardsley. Oh yes, of course I'm never right. What am I stage- manager for? Perkins. Oh, as for that, of course, you are the one in authority, but you were wrong about the white tie and the dinner coat. He was a bogus earl, an adventurer, wasn't he? Yardsley. Yes, he was, but-- Perkins. Well, no real earl would wear a white tie with a dinner coat unless he were visiting in America. I grant you that if he were going to a reception in New York he might wear a pair of golf trousers with a dinner coat, but in this instance his dress simply showed his bogusity, as it were. He merely dressed the part. Yardsley. He doesn't want to make it too plain, however, so I was right after all. His villany is to come as a painful surprise. Mrs. Perkins. But what are we to do? Have you got anybody else to take his part? Yardsley. Yes. I telegraphed right off to Bradley, explained as far as I could in a telegram without using all the balance in the treasury, and he answered all right. Said he'd bone at the part all day, and would be here at five letter perfect. Mrs. Perkins (with a sigh of relief). Good. He's very quick at learning a thing. I imagine it will be all right. I've known him to learn a harder part than that in five hours. It'll be pleasanter for Emma, too. She didn't like those scenes she had as Lady Amaranth the adventuress with Henderson. He kept her off the middle of the stage all the time; but with her husband it will be different. Perkins. I'll bet on that! No good-natured husband of a new women ever gets within a mile of the centre of the stage while she's on it. She'll have stage room to burn in her scenes with Brad. Mrs. Perkins. I think it was awfully mean of Mr. Henderson, though. Yardsley. Disgusting. Perkins. It was inconsiderate. So hard on his grandmother, too, to be compelled to knock under just to get him out of a disagreeble situation. She ought to disinherit him. Yardsley. Oh, it's easy enough to be sarcastic. Perkins. That's so, Bob; that's why I never am. It's commonplace. (Bell rings.) Ah, there's the rest of the troupe, I guess. [Exit. Yardsley (looking at his watch). It's about time. They're twenty minutes late. Mrs. Perkins (rehearsing). So once for all, Lord Muddleton-- (derisively)--ha, ha! Lord Muddleton! that _is_ amusing. You--Lord Muddleton! Ha, ha! Once for all, Lord Muddleton. I acquaint you with my determination. I shall not tell Henry Cobb what I have discovered, since I have promised, but none the less he shall know. Walls have ears--even that oaken chest by yinder wonder-- Yardsley (irritated). Excuse me, Mrs. Perkins; but really you must get that phrase right. You've called it yinder wonder at every rehearsal we've had so far. I know it's difficult to get right. Yonder window is one of those beastly combinations that playwrights employ to make the Thespian's pathway to fame a rocky one; but you must get over it, and say it right. Practise it for an hour, if need be--yonder window, yonder winder--I mean, yonder window--until it comes easy. Mrs. Perkins (meekly). I have, and it doesn't seem to do any good. I've tried and tried to get it right, but yonder window is all I can say. Yardsley. But yinder window is--I should say, yonder window is correct. Mrs. Perkins. Well, I'm just going to change it, that's all. It shall be yonder casement. Yardsley. Good idea. Only don't say yonder basement by mistake. Enter Perkins, followed by Barlow. Perkins. Here's Mr. Featherhead. He's rehearsing too. As I opened the door he said, "Give me good-morrow." Barlow (smiling). Yes; and Thaddeus replied, "Good-yesterday, me friend," in tones which reminded me of Irving with bronchitis. What's this I hear about Henderson's grandmother? Yardsley. Thrown up the part. Barlow. His grandmother? Yardsley. No--idiot--Henderson. He's thrown up his grandmother--oh, hang it!--you know what I mean. Mrs. Perkins. I hope you're not going to net gervous, Mr. Yardsley. If you break down, what on earth will become of the rest of us? Yardsley. I hope not--but I am. I'm as nervous as a cat living its ninth life. Here we are three or four hours before the performance, and no one knows whether we'll be able to go through it or not. My reputation as a manager is at stake. Barlow, how are you getting along on those lines in the revelation scene? Barlow. Had 'em down fine on the cable-car as I came up. Ha-ha! People thought I was crazy, I guess. I was so full of it I kept repeating it softly to myself all the way up; but when we got to that Fourteenth Street curve the car gave a fearful lurch and fairly shook the words "villanous viper" out of me; and as I was standing when we began the turn, and was left confronting a testy old gentleman upon whose feet I had trodden twice, at the finish, I nearly got into trouble. Perkins (wish a laugh). Made a scene, eh? Barlow (joining in the laugh). Who wouldn't? Each time I stepped on his foot he glared--regular Macbeth stare--like this: "Is this a jagger which I see before me?" (Suits action to word.) But I never let on I saw, but continued to rehearse. When the lurch came, however, and I toppled over on top of him, grabbed his shoulders in my hands to keep from sprawling in his lap, and hissed "villanous viper" in his face, he was inclined to resent it forcibly. Yardsley. I don't blame him. Seems to me a man of your intelligence ought to know better than to rehearse on a cable-car, anyhow, to say nothing of stepping on a man's corns. Barlow. Of course I apologized; but he was a persistent old codger, and demanded an explanation of my epithet. Perkins. It's a wonder he didn't have you put off. A man doesn't like to be insulted even if he does ride on the cable. Barlow. Oh, I appeased him. I told him I was rehearsing. That I was an amateur actor. Mrs. Perkins. And of course he was satisfied. Barlow. Yes; at least I judge so. He said that my confession was humiliation enough, without his announcing to the public what he thought I was; and he added, to the man next him, that he thought the public was exposed to enough danger on the cable cars without having lunatics thrust upon them at every turning. Perkins. He must have been a bright old man. Mrs. Perkins. Or a very crabbed old person. Barlow. Oh, well, it was an experience, but it rather upset me, and for the life of me I haven't been able to remember the opening lines of the scene since. Perkins. Well, if the audience drive you off the stage, you can sue the cable company. They ought to be careful how they lurch a man's brains out. Yardsley. That's right--joke ahead. It's fun for you. All you've got to do is to sit out in front and pull the curtain up and down when we ring a bell. You're a great one to talk about brains, you are. It's a wonder to me you don't swoon under your responsibility. Mrs. Perkins (rehearsing). So once for all, as he says, so say I-- Perkins. Ah! Indeed! You take his part, do you? Mrs. Perkins (rehearsing). You must leave this house at once and forever. I once thought I loved you, but now all is changed, and I take this opportunity to thank my deliverer, Fenderson Featherhead-- Perkins. Oh--ah--rehearsing. I see. I thought you'd gone over to the enemy, my dear. Featherhead, step up and accept the lady's thanks. Cobb, join me in the dining room, and we'll drown our differences in tasting the punch, which, between you and me, is likely to be the best part of to-night's function, for I made it myself though, if Tom Harkaway is in the audience, and Bess follows out her plan of having the flowing bowl within reach all the evening, I'm afraid it'll need an under-study along about nine o'clock. He's a dry fellow, that Harkaway. [Exit Perkins, dragging Yardsley by the arm. Barlow (calling after them). Don't you touch it, Bob. It's potent stuff. One glass may postpone the performance. Yardsley (from behind the scenes). Never fear for me, my boy. I've got a head, I have. Barlow. Well, don't get another. (Turning to Mrs. Perkins.) Suppose we rehearse that scene where I acquaint you with Cobb's real position in life? Mrs. Perkins. Very well. I'm ready. I'm to sit here, am I not? [Seats herself by table. Barlow. And I come in here. (Begins.) Ah, Lady Ellen, I am glad to find you alone, for I have that to say-- Mrs. Perkins. Won't you be seated, Mr. Featherhead? It was such a delightful surprise to see you at the Duchess of Barncastle's last evening. I had supposed you still in Ireland. Barlow (aside). Good. She little thinks that I have just returned from Australia, where I have at last discovered the identity of the real Earl of Puddingford, as well as that of this bogus Muddleton, who, by his nefarious crime, has deprived Henry Cobb of his patrimony, of his title, aye, even of his name. She little wots that this--this adventurer who has so strongly interested her by his nepotic-- Mrs. Perkins (interrupting). Hypnotic, Mr. Barlow. Barlow. What did I say? Mrs. Perkins. Nepotic. Barlow. How stupid of me! I'll begin again. Mrs. Perkins (desperately). Oh, pray don't. Go on from where you left off. That's a fearfully long aside, anyhow, and I go nearly crazy every time you say it. I don't know what to do with myself. It's easy enough for Mr. Yardsley to say occupy yourself somehow, but what I want to know is, how? I can't look inquiringly at you all that time, waiting for you to say "Ireland! Oh, yes--yes--just over from Dublin." I can't lean against the mantel-piece and gaze into the fire, because the mantel-piece is only canvas, and would fall down if I did. Barlow. It's a long aside, Mrs. Perkins, but it's awfully important, and I don't see how we can cut it down. It's really the turning- point of the play, in which I reveal the true state of affairs to the audience. Mrs. Perkins (with a sigh). I suppose that's true. I'll have to stand it. But can't I be doing some sewing? Barlow. Certainly not. You are the daughter of a peer. They never sew. You might be playing a piano, but there's hardly room on the stage for that, and, besides, it would interfere with my aside, which needs a hush to be made impressive. Where did I leave off? Mrs. Perkins. Hypnotic power. Barlow. Oh yes. (Resumes rehearsing.) She little wots that this-- this adventurer who has so strangely interested her with his hypnotic power is the man who twenty years ago forged her father's name to the title-deeds of Burnington, drove him to his ruin, and subsequently, through a likeness so like as to bewilder and confuse even a mother's eyes, has forced the rightful Earl of Puddingford out into a cruel world, to live and starve as Henry Cobb. [Bell. Mrs. Perkins. Ah, I fancy the Bradleys are here at last. I do hope Edward knows his part. Enter Yardsley. Yardsley. They've come, and we can begin at last. Enter Perkins, Miss Andrews, and Mr. and Mrs. Bradley. Mrs. Perkins. Take off your things, Emma. Let me take your cloak, Dorothy. Does Edward feel equal-- Mrs. Bradley. He says so. Knows it word for word, he says, though I've been so busy with my own--[They go out talking. Yardsley. Well, Brad, how goes it? Know your part? Bradley. Like a book. Bully part, too. Barlow. Glad you like it. Bradley. Can't help liking it; it's immense! Particularly where I acquaint the heroine with the villany that-- Barlow. You? Why-- Enter Mrs. Bradley, Miss Andrews, and Mrs. Perkins. Mrs. Perkins (to Bradley). So glad you're going to play with us. Bradley. So am I. It's a great pleasure. Felt rather out in the cold until-- Barlow. But, I say, Brad, you don't-- Yardsley. Howdy do, Mrs. Bradley? Good-afternoon, Miss Andrews. We all seem to be here now, so let's begin. We're a half-hour late already. Barlow. I'm ready, but I want to-- Yardsley. Never mind what you want, Jack. We haven't time for any more talking. It'll take us an hour and a half, and we've got to hustle. All off stage now except Mrs. Perkins. (All go out; Yardsley rings bell.) Hi, Perkins, that's your cue! Perkins. What for? Yardsley. Oh, hang it!--raise the curtain, will you? Perkins. With pleasure. As I understand this thing, one bell signifies raise curtain when curtain's down; drop curtain when curtain is up. Yardsley. Exactly. You know your part, anyhow. If you remember not to monkey with the curtain except when the bell rings, and then change its condition, no matter what it may be, you can't go wrong. Now begin. (Bell. Perkins raises curtain.) Now, of course, I'm not supposed to be on the stage, but I'll stay here and prompt you. Enter Lady Ellen. Come along, Mrs. Perkins. Please begin. Mrs. Perkins. I thought we'd decided that I was to be sitting here when the curtain went up? Yardsley. So we did. I'd forgotten that.--We'll begin all over again. Perkins, drop that curtain. Perkins! Perkins. What? Yardsley. Drop the curtain. Perkins. Where's the bell? I didn't hear any bell ring. Yardsley. Oh, never mind the bell! Let her down. Perkins. I beg your pardon, but I positively refuse. I believe in doing things right. I'm not going to monkey. Ring that bell, and down she comes; otherwise-- Yardsley. Tut! You are very tiresome this afternoon, Thaddeus. Mrs. Perkins, we'll go ahead without dropping the curtain. Now take your place. [Mrs. Perkins seats herself by table, picks up a book, and begins to read. Mrs. Perkins (after an interval, throwing book down with a sigh). Heigho! I cannot seem to concentrate my mind upon anything to-night. I wonder why it is that once a woman gives her heart into another's keeping--[Bell rings. Perkins lets curtain drop. Yardsley. What the deuce did you drop that curtain for, Thaddeus? Perkins. The bell rang, didn't it? Yardsley. Yes, you idiot, but that's supposed to be the front-door bell. Lady Amaranth is about to arrive-- Perkins. Well, how was I to know? Your instructions to me were positive. Don't monkey with curtain till bell rings. When bell rings, if down, pull her up; if up, pull her down. I'm not a connoisseur on bells-- Yardsley. You might pay some attention to the play. Perkins. Now look here, Bob. I don't want to quarrel with you, but it seems to me that I've got enough to do without paying attention to your part of the show. What am I? First place, host; second place, head usher; third place, curtain-manager; fourth place, fire department; fifth place, Bess says if children holler, go up and see what's the matter other words, nurse--and on top of this you say keep an eye on the play. You must think I've as many eyes as a President's message. Mrs. Perkins. Oh dear, Teddy! do behave. It's simple enough-- Perkins. Simple enough? Well, I like that. How am I to tell one bell from another if-- Yardsley (dryly). I suppose if the clock strikes ten you'll seesaw the curtain up and down ten times, once for each stroke--eh? Bradley (poking his head in at the door). What's the matter in here? Emma's been waiting for her cue like a hundred-yards runner before the pistol. Perkins. Oh, it's the usual trouble with Yardsley. He wants me to chaperon the universe. Yardsley. It's the usual row with you. You never want to do anything straight. You seem to think that curtain's an elevator, and you're the boy--yanking it up and down at your pleasure, and-- Mrs. Perkins. Oh, please don't quarrel! Can't you see, Ted, it's growing late? We'll never have the play rehearsed, and it's barely three hours now before the audience will arrive. Perkins. Very well--I'll give in--only I think you ought to have different bells-- Yardsley. I'll have a trolley-car gong for you, if it'll only make you do the work properly. Have you got a bicycle bell? Mrs. Perkins. Yes; that will do nicely for the curtain, and the desk push-button bell will do for the front-door bell. Have you got that in your mind, Teddy dear? Perkins. I feel as if I had the whole bicycle in my mind. I can feel the wheels. Bike for curtain, push for front door. That's all right. I wouldn't mind pushing for the front door myself. All ready? All right. In the absence of the bicycle bell, I'll be its under-study for once. B-r-r-r-r-r-r-r! [Raises curtain. Yardsley. Now, Mrs. Perkins, begin with "I wonder why--" Mrs. Perkins (rehearsing). I wonder why it is that once a woman gives her heart into another's keeping--(Bell.) Ah, the bell. It must be he at last. He is late this evening. Enter Miss Andrews as maid, with card on tray. Miss Andrews. Lady Amaranth, me luddy. Yardsley. Lydy, Miss Andrews, lydy--not luddy. Miss Andrews. Lydy Amaranth, me lady. Yardsley. And please be consistent with your dialect. If it's Lydy Amaranth, it's Lydy Ellen. Miss Andrews. Lydy Amaranth, me lydy. Mrs. Perkins. What? Lydy Amaranth? She? Yardsley. Oh dear! Excuse me, Mrs. Perkins, but you are not the maid, and cockney isn't required of you. You must not say lydy. Lady is-- Mrs. Perkins (resignedly). What? Lady Amaranth? She? What can she want? Show her up. [Exit Miss Andrews. Perkins. That's a first-class expression for an adventuress. _Show her up_! Gad! She ought to be shown up. Mrs. Perkins. What can she want? Enter Mrs. Bradley. Mrs. Bradley. Ah, my dear Lady Ellen! What delight to find you at home! (Aside.) He is not here, and yet I could have sworn-- Mrs. Perkins. To what am I to attribute this pleasure, Lady Amaranth? I do not presume to think that you have come here without some other motive than that of a mere desire to see me. I do not suppose that even you pretend that since the contretemps of Tuesday night at the Duchess of Barncastle's our former feeling-- Mrs. Bradley. Ellen, I have come to tell you something. To save you from a vile conspiracy. Mrs. Perkins. I am quite well able, Lady Amaranth, to manage my own affairs-- Mrs. Bradley. But you do not know. You love Lord Muddleton-- Mrs. Perkins (toying with her fan). Oh! Indeed! And who, pray, has taken you into my confidence? I was not aware-- Mrs. Bradley. Hear me, Ellen-- Mrs. Perkins. Excuse me, Lady Amaranth! but you have forgotten that it is only to my friends that I am known as-- Mrs. Bradley. Then Lady Ellen, if it must be so. I know what you do not--that Henry Cobb is an escaped convent-- Yardsley. Convict, not convent. Mrs. Bradley. Is an escaped convict, and-- Mrs. Perkins. I am not interested in Henry Cobb. Mrs. Bradley. But he is in you, Ellen Abercrombie. He is in you, and with the aid of Fenderson Featherhead-- [Bell. Perkins lets curtain drop half-way, but remembers in time, and pulls it up again. Perkins. Beg pardon. String slipped. Mrs. Bradley. Too late. Oh, if he had only waited! Enter Miss Andrews. Miss Andrews. Mr. Featherhead, Leddy Eilen. Yardsley. Ellen, Ellen; and lydy, not leddy. Mrs. Bradley. Hear me first, I beg. Mrs. Perkins. Show him in, Mary. Lady Amaranth, as you see, I am engaged. I really must be excused. Good-night. Mrs. Bradley (aside). Foiled! Muddleton will be exposed. Ah, if I could only have broken the force of the blow! (Aloud.) Lady Ellen, I will speak. Fenderson Featherhead-- Enter Bradley and Barlow together. Both. Is here, Lady Amaranth. [Each tries to motion the other off the stage. Yardsley. What the deuce does this mean? What do you think this play is--an Uncle Tom combination with two Topsys? Barlow. I told him to keep out, but he said that Fenderson Featherhead was his cue. Bradley (indignantly). Well, so it is; there's the book. Yardsley. Oh, nonsense, Brad! Don't be idiotic. The book doesn't say anything of the sort. Bradley. But I say it does. If you-- Barlow. It's all rot for you to behave like this, Bradley. Perkins. Isn't it time something happened to the curtain? The audience will get panicky if they witness any such lack of harmony as this. I will draw a veil over the painful scene. B-r-r-r-r. (Drops curtain.) B-r-r-r-r. [Raises it again. Yardsley. We won't dispute the matter, Bradley. You are wrong, and that's all there is about it. Now do get off the stage and let us go ahead. Perkins, for Heaven's sake, give that curtain a rest, will you? Perkins. I was only having a dress-rehearsal on my own account, Bob. Bike bell, curtain. Push bell, front door. Trolley gong, nothing-- Bradley. Well, if you fellows won't-- Yardsley (taking him by the arm and walking him to side of stage). Never mind, Brad; you've made a mistake, that's all. We all make mistakes at times. Get off, like a good fellow. You don't come on for ten minutes yet. (Exit Bradley, scratching his head in puzzled meditation.) Go ahead now, Barlow. Mrs. Bradley. But, Mr. Yardsley, Edward has-- Yardsley. We'll begin with your cue. Mrs. Bradley. Fenderson Featherhead-- Barlow. Is here, Lady Amaranth. Mrs. Bradley. But-- Yardsley. No, no! Your word isn't "but," Mrs. Bradley. It's (consulting book)--it's: "Insolent! You will cross my path once too often, and then-- Enter Bradley. Mrs. Bradley. I know that, but I don't say that to him! Bradley. Of course not. She says it to me. Barlow. Well, of all the stupidity-- Perkins. Another unseemly fracas. Another veil. B-r-r-r-r. (Drops curtain.) There may be a hitch in the play, but there won't be in this curtain. I tell you that right now. B-r-r-r-r. [Raises curtain. Mrs. Perkins. Well, I don't pretend to understand the difficulty. She certainly does say that to Featherhead. Barlow. Of course!--it's right there in the book. Bradley. That's exactly what I say. It's in the book; but you would come on. Barlow. Well, why shouldn't I? Enter Miss Andrews. Miss Andrews. What seems to be the trouble? Perkins. I give it up. Collision somewhere up the road. Yardsley (turning over the leaves of the play-book). Oh, I see the trouble--it's all right. Bradley is mixed up a little, that's all. "Fenderson Featherhead" is his cue--but it comes later, Brad. Bradley. Later? Well (glances in book)--no--it comes now, Barlow. Are you blind? Can you read? See there! [Points into book. Yardsley. No--you keep still, Jack. I'll fix it. See here, Bradley. This is the place you are thinking of. When Cobb says to Lady Ellen "Fenderson Featherhead," you enter the room, and in a nervous aside you mutter: "What, he! Does he again dare to cross my path?" That's the way of it. Barlow. Certainly--that's it, Brad. Now get off, and let me go on, will you? Mrs. Perkins. I'm sure it's a perfectly natural error, Mr. Bradley. Mrs. Bradley. But he's right, my dear Bess. The others are wrong. Edward doesn't-- Bradley. I don't care anything about it, but I'm sure I don't know what else to do. If I am to play Fenderson-- Barlow (in amazement). You? Yardsley (aghast). Fenderson? By all that is lovely, what part have you learned? Bradley. The one you told me to learn in your message--Featherhead, of course. Barlow. But that's my part! Mrs. Perkins. Of course it is, Mr. Bradley. Mr. Barlow is to be-- Mrs. Bradley. But that's what Edward was told. I saw the message myself. Yardsley (sinking into a chair dejectedly). Why, Ed Bradley! I never mentioned Featherhead. You were to be Muddleton! Bradley. Me? Mrs. Bradley. What? Yardsley. Certainly. There's nothing the matter with Barlow, and he's cast for Featherhead. You've learned the wrong part! Bradley (searching his pockets). Here's the telegram. There (takes message from pocket), read that. There are my instructions. Yardsley (grasps telegram and reads it. Drops it to floor). Well, I'll be jiggered! [Buries his face in his hands. Mrs. Perkins (picking up message and reading aloud). "Can you take Fenderson's part in to-night's show? Answer at once. Yardsley." Barlow. Well, that's a nice mess. You must have paresis, Bob. Perkins. I was afraid he'd get it sooner or later. You need exercise, Yardsley. Go pull that curtain up and down a half-dozen times and it'll do you good. Bradley. That telegram lets me out. Mrs. Bradley. I should say so. Perkins. Lets us all out, seems to me. Yardsley. But--I wrote Henderson, not Fenderson. That jackass of a telegraph operator is responsible for it all. "Will you take Henderson's part?" is what I wrote, and he's gone and got it Fenderson. Confound his-- Mrs. Perkins. But what are we going to do? It's quarter-past six now, and the curtain is to rise at 8.30. Perkins. I'll give 'em my unequalled imitation of Sandow lifting the curtain with one hand. Thus. [Raises curtain wish right hand. Yardsley. For goodness' sake, man, be serious. There are seventy- five people coming here to see this performance, and they've paid for their tickets. Mrs. Perkins. It's perfectly awful. We can't do it at all unless Mr. Bradley will go right up stairs now and learn-- Mrs. Bradley. Oh, that's impossible. He's learned nearly three hundred lines to-day already. Mr. Barlow might-- Barlow. I couldn't think of it, Mrs. Bradley. I've got as much as I can do remembering what lines I have learned. Perkins. It would take you a week to forget your old part completely enough to do the other well. You'd be playing both parts, the way Irving does when he's irritated, before you knew it. Yardsley. I'm sure I don't know what to do. Perkins. Give it up, eh? What are you stage-manager for? If I didn't own the house, I'd suggest setting it on fire; but I do, and it isn't fully insured. Mrs. Perkins. Perhaps Miss Andrews and Mr. Yardsley could do their little scene from Romeo and Juliet. Mrs. Bradley. Just the thing. Yardsley. But I haven't a suitable costume. Perkins. I'll lend you my golf trousers, and Bess has an old shirt- waist you could wear with 'em. Piece it out a little so that you could get into it, and hang the baby's toy sword at your side, and carry his fireman's hat under your arm, and you'd make a dandy- looking Romeo. Some people might think you were a new woman, but if somebody were to announce to the audience that you were not that, but the Hon. R. Montague, Esq., it would be all right and exceedingly amusing. I'll do the announcing with the greatest of pleasure. Really think I'd enjoy it. Miss Andrews. I think it would be much better to get up Mrs. Jarley's waxworks. Perkins. Oh dear, Miss Andrews, never. Mrs. Jarley awakens too many bitter memories in me. I was Mrs. Jarley once, and-- Yardsley. It must have been awful. If there is anything in life that could be more horrible than you, with your peculiar style of humor, trying to do Jarley, I-- Perkins. Oh, well, what's the odds what we do? We're only amateurs, anyhow. Yardsley can put on a pair of tight boots, and give us an impression of Irving, or perhaps an imitation of the Roman army at the battle of Philippi, and the audience wouldn't care, as long as they had a good supper afterwards. It all rests with Martenelli whether it's a go to-night. If he doesn't spoil the supper, it'll be all right. I have observed that the principal factors of success at amateur dramatics are an expert manipulation of the curtain, and a first-class feed to put the audience in a good-humor afterwards. Even if Martenelli does go back on us, you'll have me with the curtain-- Mrs. Perkins. Thaddeus! Yardsley. By Jove! that's a good idea--we have got you. You can read Henderson's part! Perkins. What--I? Barlow. Certainly. Bradley. Just the very thing. Miss Andrews. Splendid idea. Perkins. Oh--but I say--I can't, you know. Nonsense! I can't read. Yardsley. I've often suspected that you couldn't, my dear Thaddeus; but this time you must. Perkins. But the curtain--the babies--the audience--the ushing--the fire department--it is too much. I'm not an octopus. Barlow (taking him by the arm and pushing him into chair). You can't get out of it, Ted. Here--read up. There--take my book. [Thrusts play-book into his hand. Bradley. Here's mine, too, Thaddeus. Read 'em both at once, and then you'll have gone over it twice. [Throws his book into Perkins's lap. Perkins. I tell you-- Mrs. Perkins. Just this once, Teddy--please--for me. Yardsley. You owe it to your position, Perkins. You are the only man here that knows anything about anything. You've frequently said so. You were doing it all, anyhow, you know--and you're host--the audience are your guests--and you're so clever and-- Perkins. But-- Enter Jennie. Jennie. Dinner is served, ma'am. [Exit. Yardsley. Good! Perk, I'll be your under-study at dinner, while you are studying up. Ladies and gentlemen, kindly imagine that I am host, that Perkins does not exist. Come along, Mrs. Bradley. Miss Andrews, will you take my other arm? I'll escort Lady Amaranth and the maid out. We'll leave the two Featherheads to fight it out for the Lady Ellen. By-by, Thaddeus; don't shirk. I'll come in after the salade course and hear you, and if you don't know your lesson I'll send you to bed without your supper. [All go out, leaving Perkins alone. Perkins (forcing a laugh). Ha! ha! ha! Good joke, confound your eyes! Humph! very well. I'll do it. Whole thing, eh? Curtain, babies, audience, host. All right, my noble Thespians, wait! (Shakes fist at the door.) I _will_ do the whole thing. Wait till they ring you up, O curtain! Up you will go, but then--then will I come forth and read that book from start to finish, and if any one of 'em ventures to interfere I'll drop thee on their most treasured lines. They little dream how much they are in the power of you and me! Enter Jennie. Jennie. Mrs. Perkins says aren't you coming to dinner, sir; and Mr. Yardsley says the soup is getting cold, sir. Perkins. In a minute, Jennie. Tell Mrs. Perkins that I am just learning the last ten lines of the third act; and as for Mr. Yardsley, kindly insinuate to him that he'll find the soup quite hot enough at 8.30. [Exit Jennie. Perkins sits down, and, taking up two books of the play, one in each hand, begins to read. [CURTAIN] A PROPOSAL UNDER DIFFICULTIES CHARACTERS: ROBERT YARDSLEY, } suitors for the hand of Miss Andrews. JACK BARLOW, } DOROTHY ANDREWS, a much-loved young woman. JENNIE, a housemaid. HICKS, a coachman, who does not appear. The scene is laid in a fashionable New York drawing-room. The time is late in October, and Wednesday afternoon. The curtain rising shows an empty room. A bell rings. After a pause the front door is heard opening and closing. Enter Yardsley through portiere at rear of room. Yardsley. Ah! So far so good; but I wish it were over. I've had the nerve to get as far as the house and into it, but how much further my courage will carry me I can't say. Confound it! Why is it, I wonder, that men get so rattled when they're head over heels in love, and want to ask the fair object of their affections to wed? I can't see. Now I'm brave enough among men. I'm not afraid of anything that walks, except Dorothy Andrews, and generally I'm not afraid of her. Stopping runaway teams and talking back to impudent policemen have been my delight. I've even been courageous enough to submit a poem in person to the editor of a comic weekly, and yet here this afternoon I'm all of a tremble. And for what reason? Just because I've co-come to ask Dorothy Andrews to change her name to Mrs. Bob Yardsley; as if that were such an unlikely thing for her to do. Gad! I'm almost inclined to despise myself. (Surveys himself in the mirror at one end of the room. Then walking up to it and peering intently at his reflection, he continues.) Bah! you coward! Afraid of a woman--a sweet little woman like Dorothy. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Bob Yardsley. _She_ won't hurt you. Brace up and propose like a man--like a real lover who'd go through fire for her sake, and all that. Ha! That's easy enough to talk about, but how shall I put it? That's the question. Let me see. How _do_ men do it? I ought to buy a few good novels and select the sort of proposal I like; but not having a novel at hand, I must invent my own. How will it be? Something like this, I fancy. (The portieres are parted, and Jennie, the maid, enters. Yardsley does not observe her entrance.) I'll get down on my knees. A man on his knees is a pitiable object, and pity, they say, is akin to love. Maybe she'll pity me, and after that--well, perhaps pity's cousin will arrive. (The maid advances, but Yardsley is so intent upon his proposal that he still fails to observe her. She stands back of the sofa, while he, gazing downward, kneels before it.) I'll say: "Divine creature! At last we are alone, and I--ah--I can speak freely the words that have been in my heart to say to you for so long--oh, so long a time." (Jennie appears surprised.) "I have never even hinted at how I feel towards you. I have concealed my love, fearing lest by too sudden a betrayal of my feelings I should lose all." (Aside.) Now for a little allusion to the poets. Poetry, they say, is a great thing for proposals. "You know, dearest, you must know, how the poet has phrased it--'Fain would I fall but that I fear to climb.' But now-- now I must speak. An opportunity like this may not occur again. Will you--will you be my wife?" [Jennie gives a little scream of delight. Jennie. Oh, Mr. Yardsley, this is so suddent like and unexpected, and me so far beneath you! [Yardsley looks up and is covered with confusion. Yardsley. Great Scott! What have I done? Jennie. But of course it ain't for the likes of me to say no to-- Yardsley (rising). For Heaven's sake, Jennie--do be sensi--Don't-- say--Jennie, why--ah--(Aside.) Oh, confound it! What the deuce shall I say? What's the matter with my tongue? Where's my vocabulary? A word! a word! my kingdom for a word! (Aloud.) Now, Jen-- Jennie (coyly). I has been engaged to Mr. Hicks, the coach gentleman, sir, but-- Yardsley. Good! good! I congratulate you, Jennie. Hicks is a very fine fellow. Drives like a--like a driver, Jennie, a born driver. I've seen him many a time sitting like a king on his box--yes, indeed. Noticed him often. Admired him. Gad, Jennie, I'll see him myself and tell him; and what is more, Jennie, I'll--I'll give Hicks a fine present. Jennie. Yes, sir; I has no doubt as how you'll be doin' the square thing by Hicks, for, as I was a-sayin', I has been engaged like to him, an' he has some rights; but I think as how, if I puts it to him right like, and tells him what a nice gentleman you are (a ring is heard at the front door), it'll be all right, sir. But there goes the bell, and I must run, Mr. Yardsley. (Ecstatically kissing her hand.) Bob! Yardsley (with a convulsive gasp). Bob? Jennie! You--er--you misun--(Jennie, with a smile of joy and an ecstatic glance at Yardsley, dances from the room to attend the door. Yardsley throws himself into a chair.) Well, I'll be teetotally--Awh! It's too dead easy proposing to somebody you don't know you are proposing to. What a kettle of fish this is, to be sure! Oh, pshaw! that woman can't be serious. She must know I didn't mean it for her. But if she doesn't, good Lord! what becomes of me? (Rises, and paces up and down the room nervously. After a moment he pauses before the glass.) I ought to be considerably dishevelled by this. I feel as if I'd been drawn through a knot-hole--or--or dropped into a stone-crusher-- that's it, a stone-crusher--a ten million horse power stone-crusher. Let's see how you look, you poor idiot. [As he is stroking his hair and rearranging his tie he talks in pantomime at himself in the glass. In a moment Jennie ushers Mr. Jack Barlow into the room. Jennie. Miss Andrews will be down in a minute, sir. [Barlow takes arm-chair and sits gazing ahead of him. Neither he nor Yardsley perceives the other. Jennie tiptoes to one side, and, tossing a kiss at Yardsley, retires. Barlow. Now for it. I shall leave this house to-day the happiest or the most miserable man in creation, and I rather think the odds are in my favor. Why shouldn't they be? Egad! I can very well understand how a woman could admire me. I admire myself, rather. I confess candidly that I do not consider myself half bad, and Dorothy has always seemed to feel that way herself. In fact, the other night in the Perkinses conservatory she seemed to be quite ready for a proposal. I'd have done it then and there if it hadn't been for that confounded Bob Yardsley-- Yardsley (turning sharply about). Eh? Somebody spoke my name. A man, too. Great heavens! I hope Jennie's friend Hicks isn't here. I don't want to have a scene with Hicks. (Discovering Barlow.) Oh-- ah--why--hullo, Barlow! You here? Barlow (impatiently, aside). Hang it! Yardsley's here too! The man's always turning up when he's not wanted. (Aloud.) Ah! why, Bob, how are you? What're you doing here? Yardsley. What do you suppose--tuning the piano? I'm here because I want to be. And you? Barlow. For the same reason that you are. Yardsley (aside). Gad! I hope not. (Aloud.) Indeed? The great mind act again? Run in the same channel, and all that? Glad to see you. (Aside.) May the saints forgive me that fib! But this fellow must be got rid of. Barlow (embarrassed). So'm I. Always glad to see myself--I mean you--anywhere. Won't you sit down? Yardsley. Thanks. Very kind of you, I'm sure. (Aside.) He seems very much at home. Won't I sit down?--as if he'd inherited the chairs! Humph! I'll show him. Barlow. What say? Yardsley. I--ah--oh, I was merely remarking that I thought it was rather pleasant out to-day. Barlow. Yes, almost too fine to be shut up in-doors. Why aren't you driving, or--or playing golf, or--ah--or being out-doors somewhere? You need exercise, old man; you look a little pale. (Aside.) I must get him away from here somehow. Deuced awkward having another fellow about when you mean to propose to a woman. Yardsley. Oh, I'm well enough! Barlow (solicitously). You don't look it--by Jove you don't. (Suddenly inspired.) No, you don't, Bob. You overestimate your strength. It's very wrong to overestimate one's strength. People-- ah--people have died of it. Why, I'll bet you a hat you can't start now and walk up to Central Park and back in an hour. Come. I'll time you. (Rises and takes out watch.) It is now four ten. I'll wager you can't get back here before five thirty. Eh? Let me get your hat. [Starts for door. Yardsley (with a laugh). Oh no; I don't bet--after four. But I say, did you see Billie Wilkins? Barlow (returning in despair). Nope. Yardsley (aside). Now for a bit of strategy. (Aloud.) He was looking for you at the club. (Aside.) Splendid lie! (Aloud.) Had seats for the--ah--the Metropolitan to-night. Said he was looking for you. Wants you to go with him. (Aside.) That ought to start him along. Barlow. I'll go with him. Yardsley (eagerly). Well, you'd better let him know at once, then. Better run around there and catch him while there's time. He said if he didn't see you before half-past four he'd get Tom Parker to go. Fine show to-night. Wouldn't lose the opportunity if I were you. (Looking at his watch.) You'll just about have time to do it now if you start at once. [Grasps Barlow by arm, and tries to force him out. Barlow holds back, and is about to remonstrate, when Dorothy enters. Both men rush to greet her; Yardsley catches her left hand, Barlow her right. Dorothy (slightly embarrassed). Why, how do you do--this is an unexpected pleasure--both of you? Excuse my left hand, Mr. Yardsley; I should have given you the other if--if you'd given me time. Yardsley. Don't mention it, I pray. The unexpectedness is wholly mine, Miss Andrews--I mean--ah--the pleasure is-- Barlow. Wholly mine. Dorothy (withdrawing her hands from both and sitting down). I haven't seen either of you since the Perkinses dance. Wasn't it a charming affair? Yardsley. Delightful. I--ah--I didn't know that the Perkinses-- Barlow (interrupting). It was a good deal of a crush, though. As Mrs. Van Darling said to me, "You always meet--" Yardsley. It's a pity Perkins isn't more of a society man, though, don't you think? Dorothy. O, I don't know. I've always found him very pleasant. He is so sincere. Barlow. Isn't he, though? He looked bored to death all through the dance. Yardsley. I thought so too. I was watching him while you were talking to him, Barlow, and such a look of ennui I never saw on a man's face. Barlow. Humph! Dorothy. Are you going to Mrs. Van Darling's dinner? Barlow. Yes; I received my bid last night. You? Dorothy. Oh yes! Yardsley (gloomily). I can't go very well. I'm--ah--engaged for Tuesday. Barlow. Well, I hope you've let Mrs. Van Darling know. She's a stickler for promptness in accepting or declining her invitations. If you haven't, I'll tell her for you. I'm to see her to-night. Yardsley. Oh no! Never mind. I'll--I'll attend to it. Barlow. Oh, of course. But it's just as well she should know in advance. You might forget it, you know. I'll tell her; it's no trouble to me. Dorothy. Of course not, and she can get some one to take your place. Yardsley (desperately). Oh, don't say anything about it. Fact is, she--ah--she hasn't invited me. Barlow. Ah! (Aside.) I knew that all along. Oh, but I'm clever! Dorothy (hastily, to relieve Yardsley's embarrassment). Have you seen Irving, Mr. Yardsley? Yardsley. Yes. Barlow (suspiciously). What in? I haven't seen you at any of the first nights. Yardsley (with a grin). In the grill-room at the Players. Barlow (aside). Bah! Dorothy (laughing). You are so bright, Mr. Yardsley. Barlow (forcing a laugh). Ha, ha, ha! Why, yes--very clever that. It ought to have a Gibson picture over it, that joke. It would help it. Those Gibson pictures are fine, I think. Carry any kind of joke, eh? Yardsley. Yes, they frequently do. Dorothy. I'm so glad you both like Gibson, for I just dote on him. I have one of his originals in my portfolio. I'll get it if you'd like to see it. [She rises and goes to the corner of the room, where there stands a portfolio-case. Yardsley (aside). What a bore Barlow is! Hang him! I must get rid of him somehow. [Barlow meanwhile is assisting Dorothy. Yardsley (looking around at the others). Jove! he's off in the corner with her. Can't allow that, for the fact is Barlow's just a bit dangerous--to me. Dorothy (rummaging through portfolio). Why, it was here-- Barlow. Maybe it's in this other portfolio. Yardsley (joining them). Yes, maybe it is. That's a good idea. If it isn't in one portfolio maybe it's in another. Clever thought! I may be bright, Miss Andrews, but you must have observed that Barlow is thoughtful. Dorothy (with a glance at Barlow). Yes, Mr. Yardsley, I have noticed the latter. Barlow. Tee-hee! that's one on you, Bob. Yardsley (obtuse). Ha, ha! Yes. Why, of course! Ha, ha, ha! For repartee I have always said-polite repartee, of course--Miss Andrews is--(Aside.) Now what the dickens did she mean by that? Dorothy. I can't find it here. Let--me think. Where--can--it--be? Barlow (striking thoughtful attitude). Yes, where can it be? Let me do your thinking for you, Miss Dorothy. (Then softly to her.) Always! Yardsley (mocking Barlow). Yes! Let _me_ think! (Points his finger at his forehead and assumes tragic attitude. Then stalks to the front of stage in manner of burlesque Hamlet.) Come, thought, come. Shed the glory of thy greatness full on me, and thus confound mine enemies. Where the deuce is that Gibson? Dorothy. Oh, I remember. It's up-stairs. I took it up with me last night. I'll ring for Jennie, and have her get it. Yardsley (aside, and in consternation). Jennie! Oh, thunder! I'd forgotten her. I do hope she remembers not to forget herself. Barlow. What say? Yardsley. Nothing; only--ah--only that I thought it was very--very pleasant out. Barlow. That's what you said before. Yardsley (indignantly). Well, what of it? It's the truth. If you don't believe it, go outside and see for yourself. [Jennie appears at the door in response to Dorothy's ring. She glances demurely at Yardsley, who tries to ignore her presence. Dorothy. Jennie, go up to my room and look on the table in the corner, and bring me down the portfolio you will find there. The large brown one that belongs in the stand over there. Jennie (dazed). Yessum. And shall I be bringin' lemons with it? Dorothy. Lemons, Jennie? Jennie. You always does have lemons with your tea, mum. Dorothy. I didn't mention tea. I want you to get my portfolio from up-stairs. It is on the table in the corner of my room. [Looks at Jennie in surprise. Jennie. Oh, excuse me, mum. I didn't hear straight. [She casts a languishing glance at Yardsley and disappears. Yardsley (noting the glance, presumably aside). Confound that Jennie! Barlow (overhearing Yardsley). What's that? Confound that Jennie? Why say confound that Jennie? Why do you wish Jennie to be confounded? Yardsley (nervously). I didn't say that. I--ah--I merely said that-- that Jennie appeared to be--ah--confounded. Dorothy. She certainly is confused. I cannot understand it at all. Ordinarily I have rather envied Jennie her composure. Yardsley. Oh, I suppose--it's--it's--it's natural for a young girl-- a servant--sometimes to lose her--equipoise, as it were, on occasions. If we lose ours at times, why not Jennie? Eh? Huh? Barlow. Certainly. Yardsley. Of course--ha--trained servants are hard to get these days, anyhow. Educated people--ah--go into other professions, such as law, and--ah--the ministry--and-- Dorothy. Well, never mind. Let's talk of something more interesting than Jennie. Going to the Chrysanthemum Show, Mr. Barlow? Barlow. I am; wouldn't miss it for the world. Do you know, really now, the chrysanthemum, in my opinion, is the most human-looking flower we have. The rose is too beautiful, too perfect, for me. The chrysanthemum, on the other hand-- Yardsley (interrupting). Looks so like a football-player's head it appeals to your sympathies? Well, perhaps you are right. I never thought of it in that light before, but-- Dorothy (smiling). Nor I; but now that you mention it, it does look that way, doesn't it? Barlow (not wishing to disagree with Dorothy). Very much. Droll idea, though. Just like Bob, eh? Very, very droll. Bob's always dro-- Yardsley (interrupting). When I see a man walking down the Avenue with a chrysanthemum in his button-hole, I always think of a wild Indian wearing a scalp for decorative purposes. [Barlow and Dorothy laugh at this, and during their mirth Jennie enters with the portfolio. She hands it to Dorothy. Dorothy rests it on the arm of her chair, and Barlow looking over one shoulder, she goes through it. Jennie in passing out throws another kiss to Yardsley. Yardsley (under his breath, stamping his foot). Awgh! Barlow. What say? [Dorothy looks up, surprised. Yardsley. I--I didn't say anything. My--ah--my shoe had a piece of-- ah-- Barlow. Oh, say lint, and be done with it. Yardsley (relieved, and thankful for the suggestion). Why, how did you know? It did, you know. Had a piece of lint on it, and I tried to get it off by stamping, that's all. Dorothy. Ah, here it is. Yardsley. What? The lint? Barlow. Ho! Is the world nothing but lint to you? Of course not-- the Gibson. Charming, isn't it, Miss Dorothy? Dorothy (holding the picture up). Fine. Just look at that girl. Isn't she pretty? Barlow. Very. Dorothy. And such style, too. Yardsley (looking over Dorothy's other shoulder). Yes, very pretty, and lots of style. (Softly.) Very--like some one--some one I know. Barlow (overhearing). I think so myself, Yardsley. It's exactly like Josie Wilkins. By-the-way--ah--how is that little affair coming along, Bob? Dorothy (interested). What! You don't mean to say--Why, _Mister_ Yardsley! Yardsley (with a venomous glance at Barlow). Nonsense. Nothing in it. Mere invention of Barlow's. He's a regular Edison in his own way. [Dorothy looks inquiringly at Barlow. Barlow (to Yardsley). Oh, don't be so sly about it, old fellow! _Every_body knows. Yardsley. But I tell you there's nothing in it. I--I have different ideas entirely, and you--you know it--or, if you don't, you will shortly. Dorothy. Oh! Then it's some one else, Mr. Yardsley? Well, now I _am_ interested'. Let's have a little confidential talk together. Tell _us_, Mr. Yardsley, tell Mr. Barlow and me, and maybe--I can't say for certain, of course--but maybe we can help you. Barlow (gleefully rubbing his hands). Yes, old man; certainly. Maybe we--we can help you. Yardsley (desperately). You can help me, both of you--but--but I can't very well tell you how. Barlow. I'm willing to do all I can for you, my dear Bob. If you will only tell us her name I'll even go so far as to call, in your behalf, and propose for you. Yardsley. Oh, thanks. You are very kind. Dorothy. I think so too, Mr. Barlow. You are almost too kind, it seems to me. Yardsley. Oh no; not too kind, Miss Andrews. Barlow simply realizes that one who has proposed marriage to young girls as frequently as he has knows how the thing is done, and he wishes to give me the benefit of his experience. (Aside.) That's a facer for Barlow. Barlow. Ha, ha, ha! Another joke, I suppose. You see, my dear Bob, that I am duly appreciative. I laugh. Ha, ha, ha! But I must say I laugh with some uncertainty. I don't know whether you intended that for a joke or for a staggerer. You should provide your conversation with a series of printed instructions for the listener. Get a lot of cards, and have printed on one, "Please laugh"; on another, "Please stagger"; on another, "Kindly appear confused." Then when you mean to be jocose hand over the laughter card, and so on. Shall I stagger? Dorothy. I think that Mr. Yardsley meant that for a joke. Didn't you, Mr. Yardsley? Yardsley. Why, certainly. Of course. I don't really believe Barlow ever had sand enough to propose to any one. Did you, Jack? Barlow (indignant). Well, I rather think I have. Dorothy. Ho, ho! Then you _are_ an experienced proposer, Mr. Barlow? Barlow (confused). Why--er--well--um--I didn't exactly mean that, you know. I meant that--ah--if it ever came to the--er--the test, I think I could--I'd have sand enough, as Yardsley puts it, to do the thing properly, and without making a--ah--a Yardsley of myself. Yardsley (bristling up). Now what do you mean by that? Dorothy. I think you are both of you horrid this afternoon. You are so quarrelsome. Do you two always quarrel, or is this merely a little afternoon's diversion got up for my especial benefit? Barlow (with dignity). I never quarrel. Yardsley. Nor I. I simply differ sometimes, that's all. I never had an unpleasant word with Jack in my life. Did I, Jack? Barlow. Never. I always avoid a fracas, however great the provocation. Dorothy (desperately). Then let us have a cup of tea together and be more sociable. I have always noticed that tea promotes sociability-- haven't you, Mr. Yardsley? Yardsley. Always. (Aside.) Among women. Barlow. What say? [Dorothy rises and rings the bell for Jennie. Yardsley. I say that I am very fond of tea. Barlow. So am I--here. [Rises and looks at pictures. Yardsley meanwhile sits in moody silence. Dorothy (returning). You seem to have something on your mind, Mr. Yardsley. I never knew you to be so solemn before. Yardsley. I have something on my mind, Miss Dorothy. It's-- Barlow (coming forward). Wise man, cold weather like this. It would be terrible if you let your mind go out in cold weather without anything on it. Might catch cold in your idea. Dorothy. I wonder why Jennie doesn't come? I shall have to ring again. [Pushes electric button again. Yardsley (with an effort at brilliance). The kitchen belle doesn't seem to work. Dorothy. Ordinarily she does, but she seems to be upset by something this afternoon. I'm afraid she's in love. If you will excuse me a moment I will go and prepare the tea myself. Barlow. Do; good! Then we shall not need the sugar. Yardsley. You might omit the spoons too, after a remark like that, Miss Dorothy. Dorothy. We'll omit Mr. Barlow's spoon. I'll bring some for you and me. [She goes out. Yardsley (with a laugh). That's one on you, Barlow. But I say, old man (taking out his watch and snapping the cover to three or four times), it's getting very late--after five now. If you want to go with Billy Wilkins you'd better take up your hat and walk. I'll say good-bye to Miss Andrews for you. Barlow. Thanks. Too late now. You said Billie wouldn't wait after four thirty. Yardsley. Did I say four thirty? I meant five thirty. Anyhow, Billie isn't over-prompt. Better go. Barlow. You seem mighty anxious to get rid of me. Yardsley. I? Not at all, my dear boy--not at all. I'm very, very fond of you, but I thought you'd prefer opera to me. Don't you see? That's where my modesty comes in. You're so fond of a good chat I thought you'd want to go to-night. Wilkins has a box. Barlow. You said seats a little while ago. Yardsley. Of course I did. And why not? There are seats in boxes. Didn't you know that? Barlow. Look here, Yardsley, what's up, anyhow? You've been deuced queer to-day. What are you after? Yardsley (tragically). Shall I confide in you? Can I, with a sense of confidence that you will not betray me? Barlow (eagerly). Yes, Bob. Go on. What is it? I'll never give you away, and I _may_ be able to give you some good advice. Yardsley. I am here to--to--to rob the house! Business has been bad, and one must live. [Barlow looks at him in disgust. Yardsley (mockingly). You have my secret, John Barlow. Remember that it was wrung from me in confidence. You must not betray me. Turn your back while I surreptitiously remove the piano and the gas- fixtures, won't you? Barlow (looking at him thoughtfully). Yardsley, I have done you an injustice. Yardsley. Indeed? Barlow. Yes. Some one claimed, at the club, the other day, that you were the biggest donkey in existence, and I denied it. I was wrong, old man, I was wrong, and I apologize. You are. Yardsley. You are too modest, Jack. You forget--yourself. Barlow. Well, perhaps I do; but I've nothing to conceal, and you have. You've been behaving in a most incomprehensible fashion this afternoon, as if you owned the house. Yardsley. Well, what of it? Do you own it? Barlow. No, I don't, but-- Yardsley. But you hope to. Well, I have no such mercenary motive. I'm not after the house. Barlow (bristling up). After the house? Mercenary motive? I demand an explanation of those words. What do you mean? Yardsley. I mean this, Jack Barlow: I mean that I am here for--for my own reasons; but you--you have come here for the purpose of-- Dorothy enters wish a tray, upon which are the tea things. Barlow (about to retort to Yardsley, perceiving Dorothy). Ah! Let me assist you. Dorothy. Thank you so much. I really believe I never needed help more. (She delivers the tray to Barlow, who sets it on the table. Dorothy, exhausted, drops into a chair.) Fan me--quick--or I shall faint. I've--I've had an awful time, and I really don't know what to do! Barlow and Yardsley (together). Why, what's the matter? Yardsley. I hope the house isn't on fire? Barlow. Or that you haven't been robbed? Dorothy. No, no; nothing like that. It's--it's about Jennie. Yardsley (nervously). Jennie? Wha--wha--what's the matter with Jennie? Dorothy. I only wish I knew. I-- Yardsley (aside). I'm glad you don't. Barlow. What say? Yardsley. I didn't say anything. Why should I say anything? I haven't anything to say. If people who had nothing to say would not insist upon talking, you'd be-- Dorothy. I heard the poor girl weeping down-stairs, and when I went to the dumbwaiter to ask her what was the matter, I heard--I heard a man's voice. Yardsley. Man's voice? Barlow. Man's voice is what Miss Andrews said. Dorothy. Yes; it was Hicks, our coachman, and he was dreadfully angry about something. Yardsley (sinking into chair). Good Lord! Hicks! Angry! At-- something! Dorothy. He was threatening to kill somebody. Yardsley. This grows worse and worse! Threatening to kill somebody! D-did-did you o-over-overhear huh-huh-whom he was going to kuk-kill? Barlow. What's the matter with you, Yardsley? Are you going to die of fright, or have you suddenly caught a chill? Dorothy. Oh, I hope not! Don't die here, anyhow, Mr. Yardsley. If you must die, please go home and die. I couldn't stand another shock to-day. Why, really, I was nearly frightened to death. I don't know now but what I ought to send for the police, Hicks was so violent. Barlow. Perhaps she and Hicks have had a lovers' quarrel. Yardsley. Very likely; very likely indeed. I think that is no doubt the explanation of the whole trouble. Lovers will quarrel. They were engaged, you know. Dorothy (surprised). No, I didn't know it. Were they? Who told you? Yardsley (discovering his mistake). Why--er--wasn't it you said so, Miss Dorothy? Or you, Barlow? Barlow. I have not the honor of the young woman's confidence, and so could not have given you the information. Dorothy. I didn't know it, so how could I have told you? Yardsley (desperately). Then I must have dreamed it. I do have the queerest dreams sometimes, but there's nothing strange about this one, anyhow. Parlor-maids frequently do--er--become engaged to coachmen and butlers and that sort of thing. It isn't a rare occurrence at all. If I'd said she was engaged to Billie Wilkins, or to--to Barlow here-- Barlow. Or to yourself. Yardsley. Sir? What do you mean to insinuate? That I am engaged to Jennie? Barlow. I never said so. Dorothy. Oh dear, let us have the tea. You quarrelsome men are just wearing me out. Mr. Barlow, do you want cream in yours? Barlow. If you please; and one lump of sugar. (Dorothy pours is out.) Thanks. Dorothy. Mr. Yardsley? Yardsley. Just a little, Miss Andrews. No cream, and no sugar. [Dorothy prepares a cup for Yardsley. He is about to take it when-- Dorothy. Well, I declare! It's nothing but hot water! I forgot the tea entirely! Barlow (with a laugh). Oh, never mind. Hot water is good for dyspepsia. [With a significant look at Yardsley. Yardsley. It depends on how you get it, Mr. Barlow. I've known men who've got dyspepsia from living in hot water too much. [As Yardsley speaks the portiere is violently clutched from without, and Jennie's head is thrust into the room. No one observes her. Barlow. Well, my cup is very satisfactory to me, Miss Dorothy. Fact is, I've always been fond of cambric tea, and this is just right. Yardsley (patronizingly). It _is_ good for children. Jennie (trying to attract Yardsley's attention). Pst! Yardsley. My mamma lets me have it Sunday nights. Dorothy. Ha, ha, ha! Barlow. Another joke? Good. Let me enjoy it too. Hee, Hee! Jennie. Pst! [Barlow looks around; Jennie hastily withdraws her head. Barlow. I didn't know you had steam heat in this house. Dorothy. We haven't. What put such an idea as that into your head? Barlow. Why, I thought I heard the hissing of steam, the click of a radiator, or something of that sort back by the door. Yardsley. Maybe the house is haunted. Dorothy. I fancy it was your imagination: or perhaps it was the wind blowing through the hall. The pantry window is open. Barlow. I guess maybe that's it. How fine it must be in the country now! [Jennie pokes her head in through the portieres again, and follows it with her arm and hand, in which is a feather duster, which she waves wildly in an endeavor to attract Yardsley's attention. Dorothy. Divine. I should so love to be out of town still. It seems to me people always make a great mistake returning to the city so early in the fall. The country is really at its best at this time of year. [Yardsley turns half around, and is about to speak, when he catches sight of the now almost hysterical Jennie and her feather duster. Barlow. Yes; I think so too. I was at Lenox last week, and the foliage was gorgeous. Yardsley (feeling that he must say something). Yes. I suppose all the feathers on the maple-trees are turning red by this time. Dorothy. Feathers, Mr. Yardsley? Barlow. Feathers? Yardsley (with a furtive glance at Jennie). Ha, ha! What an absurd slip! Did I say feathers? I meant--I meant leaves, of course. All the leaves on the dusters are turning. Barlow. I don't believe you know what you do mean. Who ever heard of leaves on dusters? What are dusters? Do you know, Miss Dorothy? [As he turns to Miss Andrews, Yardsley tries to wave Jennie away. She beckons with her arms more wildly than ever, and Yardsley silently speaks the words, "Go away." Dorothy. I'm sure I don't know of any tree by that name, but then I'm not a--not a what? Yardsley (with a forced laugh). Treeologist Dorothy. What are dusters, Mr. Yardsley? Barlow. Yes, old man, tell us. I'm anxious to find out myself. Yardsley (aside). So am I. What the deuce are dusters, for this occasion only? (Aloud) What? Never heard of dusters? Ho! Why, dear me, where have you been all your lives? (Aside.) Must gain time to think up what dusters are. (Aloud.) Why, they're as old as the hills. Barlow. That may be, but I can't say I think your description is at all definite. Dorothy. Do they look like maples? Yardsley (with an angry wave of his arms towards Jennie). Something-- in fact, very much. They're exactly like them. You can hardly tell them from oaks. Barlow. Oaks? Yardsley. I said oaks. Oaks! O-A-K-S! Barlow. But oaks aren't like maples. Yardsley. Well, who said they were? We were talking about oaks-- and--er--and dusters. We--er--we used to have a row of them in front of our old house at-- (Aside.) Now where the deuce did we have the old house? Never had one, but we must for the sake of the present situation. (Aloud.) Up at--at--Bryn-Mawr--or at--Troy, or some such place, and--at--they kept the--the dust of the highway from getting into the house. (With a sigh of relief.) And so, you see, they were called dusters. Thought every one knew that. [As Yardsley finishes, Jennie loses her balance and falls headlong into the room. Dorothy (starting up hastily). Why, Jennie! Yardsley (staggering into chair). That settles it. It's all up with me. [Jennie sobs, and, rising, rushes to Yardsley's side. Jennie. Save yourself; he's going to kill you! Dorothy. Jennie! What is the meaning of this? Mr. Yardsley--can-- can you shed any light on this mystery? Yardsley (pulling himself together with a great effort). I? I assure you I can't, Miss Andrews. How could I? All I know is that somebody is--is going to kill me, though for what I haven't the slightest idea. Jennie (indignantly). Eh? What! Why, Mr. Yardsley--Bob! Barlow. Bob? Dorothy. Jennie! Bob? Yardsley. Don't you call me Bob. Jennie. It's Hicks. [Bursts out crying. Barlow. Hicks? Dorothy. Jennie, Hicks isn't Bob. His name--is George. Yardsley (in a despairing rage). Hicks be-- Dorothy. Mr. Yardsley! Yardsley (pulling himself together again). Bobbed. Hicks be Bobbed. That's what I was going to say. Dorothy. What on earth does this all mean? I must have an explanation, Jennie. What have you to say for yourself? Jennie. Why, I-- Yardsley. I tell you it isn't true. She's made it up out of whole cloth. Barlow. What isn't true? She hasn't said anything yet. Yardsley (desperately). I refer to what she's going to say. I'm a-- a--I'm a mind-reader, and I see it all as plain as day. Dorothy. I can best judge of the truth of Jennie's words when she has spoken them, Mr. Yardsley. Jennie, you may explain, if you can. What do you mean by Hicks killing Mr. Yardsley, and why do you presume to call Mr. Yardsley by his first name? Yardsley (aside). Heigho! My goose is cooked. Barlow. I fancy you wish you had taken that walk I suggested now. Yardsley. You always were a good deal of a fancier. Jennie. I hardly knows how to begin, Miss Dorothy. I--I'm so flabbergasted by all that's happened this afternoon, mum, that I can't get my thoughts straight, mum. Dorothy. Never mind getting your thoughts straight, Jennie. I do not want fiction. I want the truth. Jennie. Well, mum, when a fine gentleman like Mr. Yardsley asks-- Yardsley. I tell you it isn't so. Jennie. Indeed he did, mum. Dorothy (impatiently). Did what? Jennie. Axed me to marry him, mum. Dorothy. Mr. Yardsley--asked--you--to--to marry him? [Barlow whistles. Jennie (bursting into tears again). Yes, mum, he did, mum, right here in this room. He got down on his knees to me on that Proossian rug before the sofa, mum. I was standin' behind the sofa, havin' just come in to tell him as how you'd be down shortly. He was standin' before the lookin'-glass lookin' at himself, an' when I come in he turns around and goes down on his knees and says such an importunity may not occur again, mum; I've loved you very long; and then he recited some pottery, mum, and said would I be his wife. Yardsley (desperately). Let me explain. Dorothy. Wait, Mr. Yardsley; your turn will come in a moment. Barlow. Yes, it'll be here, my boy; don't fret about that. Take all the time you need to make it a good one. Gad, if this doesn't strain your imagination, nothing will. Dorothy. Go on, Jennie. Then what happened? Yardsley (with an injured expression). Do you expect me to stand here, Miss Andrews, and hear this girl's horrible story? Barlow. Then you know the story, do you, Yardsley? It's horrible, and you are innocent. My! you are a mind-reader with a vengeance. Dorothy. Don't mind what these gentlemen say, Jennie, but go on. [Yardsley sinks into the arm-chair. Barlow chuckles; Miss Andrews glances indignantly at him. Dorothy. Pardon me, Mr. Barlow. If there is any humor in the situation, I fail to see it. Barlow (seeing his error). Nor, indeed, do I. I was not--ah-- laughing from mirth. That chuckle was hysterics, Miss Dorothy, I assure you. There are some laughs that can hardly be differentiated from sobs. Jennie. I was all took in a heap, mum, to think of a fine gentleman like Mr. Yardsley proposing to me, mum, and I says the same. Says I, "Oh, Mr. Yardsley, this is so suddent like," whereat he looks up with a countenance so full o' pain that I hadn't the heart to refuse him; so, fergettin' Hicks for the moment, I says, kind of soft like, certingly, sir. It ain't for the likes o' me to say no to the likes o' him. Yardsley. Then you said you were engaged to Hicks. You know you did, Jennie. Barlow. Ah! Then you admit the proposal? Yardsley. Oh Lord! Worse and worse! I-- Dorothy. Jennie has not finished her story. Jennie. I did say as how I was engaged to Hicks, but I thought he would let me off; and Mr. Yardsley looked glad when I said that, and said he'd make it all right with Hicks. Yardsley. What? I? Jennie O'Brien, or whatever your horrible name is, do you mean to say that I said I'd make it all right with Hicks? Jennie. Not in them words, Mr. Yardsley; but you did say as how you'd see him yourself and give him a present. You did indeed, Mr. Yardsley, as you was a-standin' on that there Proossian rug. Dorothy. Did you, Mr. Yardsley? [Yardsley buries his face in his hands and groans. Barlow. Not so ready with your explanations now, eh? Dorothy. Mr. Barlow, really I must ask you not to interfere. Did you say that, Mr. Yardsley? Yardsley. I did, but-- Dorothy (frigidly). Go on, Jennie. Jennie. Just then the front-door bell rings and Mr. Barlow comes, and there wasn't no more importunity for me to speak; but when I got down-stairs into the kitchen, mum, Mr. Hicks he comes in, an' (sobs)-- an' I breaks with him. Yardsley. You've broken with Hicks for me? Jennie. Yes, I have--but I wouldn't never have done it if I'd known-- boo-hoo--as how you'd behave this way an' deny ever havin' said a word. I--I--I 1-lo-love Mr. Hicks, an'--I--I hate you--and I wish I'd let him come up and kill you, as he said he would. Dorothy. Jennie! Jennie! be calm! Where is Hicks now? Yardsley. That's so. Where is Hicks? I want to see him. Jennie. Never fear for that. You'll see him. He's layin' for you outside. An' that, Miss Dorothy, is why--I was a-wavin' at him an' sayin' "pst" to him. I wanted to warn him, mum, of his danger, mum, because Hicks is very vi'lent, and he told me in so many words as how he was a-goin' to _do--him--up_. Barlow. You'd better inform Mr. Hicks, Jennie, that Mr. Yardsley is already done up. Yardsley. Do me up, eh? Well, I like that. I'm not afraid of any coachman in creation as long as he's off the box. I'll go see him at once. Dorothy. No--no--no. Don't, Mr. Yardsley; don't, I beg of you. I don't want to have any scene between you. Yardsley (heroically). What if he succeeds? I don't care. As Barlow says, I'm done up as it is. I don't want to live after this. What's the use. Everything's lost. Barlow (dryly). Jennie hasn't thrown you over yet. Jennie (sniffing airily). Yes, she has, too. I wouldn't marry him now for all the world--an'--and I've lost--lost Hicks. (Weeps.) Him as was so brave, an' looks so fine in livery! Yardsley. If you'd only give me a chance to say something-- Barlow. Appears to me you've said too much already. Dorothy (coldly). I--I don't agree with Mr. Barlow. You--you haven't said enough, Mr. Yardsley. If you have any explanation to make, I'll listen. Yardsley (looks up gratefully. Suddenly his face brightens. Aside). Gad! The very thing! I'll tell the exact truth, and if Dorothy has half the sense I think she has, I'll get in my proposal right under Barlow's very nose. (Aloud.) My--my explanation, Miss Andrews, is very simple. I--ah--I cannot deny having spoken every word that Jennie has charged to my account. I did get down on my knees on the rug. I did say "divine creature." I did not put it strong enough. I should have said "divinest of _all_ creatures." Dorothy (in remonstrance). Mr. Yardsley! Barlow (aside). Magnificent bluff! But why? (Rubs his forehead in a puzzled way.) What the deuce is he driving at? Yardsley. Kindly let me finish. I did say "I love you." I should have said "I adore you; I worship you." I did say "Will you be my wife?" and I was going to add, "for if you will not, then is light turned into darkness for me, and life, which your 'yes' will render radiantly beautiful, will become dull, colorless, and not worth the living." That is what I was going to say, Miss Andrews--Miss Dorothy--when--when Jennie interrupted me and spoke the word I most wish to hear--spoke the word "yes"; but it was not her yes that I wished. My words of love were not for her. Barlow (perceiving his drift). Ho! Absurd! Nonsense! Most unreasonable! You were calling the sofa the divinest of all creatures, I suppose, or perhaps asking the--the piano to put on its shoes and--elope with you. Preposterous! Dorothy (softly). Go on, Mr. Yardsley. Yardsley. I--I spoke a little while ago about sand--courage--when it comes to one's asking the woman he loves the greatest of all questions. I was boastful. I pretended that I had that courage; but--well, I am not as brave as I seem. I had come, Miss Dorothy, to say to you the words that fell on Jennie's ears, and--and I began to get nervous--stage-fright, I suppose it was--and I was foolish enough to rehearse what I had to say--to you, and to you alone. Barlow. Let me speak, Miss Andrews. I-- Yardsley. You haven't anything to do with the subject in hand, my dear Barlow, not a thing. Dorothy. Jennie--what--what have you to say? Jennie. Me? Oh, mum, I hardly knows what to say! This is suddenter than the other; but, Miss Dorothy, I'd believe him, I would, because-- I--I think he's tellin' the truth, after all, for the reason that-- oh dear--for-- Dorothy. Don't be frightened, Jennie. For what reason? Jennie. Well, mum, for the reason that when I said "yes," mum, he didn't act like all the other gentlemen I've said yes to, and--and k-- kuk--kiss me. Yardsley. That's it! that's it! Do you suppose that if I'd been after Jennie's yes, and got it, I'd have let a door-bell and a sofa stand between me and--the sealing of the proposal? Barlow (aside). Oh, what nonsense this all is! I've got to get ahead of this fellow in some way. (Aloud.) Well, where do I come in? I came here, Miss Andrews, to--tell you-- Yardsley (interposing). You come in where you came in before--just a little late--after the proposal, as it were. Dorothy (her face clearing and wreathing with smiles). What a comedy of errors it has all been! I--I believe you, Mr. Yardsley. Yardsley. Thank Heaven! And--ah--you aren't going to say anything more, D--Dorothy? Dorothy. I'm afraid-- Yardsley. Are you going to make me go through that proposal all over again, now that I've got myself into so much trouble saying it the first time--Dorothy? Dorothy. No, no. You needn't--you needn't speak of it again. Barlow (aside). Good! That's his conge. Yardsley. And--then if I--if I needn't say it again? What then? Can't I have--my answer now? Oh, Miss Andrews-- Dorothy (with downcast eyes, softly). What did Jennie say? Yardsley (in ecstasy). Do you mean it? Barlow. I fancy--I fancy I'd better go now, Miss--er--Miss Andrews. I--I--have an appointment with Mr. Wilkins, and--er--I observe that it is getting rather late. Yardsley. Don't go yet, Jack. I'm not so anxious to be rid of you now. Barlow. I must go--really. Yardsley. But I want you to make me one promise before you go. Dorothy. He'll make it, I'm sure, if I ask him. Mr. Yardsley and I want you--want you to be our best man. Yardsley. That's it, precisely. Eh, Jack? Barlow. Well, yes. I'll be--second-best man, The events of the afternoon have shown my capacity for that. Yardsley. Ah! Barlow. And I'll show my sincerity by wearing Bob's hat and coat into the street now and letting the fury of Hicks fall upon me. Jennie. If you please, Miss Dorothy--I--I think I can attend to Mr. Hicks. Dorothy. Very well. I think that would be better. You may go, Jennie. [Jennie departs. Barlow. Well, good-day. I--I've had a very pleasant afternoon, Miss--Andrews. Thanks for the--the cambric tea. Dorothy. Good-bye, and don't forget. Barlow. I'm afraid--I won't. Good-bye, Bob. I congratulate you from my heart. I was in hopes that I should have the pleasure of having you for a best man at my wedding, but--er--there's many a slip, you know, and I wish you joy. [Yardsley shakes him by the hand, and Barlow goes out. As he disappears through the portieres Yardsley follows, and, holding the curtain aside, looks after him until the front door is heard closing. Then he turns about. Dorothy looks demurely around at him, and as he starts to go to her side the curtain falls. Publication Date: July 28th 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-bx.bangs

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-carmen-m-vargas-the-weird-people-in-the-woods/

Carmen M. Vargas The weird people in the woods! Can they make friends and find their mom? This book is dedicated to my Mom,My little brother ,and my sister. Text: In the hot, sunny woods of New Boston, Michigan a family lives! But they aren't normal. There was a mother, a Daughter and a Son. The Daughter, Emily, was an Emo-Angle. The Son ,Jacob, was an Emo-Demin. The mom ,Renee, was a bright, sensitive, angle. They were all different, but they still loved eachother they lived in a two story house deep, deep in the woods. They eac had thier own room Emily's room was dark purple with, angle wings riding up the wall. Jacob's room was black with panthers crawling everywhere. Renee's room was white and pink with an angle right above her head, and she had a bed in the shape of a cross. All rights reserved. Publication Date: July 10th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-carmen.readers

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-magenta-black-lost-in-green/

Magenta Black Lost In Green The story of Kendra Markete To my loving siblings Ash and Alex Tearz, Mattchew, Danny Wanny, Shawnee Wanee, Red Hotts, and Carmen Lindy. Also to my parents, Cassie and Ben Markee. The Funeral It was a dark day. Mom had just passed a few days ago and her funeral was only a few hours away. I know I was supposed to be sad, but I was happy. Mom never liked me. She would tear at my hair while brushing it and I was nearly bald by kindergarten. I always thought it was because I was a girl. All my siblings above me were boys. Then I came along and ruined it all. I started a new era. The female era. My older brother, Johnny hates me for it. My younger sisters, Lynn and Mari, love me. Well, Mari is only a few weeks old, but she is gonna love me. Lynn is eight. We got to the funeral and Dad took us all up to pay our respects. Mom was so cold and...dead. When we all finally sat down, Pastor Don went up to the front of the room and started talking about how precious life is and how we need to hold on to every single moment.  In the middle of Pastor Don's sermon, I heard a gasping noise and saw Mom sit up. She glanced around the room. When her eyes landed on me, her eyes narrowed and she screamed, "THE GUILTY SHALL BE PUNISHED!" Her eyes rolled back in her head and she floated a foot above the coffin and drifted towards me. She went faster and faster. Just before she hit me, I closed my eyes and let out a bloodcurdling scream. When I opened my eyes, everybody in the church was staring at me. The coffin was closed and the pastor had stopped mid-sentence. "I'm so sorry." I said as I stood up and exited the church. I sat on the front steps until it was time to go to the cemetary and bury Mom for real. We drove up in Dad's truck and the men lowered the coffin six feet under. I stared in the hole as the coffin was lowered. There was the slightest movement in the coffin. Then, slowly, I saw a crack begin to appear on the top of the coffin. Bloodied fingers tore at the wood. There was a wailing of a voice and I yelled, "PULL IT UP!" The coffin stopped and I looked up at my dad. He was glaring.  "She's alive, Dad!" I said. "No, Kendra, she isn't." he said, "Look in that hole!" I did. The crack was sealed and there were no bloodied fingers poking out. "Continue." said Dad. That Night After the funeral, I just couldn't sleep. I saw Mom's face in my mind, her eyes rolling back and her pale white face. I saw her hovering above the coffin. I saw her die before me over and over again. Publication Date: July 31st 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-kxe88b9d0faad35

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sharry-banks-the-ultimate-deaths-1/

Sharry Banks The Ultimate Deaths To: my dear darling family It all started at the age of five when poor Landy was malested and beatened by her father. They called him sam. she was beatened when she refused to have sexual relations with her father.She would then be knocked unconcious by him where he would then do what he pleased. Sometimes she would agree to the things and he then held her down and did what he pleased. when she went to school the next day she would then would have to make up excuses for the marks and blemishes she then had the next day. Thats where it started. Text: please do not copy this book. i have the right to sue do to the copyright law of 1976. All rights reserved. Publication Date: May 31st 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-sharrybaby

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-montana-and-michelle-my-life/

Montana And Michelle My Life In some parts it sucks In some it doesn't.. I dedicate this to: Our life :D! Text: I don't know o3o Images: Still don't know o_o" Editing: Don't even know what this is T_T Translation: Erm, I'm just gonna put: ENGLISH. All rights reserved. Publication Date: January 26th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-montana.books

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Nicki Princess Perfect .... Not ! By:Nicki Princess Publication Date: June 20th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-nickiprincess9

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-sarah-mcallister-blue-neighbourhood/

Sarah McAllister Blue Neighbourhood one.    Distraction.      Most likely, there's some sort of negative connotation tied to the word 'distraction'. The first thing that might pop into someone's mind when hearing the word itself. Procrastination. Delinquency. Tragedy even. And they're not wrong. Distractions can result in unwanted consequences. However, I have a different experience with distractions. Distraction kept my sprouting insanity at bay. Distraction was my oblivion when the pain was just too real to ignore. Distraction did its best to stave off my self-hatred and averted my attention to something less destructive.     Distraction was not a Nintendo, or an iPod equipped with earbuds. Distraction had a name. Its name was Troye Sivan.    -   2005    At that time, it had been two years. Two years since Mum earned her wings and left my dad and I in the struggle against the current. On our own. A fighter, she always was, and she was adamant about the fact that she wouldn't ever walk out of our lives when we needed her most. But when you're in a war with stage IV breast cancer, you can't really have the highest hopes for a happy ending. Not to say she lived every day in depression after the doctors broke the news to her. She acted as if she knew no cancer. Her eyes glistened with faith. She breathed hope. But eventually, she gave up her smile while on her deathbed and told me she'd have to stop this 'naive' way of thinking. She accepted that she was going to go. Not too long after that, she died peacefully right before my very eyes and I've never felt so enraged with the world. It took my mother away. My confidant. My comforter -- the world took her away from me. Away from me .     My father took it much worse. I remember so vividly a few days after her passing away when he said goodbye to his sanity. He wasn't my father anymore. At least, he's not the father I used to know, anymore. He couldn't look at the family pictures any longer. Just hearing her name was unbearable. It was like the mask etched into his face, the man he once was, was traded out for another who cared about nothing more than forgetting. Escaping the memories. Getting away from the images of her ghosting in his mind.  A harder battle awaited him each passing day. He got a lot meaner. Craved amnesia a little more. Deteriorated a little more. Long nights with vodka bottles became his best friend. He was in dire need for a distraction. Yes, his actions gave him unwanted consequences like losing his job. But he was determined that he wouldn't let the agonizing pain in his heart swallow him whole.     It's funny how my dad and I are the same, although I hate to admit it. We allowed anger to infiltrate our lives and almost destroy us. Instead of taking this grief process in stride as father and son, we embark on a wild goose chase for tranquility by ourselves. We did everything possible to fill the void inside us, where Mum's vibrancy used to reign. We were obsessed, obsessed with wanting to forget.     Then, an eight-year-old distraction named Troye Sivan stumbled into my life.  Publication Date: March 4th 2016 https://www.bookrix.com/-lx14c18047d7a55

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-asuna-yuuki-kirito-039-s-surprise-part-7/

Asuna Yuuki, RWBY lover Kirito's Surprise part 7 The Jealousy Gets Stronger! Gal wokeup yawning noticing that kazuto and her were the only ones there "she quickly got up and walked up to him" then tapping him on the shoulder "kazuto turned around" e..eh Gal goodmorning" good morning bro 'she said smirking then grabbing ahold of his arm" h..hey Gal im doing something could you wait?" is it more important than me or my feelings?  .. well uh n..no but" they then heard a knock at the door which was yuuki coming back holding bags "kazuto got aloose from Gal,s grip she then ran up to him moving his arm away from the doorknobs reach" as she kissed him and kazuto started to kiss back as the door swung open and it was yuuki and silica standing there looking at them " your doing that again to my bf" she said while walking into the house putting the stuff away, silica stood there speechles and all of a suddened she just screamed and ran out of the house dropping the bags totally forgetting she was helping yuuki, "huh i wonder what that was about" gal said with a slight nudge of kazuto as elizbeth walked into the house "whyd silica run off" she said while grabbing the bags off the floor, "i dont know maybe because she saw Gal and Kazuto kissing" asuna said with an angry look on her face "What she was kissing my man" elizbeth said with a slight hesitation, Gal just looked at her with a smirk on her face, elisbeth hugs kazuto ad kisses him as silica walked into the house and saw as she passed out, "huh what happened to silica" kazuto said grabbing her picking her up in his arms putting her in his bed and sits by her but she woke up looking at him and since he was the only one in the room as she blushed and turned around, "kazuto why am i in your room" she asked with a tear in her eye, "well you passed out so i thought id put you in my bed until you get better" he said with a smile and silica jumped up and huged him, " thank you for caring about me but im fine now" she said with a wink and she walk out of her room as she walked to the restroom and she locked the door behind her as she broke down in tears thinking of what she saw when Gal and elisbeth did to kazuto since she was in love with him, "Silica are you ok!" kazuto screamed from the other side of the door, "go away leave me alone!" she said with a trembling face, she got up and opened the door looking at him with tears in her eyes as she ran out of the house. Publication Date: October 9th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-dnf10382a424525

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-rwby-lover-kirito-039-s-surprise/

RWBY lover, Naruto lover11 Kirito's Surprise this is dedicated to narutolover11 narutolover11 The long lost sister appears. "Kazuto! your going to be late for school" his aunt yelled from the bottom of the stair case,Kazuto stayed asleep as his alarm clock went off, he sprung outta bed and slammed the alarm clock got dressed super fast and ran down the stairs and grabbed a peice of toast and ran straight out the door, as he was running straight down the street to the school yard he ran into asuna as he yelled "no time to talk!" he'd run inside the class room "sorry im late!" said kazuto and the teacher just looked at him weird "you're not late" kazuto would take his seat as the teacher started the class the girl that sat next to kazuto was yuki asuna, "hey kazuto did you hear were getting a new student today. "Please welcome our new student gal sinon" the teacher said excitedly as the student walked in to the class room and she stared at the class looking around suddenly looking at kazuto as she runs and yells at yuki asuna "thats my seat, i sit next to this boy now move" she said "but this is my seat" yuki said she looked in to gals eyes as they were fiery red, yuki then got up and moved from the desk to a new one as gal sat in the chair moving her desk together with kazuto " uh what are you doing gal" kazuto said looking confused she then looked him in the eyes " you're my brother" she said with a sweet look on her face smiling. yuki asuna in her new seat would stare at them to as she sees the girl hugging kazuto she'd whisper to her self " thats my boyfreind" she'd stand and march straight up to them both " what are you doing to my bf!" she yelled with her hair turned red as kazuto turned around " its not what it looks like" as he ran across the room scared as he'd run outta the room thinking that yuki has gone crazy "why are you running kazuto i just wanna talk to you" he kept running and went home till the next day.   part two will be here tomarrow Publication Date: October 8th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-dnf10382a424525

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-lil-one-i-ran-away/

lil one i ran away bad idea i think it was a bad idea ok no chpter Publication Date: May 20th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-ksa6b12dfecc555

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-kk-saving-ace/

kk Saving Ace May 21, 2005 As I step out of the little black car, the old man says it’s going to be okay, that I’ll find another family. The pit in my stomach got even bigger. They are gone; the only people who have ever been there for me are gone. As I look at the ground I silently let tears overflow down my cheek. “You’ll be okay.” The old man says while he puts his hand on my shoulder. I look up at the 60 year old man; he looks as if he is too tired to even talk. “Let’s get this over with.” Another man about the age of 25 says impatiently. He reminds me of one of those hairless dogs, ones that no one likes, and are really annoying .Even in this situation, thinking of that man today, still makes me laugh. As I take another step I take another deep breath trying to steady myself. I look at the place. It has a little sign over the front door saying ‘Angle’s Corner’ the name was nothing compared to the building. It looked like something that shouldn’t be allowed to have people living in it… When I reach the front door the old man turns around and explains that he has a lot of other things to do, all of which were more important than what he was doing now. “Yes, Erin. This boy needs to get away from all the things he witness.” The old man says looking down at me. “Whatever, as long as I get paid, I don’t care.” Erin says rolling his eyes. The old man looks down at me with sorrow in his eyes. I take a deep breath and knock on the door, a middle aged woman that towards over me answers. “This is the kid; take him so I can leave.” Erin says shoving me into the house. The lady moves over so I can come in. I look back at the old man one last time, as I look into his eyes; I see pain, sorrow and regret. I try to smile but my lips don’t move the right way and the lady slams the door in the man’s face. The loud sound brings me back to that day, the day I wish I never had happened… It was my birthday. I was turning 6 my mom and dad were talking to me at the kitchen table, asking me what I wanted to do to celebrate. I told them I wanted a car piñata. As I tell them this, my mother gasps in pain. “Oh, it’s okay honey, it’s the baby.” She tells my dad and me. “Oh, okay,” I said looking down. I was looking forward to a little sibling, but I didn’t like the way it was hurting my mom. Then my mother told me to get ready, that we would go shopping for the party stuff. I ran to my room, as I was brushing my teeth I heard my mom scream and my dad say it was okay that they would be at the hospital in a few minutes. “Ace, go over to the neighbors and tell them the baby is coming and that we asked if you could stay with there for a little bit, okay?” my dad asked when I cam into the kitchen to see my mother getting a bag ready with baby stuff that was on the counter with a puddle under here. “I thought mommy was a big girl, she had an accident.” I said “No, honey, the baby’s coming.” My mother said to me. “Oh.” I said as I backed away and ran to my room to get my bag of stuff to do at the neighbors, liked me a dad had practiced for when the baby was coming. I walked over to Mrs. Roseberry’s house and told her what my dad told me to and she let me in and told to watch TV while she made a few phone calls. After watching SpongeBob I fell asleep on Mrs. Roseberry’s cat on my chest. I woke up to the sound of Mrs. Roseberry crying in her bedroom. “What’s wrong?” I asked walking over to her and jumping onto her bed to sit down. “Umm…. Well… I think you should ask your father that question, okay? I’ll call him right now okay?” she told me. “Okay.” I answered while she was dialing my dad’s number. “Michel, you need to tell Ace, he has the right to know.” Mrs. Roseberry said. And after my dad said a few things I couldn’t hear to her, she handed me the phone. “Daddy what’s wrong?” I asked, scared to hear the answer. “Well bud, do you remember when we were at your favorite park, and you saw the family burying their doggie in their backyard? And you asked why they were putting it in the ground? And I told you the doggie left, that it wasn’t coming back anymore. You mommy left too. She won’t be here anymore either. Just like the doggie?” “Well when she is coming back. I miss her. She’s gunna miss y party.” I said/ “She won’t be here anymore bud.” My dad said then I heard this big crashing sound and the line going dead. “The phone broke! Where’s my daddy!!!! I want my daddy!!!! I want my mommy!!!” “I'm sorry honey, but they are gone.” “No they were just here! How can they be gone?” I asked confused and scared. …… “Hello?” the lady practically yelled at me. “I'm sorry, what did you say?” I asked. “How old you are.” “7.” “Okay you are going in the room upstairs, first door on the right. Don’t go into any other rooms.” The lady said. “Umm… okay.” “By the way, I'm Ms. Rose.” As I walked up the stairs, I noticed little voices in and I saw another boy there. He was sitting on a bed looking at a picture. He had blue eyes with brown hair that covered his eyes. “Umm… hi, I'm Ace.” I said to him. “Adam.” “Why am I here?” “Because you have no other place to go, no one wants you.” The boy said. As the realization sunk in, I started to feel the lump in my throat appear. I swallowed hard to keep myself from crying. “You’re sleeping here.” Adam said nodding to the bed across from the bed he was sitting on. “Okay.” I said quietly. As soon as I sat down on my new bed, I could feel my eyes lids getting heavier and heavier every second. When I laid down I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until Adam was yelling at me to get up so I could do my chores. “Okay.” I whisper knowing he can’t hear me. I guess this is my new life now… October 7, 2013 I hear her on the phone, my real mother. I can tell by the rage in Ms. Rose’s voice that my mother wants to take me home, and with me gone, Ms. Rose won’t get as much money. Nothing comes between Ms. Rose and her money. I try to concentrate, to hear my mother’s voice once more, quiet, nervous, low and fast. “Mary… Ellis was it? Ace isn’t your boy. You had your chance to keep him. And you chose to give him up. You can’t have him.” As soon as I hear Ms. Rose’s response, I know the only reason she wanted me is for the state money. I rest my hand on the gold locket dangling around my neck, my mothers. I look at the picture she put in it of herself, looking so young, and careless. I try to imagine her on the phone trying to get my home, to a real home, not the roach invested orphanage of Angles’ Corner. When Ms. Rose hangs up the kitchen phone, she looks at herself in the mirror. She is a middle aged woman of forty-five with hair red as fire and a temper to match. She scribbles something on a post it note then folds it and places it under the microwave. When I hear her go upstairs to her room, I walk into the kitchen and take the note from under the microwave. When I open it, I see an address. I look at a mental map and figure that it’s about a hours walk from here. After a horrible dinner, like always, I go upstairs and into my room that I share with four other boys around my age. When I shut the door, Adam whispers “Is she in her room yet?” “No” I answer then walk over to Adam’s bed. “I hope she goes to bed soon,” Adam scoots over so I can sit too. “I want to surprise Britney; it’s been a tough week for her, with her mom and dad splitting up. I just want to be there for her.” Adam explains. “I heard my mother’s voice today.” “I thought Ms. Rose said she died horribly in a fire with your dad.” Adam said, confused. “No, she lied. My mother’s alive. I'm going to see her. I have her address.” “What if Ms. Rose catches you?” “Well, I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen.” “I’ll help you if you need me too.” “Thanks.” When the triplets come into our room, the collapse on their bed and fall asleep almost as soon as they hit their pillows. I watch them sleep; they all have strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes that see only good in everyone. It’s a shame that when I go with my mother, they will be all alone. Maybe mother can take them too I think to myself. As I get ready for bed I think about the triplets more. But once my head hits my pillow, I think of nothing. I dream of nothing….but my mother. October 8, 2013 When I wake up, Ms. Rose is already gone. This might be only chance I have no choice. I swing my legs off the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. I shiver but stand up, looking at the triplets, and Adam, who were still asleep. Tiptoeing across the room, I thought about people would react when they found out I was gone, then I realize Ms. Rose would just lie and say I was here, and still the state money, so she wouldn’t care. I can’t think about this right now. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to grab breakfast, disgusting as it was, at least it was food. Quickly, I stuffed the few clothes I owned in a bag, glancing at the triplets. Adam can look after everyone for me, besides, Brittney needs him more than I do right now. I can do this on my own. I slip on my shoes and try to figure out how to get out of here quickly, quietly and safely. I suppose the window… but it’s not very safe, but it only makes a little scrapping sounds when it’s opened I think. So I throw my bag down first, then I jump out of the window and land on the roof right above the front door, after throwing my bag on the ground, I jump of the roof and into a bush to cushion my landing. “I-I-I made it out!” I whisper to myself, I can’t believe I did! It was almost too easy, before I have a chance to talk myself out of doing this; I burst into a sprint, not exactly sure where I was going. After running for a while, I stop, look around and notice I was actually running in the right direction. In only about 45 minutes I would be at my mother’s doorstep. I wondered what her house would be like, what my room would look like, what kind of food she’d make, and what kind of mother she’d be. What would she think of me? Her son, the one she left at a rundown orphanage, at her doorstep. She called, so she must want me. “She has to…” I thought, looking down at the dusty stone that I have been kicking for the last five minutes. What about Adam? What about all of them? They’ll be fine I thought to myself again. Adam offered to help me, so I’m sure he’ll do his part to help everyone while I'm gone. I lose myself in my thoughts, until I notice the numbers painted on the mailboxes of random houses. “I'm so close,” I say excitedly. My pace quickens until I make my way the road a bit further. “There it is.” My gaze settles on a medium sized house painted light yellow with cream colored shutters with ivy climbing up the side of the house, just above a tiny garden. “I’m here.” As I stand there, looking at the house, I try to gather enough nerve to walk up the driveway. I sigh and walk the paved pathway leading to the front door. After ringing the doorbell, I think about her reaction, then when I heard her voice say “Hold on a second... be right there.” I suddenly get scared. That is, until she opens the door… “Hi… Mom.” “What do you …” she starts to say, then interrupts herself and says “Ace?” “Yes. It’s me” “How did you…?” she asks looking around for a car. “I walked.” “In the middle of New Jersey? You could’ve been run over… or worse.” “I know, I just couldn’t take living in that terrible place anymore. I'm sorry.” “Who’s that Mommy?” a little girl with blonde hair to match mine and mom’s hair with my hazel eyes, wearing a pink dress with her hair in matching pigtails. “No one… Just go back with Daddy.” Mom says. “Okay.” The little girl says. “Why did you tell her?” I asked, feeling like I was going to cry, feeling unwanted. “Because she and your father don’t even know you exist.” “Why?” Mom sighs and yells “Jack!!!!” A tall man with dark hair and hazel eyes came up behind her and asked what she needed. “We need to talk.” She says to him. “What’s wrong? Who is this boy?” “His name is Ace, he’s our son.” “What do you mean?” the man who is my father asks. “15 years ago, when I told you I was a France for the year… I was pregnant, and …” “How could you do this to me?!” Mom sighs and asks me to come in out of the cold and to sit in the living room, while they go in the kitchen. As soon as they enter the kitchen my father starts to yell at my mother. “How could you?” “I was scared, 17 and pregnant…what was I supposed to do? Neither of us was ready.” “How do you know that?” “I'm so sorry… I never wanted to hurt you, but he’s here now… we can’t just throw him out in the streets.” “What. Like you did?” “I did what I thought was best for him! I love him!” “You don’t know him!” “He’s out boy!” “How do we know that?” “Look at him!” “How do I know that he’s mine?” After hearing a slapping sound, and the front door slam shut I follow my mom, only to see her trying to wipe her eyes and cross the street. She wasn’t paying attention. The car is going at least 15 miles over the limit. I try to yell at her to get her to move out of the way as I run to her. She turns around and smiles at me, and starts walking towards me, but she doesn’t get out of the way soon enough. When the car hits her I can’t look. I close my eyes and let tears fall. When my father comes outside he screams when he sees. He runs to her and tries to save her with CPR, but deep down, he knows it’s too late. He sits and cries on her limp body. I sit with him and cry silently. When he stops crying enough to talk, my father calls the ambulance to get her. As he is doing this the little girl comes outside. When she sees her mother she runs to our father and asked him why mommy was sleeping in the middle of the road, that it isn’t safe. When he gets off the phone, he explains to her that mommy has died. When the ambulance gets our mother, the girl starts to cry on her father’s leg. “W-w-what do I do now? I can’t go back to the Angle’s Corner… it’s too horrible.” I ask my father, hoping for him to say I can stay with him. “You can’t stay with us. I just lost my wife, and Isabella just lost her mother. I can’t deal with another child.” “You say that she little girl has lost a mother… well so have I !!!!” I scream the turn around and run as fast as I can away from what I just witnessed. I run until I can’t run anymore. I just want to disappear, to have never have existed. It’s been a couple of days, I can’t believe what’s happened. I try to sleep so I can think it’s a bad dream, that if I sleep long enough, maybe I’ll wake up from the horrible nightmare that is my live. I stop at a little roadside diner. As soon as I step into the diner, the smell of fresh coffee and apple pie overwhelm me. I'm not here to eat I think to myself. I'm here to rest so I can leave. I sit at a booth in front of an old man about 60 or so he is reading a newspaper. As I sit down a waitress walks up to my table and sets a cup of hot coffee on it then says while popping her gum “It’s on the house.” “Thank you.” I say to her. After sipping on the coffee I hear the waitress that gave me my coffee talking to another waitress “… it’s a shame really, the man kills himself after he wife died last week. I read it in the paper… so sad.” I do a mental double take. Then I get up and get a newspaper form the stand next to the front door. The head line reads “Man Preformed Suicide after Wife’s tragic Death” the article said he hung himself in his backyard and that he didn’t have any other family but my sister and mother… but he did, he had me I think to myself. It’s all too much to bear. After reading the graphic details on my father’s death, I start to get dizzy, like u do when you stand up too quickly… only I knew it wasn’t from standing up to quickly… it was from shock. I run out of the diner before I had a chance to cry right there in the booth. I run as fast as I could to the nearest park where I sat and cried until all I had left was little hiccups. As I sit there thinking…wondering what was going to happen to Isabella, was she going to Angle’s Corner? Or another family member? As I try to come to a conclusion as to what I'm going to do, I decide I will never see Isabella again. I will leave her alone, she won’t remember me. As I walk to my mother’s grave I think about all the things I'm never going to have… that I never had. Before I can cry I pick up a red rose from a bush and set it on my mother’s grave. I hope she still loves me, I think to myself as I walk away forever. Never to return. Publication Date: January 28th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-kurstin

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-megan-kleis-welcome-to-my-world/

megan kleis welcome to my world a fictional story Time To Leave I hurried down the hall towards the principals office.As I opened the door,I smelt a terrible smell."FIRE!"shouted Ms.Jennings,the secretary.I turned around and saw her dialing 911. Publication Date: February 17th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-ninjamagenta

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-april-johnson-burned/

april johnson burned Kalona lifted his hands. He didn’t hesitate. There was no doubt whatsoever in his mind about what he had to do. He would not allow anything or anyone to get in his way, and this human boy was standing between him and what he desired. He didn’t particularly want to kill the boy; he didn’t particularly want the boy alive, either. It was a simple necessity. He didn’t feel remorse or regret. As had been the norm during the centuries since he’d fallen, Kalona felt very little. So, indifferently, the winged immortal twisted the boy’s neck and put an end to his life. “No!” The anguish of that one word froze Kalona’s heart. He dropped the boy’s lifeless body and whirled around in time to see Zoey racing toward him. Their eyes met. In hers were despair and hatred. In his was an impossible denial. He tried to formulate the words that might make her understand— might make her forgive him. But there was nothing he could say to change what she had seen, and even if he could work the impossible, there was no time. Zoey threw the full power of the element spirit at him. It hit the immortal, striking him with force that was beyond physical. Spirit was his essence— his core— the element that had sustained him for centuries and with which he had always been most comfortable, as well as most powerful. Zoey’s attack seared him. It lifted him with such force that he was hurled over the huge stone wall that separated the vampyres’ island and the Gulf of Venice. The icy water engulfed him, smothering him. For an instant the pain within Kalona was so deadening that he didn’t fight it. Perhaps he should let this terrible struggle for life and its trappings end. Perhaps, once again, he should allow himself to be vanquished by her. But less than a heartbeat after he had the thought, he felt it. Zoey’s soul shattered and, as truly as his fall had carried him from one realm to another, her spirit departed this world. The knowledge wounded him worse than had her blow against him. Not Zoey! He’d never meant to cause her harm. Even through all of Neferet’s machinations, through all of the Tsi Sgili’s manipulations and plans, he’d held tight to the knowledge that, in spite of everything, he would use his vast immortal powers to keep Zoey safe because ultimately she was the closest he could come to Nyx in this realm— and this was the only realm left to him. Fighting to recover from Zoey’s attack, Kalona lifted his massive body from the clutching waves and realized the truth. Because of him, Zoey’s spirit was gone, which meant she would die. With his first breath of air, he released a wrenching cry of despair, echoing her last word, “No!” Had he really believed since his fall that he didn’t truly have feelings? He’d been a fool and wrong, so very wrong. Emotions battered him as he flew raggedly just above the waterline, chipping away at his already wounded spirit, raging against him, weakening him, bleeding his soul. With blurred, blackened vision, he stared across the lagoon, squinting to see the lights that heralded land. He’d never make it there. It would have to be the palace. He had no choice. Using the last reserves of his strength, Kalona’s wings beat against the frigid air, lifting him over the wall, where he crumpled to the frozen earth. He didn’t know how long he lay there in the cold darkness of the shattered night as emotions overwhelmed his shaken soul. Somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, he understood the familiarity of what had happened to him. He’d fallen again, only this time it was more in spirit than in body— though his body didn’t seem his to command any longer either. He felt her presence before she spoke. It had been like that between them from the first, whether he truly wished it or not— they simply sensed one another. “You allowed Stark to bear witness to your killing of the boy!” Neferet’s voice was more frigid than the winter sea. Kalona turned his head so that he could see more than the toe of her stiletto shoe. He looked up at her, blinking to try to clear his vision. “Accident.” Finding his voice again he managed a rasping whisper. “Zoey should not have been there.” “Accidents are unacceptable, and I care not one bit that she was there. Actually, the result of what she saw is rather convenient.” “You know that her soul shattered?” Kalona hated the unnatural weakness in his voice and the strange lethargy in his body almost as much as he hated the effect Neferet’s icy beauty had on him. “I imagine most of the vampyres on the island know it. Typically for her, Zoey’s spirit wasn’t exactly quiet in its leave- taking. I wonder, though, how many of the vampyres also felt the blow the chit dealt you just before she departed.” Neferet tapped her chin contemplatively with one long, sharp fingernail. Kalona remained silent, struggling to center himself and draw together the ragged edges of his torn spirit, but the earth his body pressed against was too real, and he had not the strength to reach above and feed his soul from the wispy vestiges of the Otherworld that floated there. “No, I don’t imagine any of them felt it,” Neferet continued, in her coldest, most calculating voice. “None of them are connected to Darkness, to you, as I am. Is that not so, my love?” “We are uniquely connected,” Kalona managed, though he suddenly wished the words were not true. “Indeed . . .” she said, still distracted by her thoughts. Then Neferet’s eyes widened as a new realization came to her. “I have long wondered how it was that A-ya managed to wound you, such a physically powerful immortal, badly enough that those ridiculous Cherokee hags could entrap you. I believe little Zoey has just provided the answer you’ve so carefully withheld from me. Your body can be damaged but only through your spirit. Isn’t that fascinating?” “I will heal.” He put as much strength as possible in his voice. “Return me to Capri and the castle there. Take me to the rooftop, as close to the sky as I can be, and I will regain my strength.” “I imagine you would— were I so inclined to do that. But I have other plans for you, my love.” Neferet lifted her arms, extending them over him. As she continued to speak she began weaving her long fingers through the air, creating intricate patterns, like a spider spinning her web. “I will not allow Zoey to interfere with us ever again.” “A shattered soul is a death sentence. Zoey is no longer any threat to us,” he said. With knowing eyes, Kalona watched Neferet. She drew to her a sticky blackness he recognized all too well. He’d spent lifetimes battling that Darkness before he embraced its cold power. It pulsed and fluttered familiarly, restlessly under her fingers. She shouldn’t be able to command Darkness so tangibly. The thought drifted like the echo of a death knell through his weary mind. A High Priestess shouldn’t have such power. But Neferet was no longer merely a High Priestess. She had grown beyond the boundaries of that role some time ago, and she had no trouble controlling the writhing blackness she conjured. She is becoming immortal, Kalona realized, and with the realization, fear joined regret and despair and anger where they already simmered within the fallen Warrior of Nyx. “One would think it would be a death sentence,” Neferet spoke calmly as she drew more and more of the inky threads to her, “but Zoey has a terribly inconvenient habit of surviving. This time I am going to ensure she dies.” “Zoey’s soul also has a habit of reincarnating,” he said, purposefully baiting Neferet to try to throw off her focus. “Then I will destroy her over and over again!” Neferet’s concentration only increased with the anger his words evoked. The blackness she spun intensified, writhing with swollen power in the air around her. “Neferet.” He tried to reach her by using her name. “Do you truly understand what it is you are attempting to command?” Her gaze met his, and, for the first time, Kalona saw the scarlet stain that nested in the darkness of her eyes. “Of course I do. It’s what lesser beings call evil.” “I am not a lesser being, and I, too, have called it evil.” “Ah, not for centuries you haven’t.” Her laughter was vicious. “But it seems lately you’ve been living too much with shadows from your past instead of reveling in the lovely dark power of the present. I know who is to blame for that.” With a tremendous effort, Kalona pushed himself to a sitting position. “No. I don’t want you to move.” Neferet flicked one finger at him, and a thread of darkness snaked around his neck, tightened, and jerked him down, pinning him to the ground again. “What is it you want of me?” he rasped. “I want you to follow Zoey’s spirit to the Otherworld and be sure none of her friends”— she sneered the word—“manage to find a way to coax her to rejoin her body.” Shock jolted through the immortal. “I have been banished by Nyx from the Otherworld. I cannot follow Zoey there.” “Oh, but you are wrong, my love. You see, you always think too literally. Nyx ousted you— you fell— you cannot return. So you have believed for centuries that is that. Well, you literally cannot.” She sighed dramatically as he stared at her blankly. “Your gorgeous body was banished, that’s all. Did Nyx say anything about your immortal soul?” “She need not say it. If a soul is separated from a body for too long, the body will die.” “But your body isn’t mortal, which means it can be separated indefinitely from its soul without dying,” she said. Kalona struggled to keep the terror her words filled him with from his expression. “It is true that I cannot die, but that does not mean I will remain undamaged if my spirit leaves my body for too long.” I could age . . . go mad . . . become a never dying shell of myself . . . The possibilities swirled through his mind. Neferet shrugged. “Then you will have to be sure you finish your task soon, so that you may return to your lovely immortal body before it is irreparably damaged.” She smiled seductively at him. “I would very much dislike it if anything happened to your body, my love.” “Neferet, don’t do this. You are putting into motion things that will require payment, the consequences of which even you will not want to face.” “Do not threaten me! I released you from your imprisonment. I loved you. And then I watched you fawn over that simpering teenager. I want her gone from my life! Consequences? I embrace them! I am not the weak, ineffective High Priestess of a rule- following goddess any longer. Don’t you understand that? Had you not been so distracted by that child, you would know it without me telling you. I am an immortal, the same as you, Kalona!” Her voice was eerie, amplified with power. “We are perfectly matched. You used to believe that as well, and that is something you will believe again, when Zoey Redbird is no more.” Kalona stared at her, understanding that Neferet was utterly, truly mad, and wondering why that madness only served to feed her power and intensify her beauty. “So this is what I have decided to do,” she continued, speaking methodically. “I am going to keep your sexy, immortal body safely tucked away underground somewhere while your soul travels to the Otherworld and makes sure Zoey does not return here.” “Nyx will never allow it!” The words burst from him before he could stop them. “Nyx always allows free will. As her former High Priestess, I know without any doubt that she will allow you to choose to travel in spirit to the Otherworld,” Neferet said slyly. “Remember, Kalona, my true love, if you ensure Zoey’s death, you will be removing the last impediment to us reigning side by side. You and I will be powerful beyond imagining in this world of modern marvels. Think of it— we will subjugate humans and bring back the reign of vampyres with all the beauty and passion and limitless power that means. The earth will be ours. We will, indeed, give new life to the glorious past!” Kalona knew she was playing on his weaknesses. Silently, he cursed himself for allowing her to have learned too much about his deepest desires. He’d trusted her, so Neferet knew that because he wasn’t Erebus he could never truly rule beside Nyx in the Otherworld, and he was driven to re- create as much of what he’d lost here in this modern world. “You see, my love, when you consider it logically, it is only right that you follow Zoey and sever the link between her soul and her body. Doing so simply serves your ultimate desires.” Neferet spoke nonchalantly, as if the two of them were discussing the choice of material for her latest gown. “How am I even to find Zoey’s soul?” He tried to match her matter of fact tone. “The Otherworld is a realm so vast, only the gods and goddesses can traverse it.” Neferet’s bland expression tightened, making her cruel beauty terrible to behold. “Do not pretend you don’t have a connection to her soul!” The Tsi Sgili immortal drew a deep breath. In a more reasonable tone, she continued, “Admit it, my love; you could find Zoey even if no one else could. What is your choice, Kalona? To rule on earth at my side, or to remain a slave to the past?” “I choose to rule. I will always choose to rule,” he said without hesitation. As soon as he spoke, Neferet’s eyes changed. The green within them became totally engulfed in scarlet. She turned the glowing orbs on him— holding, entrapping, entrancing. “Then hear me, Kalona, Fallen Warrior of Nyx, by my oath I shall keep your body safe. When Zoey Redbird, fledging High Priestess of Nyx, is no more, I swear to you I will remove these dark chains and allow your spirit to return. Then I will take you to the rooftop of our castle on Capri and let the sky breathe life and strength into you so that you will rule this realm as my consort, my protector, my Erebus.” As Kalona watched, helpless to stop her, Neferet drew one long, pointed fingernail across the palm of her right hand. Cupping the blood that pooled there, she held her hand up, offering. “By blood I claim this power; by blood I bind this oath.” All around her, Darkness stirred and descended on her palm, writhing, shivering, drinking. Kalona could feel the draw of that Darkness. It spoke to his soul with seductive, powerful whispers. “Yes!” The word was a moan torn deep from his throat as Kalona yielded himself to the greedy Darkness. When Neferet continued, her voice was magnified, swollen with power. “It is your own choice that I have sealed this oath by blood with Darkness, but should you fail me and break it—” “I will not fail.” Her smile was unworldly in its beauty; her eyes roiled with blood. “If you, Kalona, Fallen Warrior of Nyx, break this oath and fail in my sworn quest to destroy Zoey Redbird, fledgling High Priestess of Nyx, I shall hold dominion over your spirit for as long as you are an immortal.” The answering words came unbidden by him, evoked by the seductive Darkness, which for centuries he’d chosen over Light. “If I fail, you shall hold dominion over my spirit for as long as I am an immortal.” “Thus I have sworn.” Again Neferet slashed her palm, creating a bloody X in her flesh. The copper scent wafted to Kalona like smoke rising from fire as she again raised her hand to Darkness. “Thus it shall be!” Neferet’s face twisted in pain as Darkness drank from her again, but she didn’t flinch— didn’t move until the air around her pulsed, bloated with her blood and her oath. Only then did she lower her hand. Her tongue snaked out, licking the scarlet line and ending the bleeding. Neferet walked to him, bent, and gently placed her hands on either side of his face, much as he had held the human boy before delivering his deathblow. He could feel Darkness thrumming around and within her, a raging bull waiting eagerly for his mistress’s command. Her blood-reddened lips paused just short of touching his. “With the power that rushes through my blood, and by the strength of the lives I have taken, I command you, my delicious threads of Darkness, to pull this Oath Bound immortal’s soul from his body and speed him to the Otherworld. Go and do as I order, and I swear I will sacrifice to you the life of an innocent you have been unable to taint. So thee for me, I mote it be!” Neferet drew in a deep breath, and Kalona saw the dark threads she’d summoned slither between her full, red lips. She inhaled Darkness until she was swollen with it, and then she covered his mouth with hers and, with that blackened, blood- tainted kiss, blew Darkness within him with such force that it ripped his already wounded soul from his body. As his soul shrieked in soundless agony, Kalona was forced up, up, and into the realm from which his Goddess had banished him, leaving his body lifeless, chained, Oath Bound by evil, and at the mercy of Neferet Publication Date: October 26th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-mztroublemaker12

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-s-n-albright-insert-witty-title-here/

S. N. Albright Insert Witty Title Here :) Chapter 1 Kevin and I were walking down the hallway alongside each other to 5th period. When, out of nowhere, David Donnelley -a boy who was typically known as the school bully, and had completely disregarded school, leading to the effect of repeating 6th grade- had appeared from around the bend. He had a murderous, yet a sinister smile across his face. Kevin and I had been best friends since we met in 6th grade. We both had almost every class together, so over the years, we’ve really gotten to know each other. We sat near the door in 4th period so that once the bell rang; we would be first out, avoiding the stampede of other kids. I had always been rather afraid of David Donnelley. He was never very studious at all, much less pleasant to be around. He made his friends because they were more afraid to be his enemy, or his target. When he walked around the corner, everyone in the hallway had stopped in his or her tracks. Kevin and I had been in the front of this crowd of statues. At first I wondered why everyone all froze at once. Most people usually just continue walking. But this was different. In David’s hand, held a small, most likely loaded, pistol. “Hello again, loser.” David spat in my direction, his eyes looking directly at mine. I remained quiet. “Aw, that’s rude. You won’t even say hi to your old schoolmate since 3rd grade?” he sounded insane. He slowly lifted the pistol in my direction. All the color drained from my face. Kevin dropped his books down in front of him on the floor, and walked in front of me. He lifted his fists threateningly in the air, and said, “This isn’t fair. Grace hasn’t even got anything to defend herself. If you’re looking for a fight, don’t touch her. I’ll fight you.” David seemed amused. He adjusted his head around Kevin’s body in order to, once again, look into my eyes. “I get it, Grace. You’ve gotten yourself a boyfriend!” he paused and looked back at Kevin. “Alright. I’ll bite.” David put his gun in his jacket pocket, and walked towards Kevin, and raised his fists to match Kevin’s. Kevin looked much more afraid than David. It wasn’t until now that I realized everyone had left and gone to class. The classroom doors were shut now to keep hallway noise out. Teachers had no idea we were out here. Now I was worried. David continued, “on the count of 3.” He laughed, “…1…2” at this point he quickly pulled out his gun and shot at Kevin’s leg. A loud cry of pain rang throughout the school. But it wasn’t Kevin’s. He only hit the ground and grabbed his leg in horrible pain. It was I who screamed. At this point at least seven teachers looked out into the hallway to see what happened. They saw David with the gun, but he was running towards the staircase down the exit. The teachers yelled in surprise. “OH MY GOD” screamed Ms. Green. “WHAT HAPPENED?” asked Mr. Knight. “WHAT DID YOU DO?” accused Ms. Finnigan, glaring at me. But I couldn’t here any of it. The ringing in my ears from the gunshot deafened me, and I was almost blinded by my own tears. I didn’t know what to say. I only instinctively crouched down and grasped Kevin’s right hand with both of mine. I managed to wipe away my tears, and finally saw how dazed and taken aback Kevin looked. He looked determined into my eyes. I managed to get out, “Are you okay? Where are you hurt?” He looked down to his leg and let go of the injury to see the damage. When he removed his hand he yelped in terrible throbbing pain. His blood soaked his left pant leg. I almost threw up when I saw it. “Oh, Kevin…” I looked at him one last time, and dropped my head. “Stop it, please. I can barely take the pain now. Don’t make me have to see you miserable. I couldn’t bare it.” He begged through gritted teeth. I raised my head back up, and noticed the teachers surrounding us, and the students peering out the door, their jaws dropped in pure awe and disbelief. Mr. Knight called the office and soon he yelled at me to go to class. “Grace.” Whispered Kevin. “Yeah?” I responded. He continued, “I’m dizzy.” Then he passed out, and I caressed the back of his head in my hand to block it from direct contact with the school tile floor. The school nurses ran around the bend holding a stretcher. They had to rip Kevin’s hand away from me. I begged them to let me come, but they refused coldly. The school seemed to be closing in on me. I scooted away into a small corner and buried my head in my hands. When the teachers came to help, I told them that I wouldn’t move until my mom was waiting outside. I had to get out of here. I had splotches of blood on my shirt when I glanced down. I shoved through the group of teachers an into the girl’s bathroom. I immediately puked in utter disgust. What had just happened? Everything just all happened at once. I was still processing what happened. All I realized was that Kevin stood up for my life. Chapter 2 I was too numb from the pain and surprise to come back to school the next day. My mom was afraid I’d miss too much work being gone anymore days, so she told me to just keep to myself, and focus on finishing my work, and before I knew it, I was on the bus. I walked into homeroom, quiet and content. I was worried I’d be swarmed with questions too painful to recall. But, this was worse. Nothing was said. 32 kids, 64 eyes looked frightened and confused in my direction for an hour. Come 2nd period, slightly less. Some stared, most strained to look forward the entire time. These looks slowly lessened gradually as the day slithered slowly throughout the day. The next day was Friday, the day where I was finally confronted. Amy Terrell, a rather clumsy, nerdy, but friendly girl simply put her arms around me and said, “He’s going to be okay, Grace.” That’s all she said. She pulled back, her hands still on my shoulders. She continued “Are you good?” At this point my eyes watered. I quickly wiped it away to prevent further attention. Then nodded vigorously. “Yeah, thanks. You know, I kind of feel like an outsider lately.” She let go, turned her head 90 degrees sideways. “Oh? How so? ‘Seems that you’d notice how popular you’ve become. If popular is the proper word.” She stopped to think. “They’ve been the topic for a while now. Not that I don’t agree this is pretty serious, but I personally believe a new subject is in order.” She smiled reassuringly. Monday was better. I was hanging out with Amy at lunch, which was really helpful. She talked to me about Kevin at first. Then, she acted as though this had never happened! I thought I would feel hurt, but really, it felt good to think about something else. Something cheerful. My ears finally stopped ringing from that ear-splitting bang. Maybe it’s time to move on. “Hey, Grace?” asked Amy. “Yeah?” I responded. “Can I ask you-” she paused, “-a rather personal question?” I felt slightly more uncomfortable. “ ’Depends…” I answered, reluctantly. “Well, It’s about Kevin. What happened? Really?” she asked, as though she were a talk show host. My throat became tight. “Um. Well, Kevin was shot. You know that right?” I recognized that familiar color drainage from her face. “Uh, no. I heard he was beaten up. Shot?” I was surprised. “Wait, how could not have known? Everyone saw. Everyone told. Didn’t they?” She nodded, unsurely. “Well, that’s not the story going around.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What exactly did you here?” “Well, It was right after 4th period.” “Yeah.” “Nathan Polly randomly came up and harshly shoved you over.” “No. Nathan? He’s so nice!” “Kevin stood up for you.” “Well, that’s kind of what happened.” “There was a big fist fight and Kevin got really hurt. When teachers came, Nathan took off.” “WHAT? NO!” I felt so bad for Nathan. Then I thought about him. How misunderstood this story has become. “Is Nathan okay?” I asked, scared of the answer. “Nathan’s been given so much crap. He has a black eye, and a bandage on his arm. Which doesn’t help his cause. I wouldn’t talk to him.” “Bandage? Black eye? What are you talking about? He wasn’t even involved! Does he stand up for himself?” “No. He just accepts it. He ‘apologizes’ all the time. But it doesn’t seem that he really is sorry.” “Well, duh! He wasn’t part of it! Oh my god. Poor Nathan. I need to talk to him. Do you know where I could find him?” “No. He remains off my radar. As I said, I’ve been kind of scared of him lately.” I was disappointed. But what I hadn’t thought of was how this story had been all over the school for 4 days. Then the bell rang. It was 3rd period. “See you later, Amy.” I had Home Economics next. Chapter 3 I had never noticed Nathan before in cooking. We never even spoke, only maybe once or twice. But those little chats gave off a very nice radiance. He had a pleasant attitude; he was friendly, and so on. He sat two tables away from me. He had his right arm in a sling and a heavy bandage on his upper right arm too. His left hand on the table held up his head. He seemed very depressed. Amy was right. A large purple bruise was on his left eye and around it. It was so awful. But I couldn’t help but wonder how he could’ve gotten these injuries if he wasn’t even there. When Mr. Knight asked us to pair up for our next assignment, everyone quickly picked someone other than Nathan for a partner, which made it easier for me to pick him, considering I had a lot of questions for him. “Hey Nathan! Partners?” I asked with false cheeriness. “Uh, sure.” He looked at me weird at first, but then he accepted it. We went over and began to prepare our next assignment, bacon. “Can I have the bacon?” I asked, trying to figure out how fit in the subject of last Friday. He struggled to open the classroom freezer, reached for the bacon, and handed it over. We were pretty silent. Then randomly, he said, “I think know why you were so eager to be partners.” I was kind of surprised of how he just blurted that out. “Oh, do you now?” I looked straight down at the bacon as it sizzled, refraining from looking at him in the eyes. “You were there that day. I wasn’t.” He continued. “Uh huh.” “Well, now you’re wondering why I’m all beat up.” “Nathan, why are you faking? You could just deny it you know! Why do you lie to everyone!You’re not fooling me. This isn’t a joke to me, Nathan!” I looked away from the stove, and angrily glared at him, but he seemed irritated. “Grace, I’m not lying!” “Wow, how retarded do you think I am?” “You want me to prove it? I know who it was that had the gun.” “That won’t prove anything. Probably 80 kids saw through the open classroom door.” “I don’t want to make a big deal. I don’t want people to know that both Kevin and I got hurt, but he’s in the hospital! It’d seem like David was easy on me! Like he pitied me, and knew I was weaker. Its not like it doesn’t hurt, Grace! I was confused. Then, I looked at his heavily bandaged arm.“Did you know-” Nathan whispered, then paused “That David is now in Juvy?” “…What? I didn’t… how? Nobody saw who it was. How did…?” “When David was running away, I followed him outside-please don’t make a big deal about it- and tackled him, as sort of a diversion, you know, until the cops arrived.” “Nathan. Can you remove that bandage?” “I don’t want to.” “Do it.” “No!” “NOW.” He looked around to see no one was watching, and then reluctantly unraveled the many layers of gauze. He winced when he unraveled the last row. I saw a terrible bloody dent. It was horrifying, disgusting, and familiar. “Nathan. You were-” I swallowed my spit. “-Shot.” He looked disapprovingly, and then quickly reapplied his bandages. “Is that proof enough?” I felt immediately awful for yelling at him, accusing him of lying. “Nathan, I’m so sorry.” “Please don’t. Don’t tell anyone.” “So, your just going to live with all the crap these oblivious kids give you?” He was about to say something in response, and then Mr. Knight came over and looked at our bacon. I had completely forgot about it. “Tut, tut. This is awful. Look at this…this… trash! This is bacon gone badly. Throw it away. Try again tomorrow. Good god! How could you do something like that? It takes dedication to fail that badly!” He laughed, and then put his hand on our shoulders. “You two ‘love birds’ should stop gazing at each other. I get it. I have a wife. Just take time to look ahead of you.” Then he winked. We said simultaneously, “Mr. Knight… no we’re…” he walked away, and Nathan made a gesture of disregard in Mr. Knight’s “Oh, forget it.” We laughed. Then the bell rang, and Home Economics was over. Chapter 4 I went home that day, wishing I’d asked Nathan why he hadn’t gone to the hospital, just for a check up. A gunshot is a gunshot. It doesn’t matter where it is; it does at least minimal damage to your body. I’m beginning to worry about both Kevin and Nathan. Kevin, because he hasn’t returned to school in 6 days now, and Nathan, because what if he doesn’t go to the hospital soon, and his arm gets worse? Thank god it was almost the end of the week. It was Thursday, and I saw Nathan again in Spanish. I didn’t want to ask Nathan why he hadn’t gone to the doctor, because his mom or dad must’ve noticed by now, and so there must be a legitimate reason. So, finally I decided not to yell, as though not to persecute him. I slid him a note that read: “Nathan, I don’t want to have to bring the topic up again.” He wrote back: “What’s the occasion?” And we continued this: “Why haven’t you gone to the doctor?” “You haven’t told anyone about the truth, have you? Or about me?” “No” “Good” “Answer my question, please” And all he wrote back was: “$” then I responded with “What do you mean?” but never got a response. Nathan just crumpled up the note we’d written all over, and shoved it in his pocket. I looked at him worriedly and confused, then he put his index finger to his lips as to tell me to shut up. What does he mean by money? Does his family have enough to go to the hospital? Wait, that’s it. He can’t pay the bill! Well, now that I think about it, treating wounds, and long term stay at the hospital would most likely rack up to a big bill. Poor Nathan, he’s going to loose his arm if this keeps up! I came to the conclusion that on Friday afternoon, I would visit the local hospital to ask if there were any sort of discounts for under privileged persons. I walked home from school and asked my mom if I could go. It took some coaxing to let her allow m, without telling her why. I used the excuse of ‘to visit the patients and help out. Its something the school suggested, if I had any free time, and it just so happens I do, mom!’ She reluctantly agreed a short while after. I got onto my bike, and rode to the hospital. I arrived in the very much sterile hospital lobby. The wall were white, there was a manila colored carpet on the floor, and a set or chairs lined up against the wall on the right. The room smelled of overuse of Windex and hand sanitizer. And after I’d finished analyzing, I noticed a woman in a white dress, sitting behind a desk, looking at me questioningly. Then I also realized I was the only person in the waiting room. I walked up the desk and said, “Slow day?” She laughed. “Nice observation. My name is Olivia, how can I help you?” I responded with a smile on my face, “Um, Well, actually I was wondering if your hospital provided some sort of discount for-” I paused, thinking of the appropriate word “- under privileged families?” She put on what seemed like a face that expressed intent thought. “Well, it depends how serious the case it, Ma’am.” I looked gravely at Olivia. “A friend of mine recently was shot, and I’m the only person that knows. I’ve come to see that he hasn’t come here yet, because he’s-” I stopped again, “-Financially challenged.” Olivia looked at me as if she’d just seen a ghost. “Oh my god, shot? He needs to get here right away.” “But, Miss Olivia, he can’t. He doesn’t have any money! And I don’t want to confront him, because he’s very sensitive on the subject, but I’m worried he might loose him arm!” My voice cracked at the end. “He might as well loose his arm if he doesn’t come in. I’m sure we can figure something out with the money situation. If you can, tell him that we can surely accommodate him.” She got out from behind her desk, and stood in front of me. “Coming to us was probably harder than I can imagine, Miss.” She looked at me with a hard stare. “But you’ve been vary noble, in my opinion. This boy is lucky to have you as a friend.” I smiled. “Thank you, so much.” And ran out the door, got back onto my bike, and rode home, home to a weekend of agonizingly rehearsing what I would say. Chapter 5 Finally Monday came round again. I still hadn’t figured out the proper thing to say to Nathan. I had configured so many approaches. I decided to just wing it. “Hey, Nathan!” I waved over to get his attention. He gave a weak, dismissing hand flash, than walked the other direction, faster than normal pace. I caught up with him and walked alongside him to our lockers. “What’s up?” He responded with little interest. “Nothing.” “I have a question, more a suggestion if you ask me.” “Don’t care.” “Can I help you carry your books, at least? You only have one arm.” “Stop making fun of me. I got to go.” I grabbed his shoulder and swung him around. “Hey, what’s wrong with you? Can you take a hint? I need to talk to you.” He looked similarly depressed to Thursday. “Listen, Grace. I know you want to help. And thank you. But I don’t need it!” I never knew how tense and unsettled he was. “No, you listen. If you don’t get to the hospital, your going to loose that arm of yours! I know you don’t want me to get involved. I knew that from the beginning. But I can’t stand by and watch your injury get worse and worse as the days go by! Nathan, my mom is a doctor-” I lied. I didn’t want him to know I went out of my way to go to the hospital. “And she tells me all the time how, because of the economy today, if you can’t pay, most patients get significant discounts, sometime even FREE.” He looked furious. “Grace! I trusted you not to tell anyone!” “Nathan, I knew this before I even knew you’re name!” I continued lying. His fury faded away. “Fine. I’ll talk to my mom, okay? Will that make you happy?” I was relieved to here his give in. “Very.” Chapter 6 After school on the following Friday, his mom had agreed to allow Nathan to go to the hospital. He gave me his address and I was to meet him there so we could walk (his mother couldn’t stay home long enough to drive.). But, it wasn’t that far away to begin with. I walked to, what I thought was, his house. Instead, I ended up at the sign that read, “Tony’s Trailer Park”. Nathan lived in a trailer. Each trailer in the lot was either a tan, or chrome color, each with its own large number on the side. Which I believed simulated a house number, because on Nathan’s not that he scribbled, it read at the bottom “1784”. After a small walk down a line of trailers on either side of me, I found the one that matched Nathan’s note. I knocked unsurely and awkwardly on the rounded door on the side of the trailer. A husky, scruffy woman opened the door. She smiled sweetly. “You must be Grace. Hello, I’m Ms. Polly.” She reached out a welcoming hand and we shook hands. “Please, come in. I apologize for the size-” I didn’t want her to feel embarrassed, so I said, “Oh, no! This is an upgrade compared to my little apartment. Theirs barely enough room for my mom and I!” She smiled. “Well, if that’s all you need- NATHAN! YOUR FRIEND IS HERE!” Nathan walked out, struggling into his jacket. “Mom, how many times do I need to tell you, I’m only 20ft away. There’s a very thin door between us.” She gave him a look that said ‘don’t you embarrass me’ and we were out the door, and on our way. We returned to that same hospital, where, instead of Olivia, a very irritated woman in the same outfit was glaring at us, obnoxiously chewing a stick of gum. Nathan looked slightly worried. I leaned in and whispered, “For the record, a week ago, there was a very positive lady in that chair.” He simply shook his head in aggravation, and walked over to the woman. “Olga” read her nametag. “Um, hi. I’m sorry to bother you, but I recently spoke to a woman named Olivia, and she knows about a rather personal situation, do you think we can talk to her?” I asked politely. She looked very insulted. “Ugh. Fine. Just wait a second.” Olga got up out of her chair, and left. Nathan was furious. I didn’t understand. Nothing different has happened than I anticipated. “What do you mean ‘You’ve been here before’?” Oh, no. I lied to Nathan before. I shouldn’t have said what I had. “What, do they have my record already? Huh? Do they know I live in a box on wheels?” his voice rose to a shout. Luckily no one else was in the waiting room, again. “Fine. You want the truth? My mom is a Computer Programmer. I came here before to ask about any available discounts. I couldn’t let you deteriorate in front of me, Nathan!” He was still fuming. But he was silent. Then he lowered his voice back down. “I didn’t ask for your help. I didn’t need your pity.” “Nathan, you don’t understand! I don’t pity you. I admire you!” He looked as if I had just said something completely stupid and irrelevant. “Admiration? Really? You think you’re so good at this, don’t you!” “Nathan, what are you talking about? I admire you because you don’t have nearly as much money as some kids, but look at you!” “There’s a whole in my arm…” “You go to school, you protect people, and you care about others! You’re more than 10 times the person I am, and money has nothing to do with it!” He was silent. His ferocity faded away completely. And still, we said nothing. Finally, Olivia scrambled into the room, looking frazzled. She hadn’t yet looked at us. But, when she did, her eyes were a mile wide. “Hey! How are you? Is this your friend?” She extended a hand out to Nathan. He shook it with a fake smile. “Here. Come in. Lets go see your room.” He seemed afraid. “Um, how long will I be here?” “Oh, not too long. You have nothing to worry about, sweetie! I’ll be back in a minute.” I followed them in to his room. Nathan and I sat down on a bed with a strip of paper run across it. We looked awkwardly at the white, tile floor. “Well, you made it, Nathan. You’re in good hands here.” He gave me a small smile at the corner of his mouth. Then Olivia came back. “Let’s have a look here. Where are you hurt?” Nathan pointed to his arm, then took off his jacket and removed his bandages. Olivia went pale at the sight of the injury. “Oh…Dear-” Nathan quickly asked, “Is it okay?” She said, “Oh, yes, you’ll be fine, honey, some Neosporin and a couple tests. Are you aware than a small, simple surgery may be involved? Nothing major!” Nathan looked slightly less worried. “I’ll be asleep, right? You’ll knock me out, so I won’t feel it?” Olivia quickly, accidentally shouted, “OH YES! Of course! Everything will be fine, Hon.” “I’m just going to need you to change into this garb, for me. Every patient should, thank you!” Olivia left the room, and Nathan now had a thin material that looked like a dress, that tied at the back, in his hand. He get gave me a look of ‘get out’ and I got the message. “Bye, Nathan! I’ll tell your mom where you are!” “Uh, thanks. Bye.” Chapter 7 I was walking through the hall of the white hospital, the sounds of my quiet footsteps echoing down until the sound ended at a sharp turn at the end. On the right, I saw a few doors swung open outward into the corridor, whereas all the doors were closed on the left; this was probably a very irrelevant detail. I leisurely walked down and down, glancing curiously into the room every once in a while. But, one room was extremely interesting. The walls in there weren’t white, like everywhere else. They were a deep blue, with pictures and letters scattered along the wall. Each addressed to a boy named Kevin. I stopped dead in my tracks. I looked into the bed, and there was indeed a boy there. And what I feared most was confronting the boy who was asleep in that same hospital bed. It was Kevin. He had a large bandage wrapped around his left thigh. I remembered exactly how he got here, in this hospital, in this room, and in that bed, almost as if it were yesterday. Kevin looked so feeble and frail just lying there. Next to the bed, a bag of, what I supposed was medicine, was suspended in the air with a tube running down and into a small metal object attached to his right index finger. I was speechless. I guess it didn’t matte anyway, considering Kevin was asleep, and incapable of conversations, or fights, for that matter… I heard a doctor walking with a woman down the hall, their voices getting closer to Kevin’s room. I panicked, hoping against hope they were going to pass by, but anyway, I looked around and saw a medical closet, slipped inside, and ever so slightly cracked the cabinet door for a view of outside. The doctor and woman walked into the room, and the doctor seemed to be doing some tests while Kevin was still unresponsive. The woman plopped down on a chair in the corner of the room, and cupped her face in her hands. As her head lifted, her true expression showed. She was in terrible emotional pain. She had short, wavy black hair and blue eyes that matched those of Kevin’s. Obviously she was Kevin’s mother. “Miss Garcia-” said the doctor despairingly to the woman. Her face was red and her eyes watery, but she managed a reply “How is he?” “Well, your son-” he paused “he’s not very strong. It could go either way from this point, ma’am. I’m sorry, but I honestly have no certainty.” Miss Garcia bit her lip. She looked longingly at her son, as if she expected Kevin to awaken and spring out of bed and run to her. But that moment never came. “I’ll leave you alone for a while.” She lightly shook his shoulder. “Kevin, honey? Can you here me?” But, then, what I hadn’t expected made me gasp, but then I slapped my hand over my mouth, because for a moment, I had forgotten how I was still incognito, hidden away in this medical cupboard. Kevin’s eyelashes fluttered, and he seemed surprised. “Huh, what? Where am I? What day is it?” “Shush. Kevin, baby, you’re fine, its Wednesday.” “Oh. So I’ve only been out for a day. ‘Not too bad, I guess.” His voice was still very groggy. “Kevin, please calm down. It’s been 8 days. But, you’re going to be fine.” His mother eased him out of his original tense upright position, and back down, lying flat on the bed. “Mom, why am I here?” “Kevin, please!” She started crying again. “If you don’t calm down…” her voice trailed away. “Fine. Just answer me. Why am I here?” She pointed to his leg with sorrow, “There was an accident.” “That wasn’t a dream?” Kevin’s mother shook her head, cringing at how much she wished he were right. “Mom, one more question. Where’s Grace? Is she okay?” I saw Kevin’s eyes sparkle a little with tears, but then he blinked it away. He looked expectantly at his mother, but to his surprise, her expression dropped to anger and irritation. “What?” he asked. “Oh, nothing. I just hoped that instead of interrogating me about some girl I don’t even know, you could say ‘Hi, mom’ or maybe ‘I love you’. See anything wrong with that Kevin?” she started yelling. Confusion and fear mixed together upon his face, probably because he had never expected her response to be so assertive. “I love you.” He extended his arms, more sarcastically than he’d intended, and she simply rolled her eyes and exited the room. Chapter 8 Kevin sighed and stared over to the cabinet I had temporarily inhabited. “Okay, show’s over. Whoever you are, get out. You’re very bad at camouflage.” My eyes went wide and I gasped. I had been spotted. I wondered how long he’d known he was under surveillance. I stumbled out. Our eyes met and I saw his eyes widen in surprise, then scan me from head to toe, as I he refused to believe his own eyes. I could feel my cheeks turn red. “Grace.” Kevin finally said. With a small gesture that was anticipated as a wave, I said, “Hiya.” His gaze dropped to the floor. “You saw all that?” “I didn’t mean for it to go down that way. I saw you in here, and walked in, and when I heard someone coming, I panicked. I’m really-” “Forget it.” He swiftly interrupted. “I see you’re okay.” He desperately tried to salvage the conversation. “I see you’re… better.” I remembered the original condition of his leg, and how thankful I am that I’ll never have to look at it again. The discussion was officially ruined. I could see in Kevin’s eyes he knew exactly what I was thinking. How he obviously never wanted to think about the accident anymore, but it was too late. I couldn’t hold this back anymore. “Why? Why did you do this, huh? Why were you so stupid? I thought you were dead! You could’ve very well been, for that matter!” My expression distorted from embarrassment to exasperation and anger. “Grace, I couldn’t just watch you get shot by that thug! Just turn the other cheek and abandon you! I couldn’t! I can’t!” He tried frantically to defend himself. I understand where he was coming from, but this was too much. “I wouldn’t die for someone else. Okay, that sounded shallow. But-” “Save it. If it’d please you, we could just say it was a…” he searched for the word. “A reflex.” “Reflex? That wasn’t involuntary! I’m not the air you breathe!” I didn’t know why I had suddenly become so defensive, but I decided to simply roll with it. He took a deep breath. “Your really trying to get me to say it, aren’t you? You just need to hear it, right?” I could sense a touch of impatience in his words. “What are you talking about? Say what?” I truly didn’t understand what Kevin was talking about, but I guess he knew more about me; at least that’s what he thinks. “That you are.” Chapter 9 I never really taken much thought to consider how I really felt about Kevin. Up until now, he seemed nothing more than a middle school companion, which continued onto 9th grade. Now I know how much this accident really affected us as people, not just physical condition. “I should go.” I told Kevin. “What’s the rush? Got a date?” he joked in reply. “You know how Nathan Polly doesn’t really have a lot of money right? I mean, he’s really nice, don’t get me wrong.” Kevin shrugged. “I guess. Why? What’s up with Nathan?” “After-” I paused. “That thing. David bolted when teachers started coming out.” “And, Nathan?” he continued. “He chased David outside and there was a huge fight. That’s why David’s in Juvy now. ‘Cause Nathan’s goal wasn’t to beat David, he knew there wasn’t a big chance, you know, with the gun and everything, but to sidetrack David until police arrived.” “And this has to do with his financial issues, how?” “He didn’t think he’d have enough money to come here for help. He got shot in the arm. That’s why I’m here. I took finally convinced him to let me take him here.” “Wait. So are you telling me he’s just NOW getting here?” Kevin was distraught. I was too when I found out Nathan hadn’t gotten immediate medical attention. He continued. “I’ve been here for days, and they still say I’m not doing so hot! Nathan could have some disgusting infection or something by now!” I nodded in agreement. “That’s what I told him. It took me a long time to make him give in. He’s just so stubborn!” Kevin’s voice dropped to a low whisper. “Did you see it? His arm?” I remembered how I could barely hold back my lunch at the sight of Nathan’s arm. “It’s terrible.” My whisper matched his. Our talk was cut short by a loud pang sound coming from down the hall. Suddenly a crowd of nurses followed by one pushing a gurney rushed in the direction of the noise. Then it hit me. Nathan. “Oh, god.” I ran after the nurses. Chapter 10 I couldn’t see well through all the nurses crowding Nathan’s hospital bed. A lot had happened since I left him. He had sat down on the bed, and his finger had been attached to a complex-looking machine. This mechanism is what had made the noise, because one woman was constantly fiddling with it to stop the pang, pushing buttons, twisting knobs, hitting the side yelling “We know he’s passed out! We know his heartbeat is too fast! Shut up will you!” her high-pitched, cheery, but now compromised voice was memorable. “Olivia! What’s wrong with Nathan?” I yelled over the struggling men and women hovering over Nathan’s unconscious body. “Grace, honey, please go home. We have it covered!” Olivia was now a bit irritable and stressed. “Not until you answer me! What’s going on?” I resisted. Olivia grabbed my shoulder and directed me outside; she followed, as to escape from the scuffle. “Something’s going wrong with Nathan’s heart. Before I decided on some sort of treatment, I took a peek at his medical record, you know, for allergies to medicine or something. Nathan has Tachycardia.” I had no idea what this meant. I gave Olivia a sour face to explain my confusion. “Oh, that’s right. You’re not a doctor. He has an irregular heart rate. It’s faster than normal. It’s also very dangerous if it gets too fast.” “Will he be okay?” I insisted. “Do you want kindness or honesty?” “…Honesty.” I whispered. “To be honest, I don’t know.” Publication Date: January 23rd 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-salbright1999

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Cutie Pie 2011 Lies , Love, And Me Publication Date: January 6th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-cutiepie2011

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-lilac-s-life/

Lilac S Life Cover of my book was ceated by the amazing nina how life is for me Have you ever just sat down and thought to yourself "why did i do that"or "why am i such a failure" Thats wat i think everyday, ever since i was 12, ever just wanted to disappear from the world and move away from everyone you know and start life over, thats my life. Im 16 years old and all i wanna do is leave my life and move to another suburb and start my life over from the begining, make new friends, go new places and be HAPPY! My life at the moment sucks and i just want to leave and start over, there are many others like me who just want to run and never stop. In 2 years i have this plan to just go, start running and never stop because i just want to leave and never come back to this life of mine. I feel trapped and cant cant out, so i keep on living and pray one day life will get better. I pray when i leave and travell on that life will get better. I look at others around me and wonder if they have amazing lives or feel the same way i do :/ People with amazing lives dont want the life i live. Others have it worse off then me and i have acknowledge this, but we all feel the same, so down in the gutters and blue, but others are not as bad.   life as i know it so ive been thinking these past few days that life can have its up and downs but you just have to go with the flow of it.  Ever sat down and decieded howy you wanted your future to work out and how amazing you can see your furute in your mind, but ever sat and thought that its just a fanticy that you want to be in, i just want to escape and basically start life over because i feel in the future i will try my hadest to make my life the best it can be and never be sad or feel down ever again, but things in the future will get me upset example if a family member dies or i lose an animal or anything else that can happen and to that i say "its just life, and you can control it or make it go your way all the time"  The only way to a happy life is to smile and be positive, which i do niether of, i wear a smile on my face so my fellow peers think im perfectly fine but life these past days have just gotten worse as people were there and now just gone :/ i guess its life and people and family cant always stay around you.   We all have our inspirations, we love to look up 2 them and love them for who they are etc. who make us happy well something my inspiration doesnt as sometimes i feel she hates me ( i wont say who she is as its my infomation and dont wanna say )  Anyway shes amazing and sometimes makes me wear a proper smile on my face but other days she dont and thats pretty much the only time i do wear a real smile :)   the end f the book well to all you people who have read my book thanks for taking your time and hopefully my books will get better as i write :P  thanks :) Publication Date: May 21st 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-th9f1f187796615

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-eriann-t-collins-autumn-at-the-dock/

Eriann T. Collins Autumn at the dock Chapter 1      Opal awoke drowsy and sleepyheaded. The evening sun filtered itself throughout the living room. Surprised that so many hours had gone to sleep she sat up rubbing her eyes.          Lovely lay sleeping on the oval multicolored rug placed on the finished wooden floor. Opal took in her surroundings. She sat on the blue and white plaid country couch the matching chair sat caddy corner from her. Two wooden end tables her dad had made with his carpentry skills sat at each end of the couch. Old glass lamps sat on white lacey dolies. A stone fireplace was indeed the center of attention. Her dad had in fact took pride in that fireplace. He had took special care to have the fireplace cleaned yearly. A bedroom and bathroom led down the left hallway, and the country eat in kitchen led to the right of the living room. Blue and white lacey panels hung low from the front door. Everything was just as she had left it the last time she was here. She had come once in less than a year since her father's passing. There was no need for cleaning her dad had kept it tidy. The only thiing she had down when he passed was cleaned the few things out of the refrigerator, and had took his clothes to an organization who donated to those in need. She had saved his flannels, and a warm jacket he had always worn.        Publication Date: September 28th 2015 https://www.bookrix.com/-lhdc19b01cb9e55

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-the-silent112-next-stop-normal/

The silent112 Next Stop Normal The silk sheets I am laying on are taboo. It is my first night back. The nightstand next to me is pale pink. According to woman I picked out when i was 6. But I wouldn't remember. I don't remember anything before the cabin. Before i was abducted, tortured, raped, and beaten, but now that was all over. Now I live with the man, woman, and son I believe they called him Christopher. Everyone tells me I belong with them that they are my real parents and the boy is my older brother, but they also tell me I'm safe, that they can't hurt me no more, but that doesn't stop the nightmares from plauging my dreams every night. When I looked over I see its 5:00 in the morning great I wasn't going to get any sleep tonight but I knew I wouldn't the only time I ever got sleep was in the hospital with the police outside my door. They were there a lot, the man and the woman, I was lucky if they ever left my side but on occasion they did leave to let me rest and the boy , Christopher, was there often too. When I got up I went to the door of the pale dresser that matched the nightstand one the middle door there were shirts bought for me by the woman bought me. All of them were just a little bit too big because she bought jrs extra small and due to year of malneutrition none of them fit. I picked out a pale blue long sleeve shirt that covers up the scars. As I descended the stairs there was a creaking sound and I started to panic holding that I wouldn't wake them up. I paused a for a few seconds till I established that they were all asleep. When I got to the bottom I finally started to notice all of the details. There was a couch next to the bay window over looking the street. Outside people were nowhere to be found. The walls were red and a light brown like the color of coffee with cream. The room smelled of cinnamon and apples. To my right was a fire place,sitting on its brick mantel were photos. There were a couple of the boy in various stages in his life and then there was a couple of a girl. She looked around 5 or 6 in the photos of her. There was one of her with a little boy around her at that was not the one upstairs. As I looked more carefully I realized that something looked really familiar and that's when I realized that little girl is me, correction, was me because now that girl is long gone and she will never come back. Text: The silent112 All rights reserved. Publication Date: December 29th 2012 https://www.bookrix.com/-thesilent112

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-rwby-lover-kiritos-surprise-part-8/

RWBY lover, Asuna Yuuki Kiritos Surprise part 8 silica's feelings Silica awoke looking at the ceiling remembering what she had saw as she bursted into tears thinking of kazuto, "i'm in love with kazuto" she said to her self crying as her heart started burning as she was thinking of what happened. "Silica come down stairs some one is here to see you" her mom said from the stairs as silica opened her door and walked down looking down and crying as she saw it was kazuto and she just fell to the floor crying, "whats wrong silica" as she was crying on the floor she scream at kazuto " get out leave me alone, please" she said with a trembling voice and closed her eyes from looking at kazuto, but kazuto picked her up and looked her in the eyes, "please dont cry silica, it hurts to see a freind cry" he said with a sad look in his eyes she could tell he was serious about her feeling as she screamed "I love you kazuto I always have ever since we met in Sword art online but those other girls have just made it impossible to get to you and i love you i love you i love you" she said without hesitating as she kept crying and kazuto just held her in his arms as silica got free from his hug she ran up to her room crying, her mom looked at kazuto " im sorry kazuto, i dont know whats gotten into her". kazuto walked up to her room as he knocked on the door "silica please let me in" as he said that the door opened as silica started looking at him "please go away, I hate you" she scream and fell to the floor as he got on his knees holding her she started lightly hitting him "i hate you, leave me alone" she said while crying, kazuto just held her as she quieted down "i love you two silica" her eyes opened wide with a sad face and she started crying again putting her face in his chest as she fell asleep and he just held her while she fell asleep "huh kazuto what are you doing here" elisbeth said walking up to silicas room as she saw her asleep in kazuto's arms "well you see she was crying and she's in love with me and she fell asleep crying" kazuto said while picking her up in his arms putting her to bed. "let her sleep" he grabbed elizbeth by the hand and walked down stair as silicas mom looked at them "shes asleep, shell be happy when she wakes up" kazuto said with a smiles, "she really loves you you know that right kazuto" the mom said with a concerned look on her face "yeah i know and i love her two" he walked out dragging elisbeth out side with him. Publication Date: October 9th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-dnf10382a424525

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-solitaria-before-it-039-s-too-late/

Solitaria . Before It's Too Late Chapter 1 Bangin on our desk. “Summer,summer,summer”Like from the High school Musical.The bell rung me Val,and Carissa ran down the halls screaming.Junior year was finally over.All the shit and struggles we went through are done.Jumping into Val’s red Mustang. “I just can't wait till’ the freaking concert” I say in the backseat. “Yes same Joan I agree.Just to see the Black Veil Brides perform is amazing” throwed in Carissa rolling down the windows playing sleeping with sirens. “No what makes it awesome is that we’ll be with Joan on her first ever concert” “Black veil Bride concert” I added looking at her through the rearview mirror. “Yea that too” chuckling to herself we pulled up to her house.Val’s house looked like a mansion with its white pillars and three garage door. “This is what you get when your dad is a surgeon” “haha true” walking in her twin brother ran past her. “Logan,Lucas calm down” she said pushing past them. Val’s mother in the kitchen putting cookies on a plate. “You girls want a cookie” “No mom save it.” said Val running up the steps to her room.looking back i walked up to her mother. “I’ll just take one Mrs.Kelly” I say grabbing two cookies.Jumping on her bed we all layed in our spots looking at black veil bride posters. “Just imagine in two weeks we’ll be there with them” I say touching the screen over Andy’s face. “i know right just to be in Ashley presents will be enough for me.”Said Carissa in a dreamy voice. “No Jinxx and CC’s there awesome.”Val said sitting up. “yea,yea you say that but Andy’s a fucking GOD so before Jinxx,Ashley,Jake and CC you know Andy is number one.” I put in looking at the girls.Shrugging there shoulder they agreed i mean Andy Biersack no one can beat.He’s an angel in himself.Two weeks was a long time to wait to be in all their presents.the day’s went by slowly hanging off my bed counting down the days. me and the girl calling and texting trying to make the day go by faster.Working three days a week did it. “Love you mom be back later” i say pulling on my jacket. “what do you mean Joan” said my mom walking from the living room with my baby brother Josh in her arms. “I have a new job at the Record store.I told you last night”looking confused. “was i asleep” “kinda but you talked back.saying how happy you were for me.” rubbing her temples and looking at me. “Okay just be careful.when do you get off” “nine or ten but I’ll be fine” Kissing my brother’s forehead and giving my mom a hug. i walked out the door.Walking down the apartment complex i walked to the record store. I saw a person behind the front desk. “Hi” coming closer i saw the dude behind the desk was sleep.nudging him he only stirred a little pushing on him harder. “uh Hello” coughing and sitting up. “yeah whats up” “I work here and i don't know what you guys want me to do” “just start in the back”nodding my head i walked along the back door.opening the door it smelled like boxes padding along the wall to find the light switch.almost falling over i balanced myself back up straight. “Oh my gosh” gasping the room was filled with boxes stacked high against the walls.rare band posters and record machine’s.opening up a box it was filled with CD’s.picking up more there were more CD’s.poster and brand band t-shirts all new.looking around not knowing what to do i put boxes with what band.Pan!c at the Disco,Sleeping with Sirens,Pierce the veil and more.staying later than intended i  came home around one in the morning.Sneaking up in my room laying down on the cushion it felt nice. above my head was my calendar only five more days till’ the concert.Looking up smiling i turned over and closed my eyes waiting for the day to come. Chapter 2   “Hey Jack” I yelled from the back room in the record store.hearing him running to the back. “Yeah” “Can you put this box on the top shelf” i say pointing.picking it up he put it on in front of the KISS poster. “No put it in front of a blank wall not a poster”  mumbling he moved it again once more putting it in front of  Mötley Crü. “Dude just stop let me do it” standing on top of a chair I slid it across and left it near the bare wall. “well you coulda done that the first time.” “well i know not to ask you any more” i say stepping down looking at him. “why does it even matter” Looking at him like he was stupid. “what” “did you just ask me that” “yeah” looking him in the eye. “This is a record store first of all. KISS and Mötley Crü are legendary bands of all times like the best and you're gonna cover their posters.I don't know why you work here if you don't give a shit about your job” putting up his hands. “woah woah. no one’s gonna come back here and see stupid Fag guys who wear fucking eyeliner” Breathing in and out i almost fell out.This bitch did not just say that.There’s only a couple fight’s that are worth the fight. sucking my teeth i pointed out the door. “what?” putting my head down i pointed.still standing like he belonged “Get the fuck outta here Jack” walking out. i Just leaned against the wall looking at still half of the room was full of boxes.putting my headphones i played “They don’t need to understand” working on the floor with boxes between me.The hair on my neck began to stand up slowly turning around. “oh! my fucking gosh Carissa damn you scared the shit out of me” I say holding my chest. “haha sorry! but come on” “what do you mean?” i say standing up closing up the box with Linkin Park. “The concert is in two days. we have to find you something to wear.” “why can’t i just wear my usually?” I say looking down at my black converses,jeans and red aeropostale jacket.shaking her head. “no hunny we are meeting Black veil brides we need something pretty for you to wear” “Okay…”clapping her hands together. “Okay come on then we have to go get you an outfit” grabbing my backpack i walked out with her. Val was sitting in her car and waved through the window.Running to get in the back. “Hey Girly” i say smacking her in the back of the head. “Hey Bitch” said Val we bust out in laughter. “she’s my bitch” carissa said throwing her stuff in the back of the seat.all of us died laughing in the backseat.Ronnie Radke “asshole”started playing. “OMG turn it up”i say screaming.with the windows down and the wind blowing through my hair. “Yeah, maybe it's in my nature cause I never wanna date her.But she's like a shot of vodka cause i always gotta chase” we sing.Looking out the window as other cars zoomed past us. I couldn't wait to the concert.literally counting down the hours.Arriving at Hot topic I looked around.they had new black veil bride shirts. “Ohhh I like this one” i say pointing as the guys were in black and red. “same”said Val looking at one in her size. “It’ll look good with your red highlights too” “Ohh yesh.Imma take this one”Looking around i saw another good one with them all in black. Publication Date: March 31st 2017 https://www.bookrix.com/-lf2d47756143985

https://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-nick-venom-uncontrolled-season-one/

Nick Venom Uncontrolled: Season One Sam & Jake Episode One "Uncontrolled" Two teenagers walked down a dusty road and arrived at a merchant’s store, looking up at the sign that read “Welcome to Safe Harbor’s Shop”. The first teenager, a curly blonde female wearing a blank black tee-shirt and dark blue jeans, walked into the store first. She was, soon, followed by her companion, Jake, who wore a blank black hoodie with black jeans. He shielded his face from the sunlight by staring down at the ground. The first teenager, Samantha, walked confidently into the store, taking large strides while Jake attempted to follow her, but his walk looked less confident and uncomfortable. His strides weren’t as long, forcing him to take extra steps to follow in Samantha’s shadow. The somewhat large store housed a few customers that wandered around, searching for an item of their liking to appear through the crowd of goods. Samantha walked up to three customers, huddled up in a corner, and began a conversation with them. “You three are here for the Satan Riders’ quest?” She asked them.      “Yeah, you two must be the ones that joined late.” A grown man, with black spiky hair that extended to two inches in height who wore a mix of grey and black jacket along with black leather pants, told Samantha.     “Yeah,”     “I’m Crow,” he stated before motioning to the girl standing beside him. “This is Alice… ” The girl had flowing light brown hair that extended to her shoulders; she wore a brown leather jacket with a blank tee-shirt under it as well as brown leather pants. Her tee-shirt was infused with a metal plate to protect her vitals. “... and this is Yang,” Crow said, motioning towards a redheaded guy wearing a thin red jacket with black pants.     “Nice to meet you all, I’m Samantha and this is… “ Samantha started before motioning towards Jake, who avoided eye contact and communication with everybody else. “... is Jake.”     “Can he talk?” Crow asked.     Samantha nodded her head. “He can, but he’s a little shy. Anyways, let’s begin our adventure.” Crow nodded and motioned for Alice and Yang to follow him out of the store. Samantha and Jake followed them out of the store and onto the dusty road.   TBC…  Episode Two "Uncontrolled 2" Crow bought a carriage from the store’s barn that was stationed nearby. Crow held the most experience with handling horses which granted him the role of the driver. He sat in the driver’s seat, handling the reins of the two blackish-brown horses that pulled the carriage while the others sat in the back. The carriage trip to the lair of the Satan Riders wouldn’t take the group more than a few days. While Crow drove, Yang stared at the ground, lost in his thoughts. He didn’t speak or pay any attention to the others. Meanwhile, Jake stared outside of the carriage at the ground that flew away from him. His hoodie blocked anybody from seeing his face or any features of him. He was staring at the dirt that was being kicked up into the air by the carriage’s wheels. Samantha glanced over at him like a mom monitoring her child. She stared down at the floor, gathering her thoughts. Alice was the only one who was paying attention, staring at Jake. She didn’t understand why he was hiding. She cleared her throat before speaking up: “So, how did you two meet?” Samantha’s thoughts were scattered around, forcing herself to forget about them, for the time being, to answer her question. “We’re childhood friends. We suffered some things in the past and were forced to leave our homes and travel around.” Yang popped his head up and looked at Samantha. “Does he ever talk?” Samantha nodded his head. “He does, but he’s very shy. I’m afraid that it will take a large amount of time for him to get used to people. It took him years before he felt comfortable having conversations with me.” “Oh,” Alice muttered. “He seems like such a good kid.” “Oh, he is,” Samantha said before glancing over at Jake. Jake didn’t raise his head, instead, focusing his stare at the dirt. Alice smiled at Jake in an attempt to be friendly, but he ignored her. The conversation then ended, leaving a painful silence in its wake. Yang continued to be lost in his thoughts while Samantha tried to gather her’s. Alice’s awkward smile went away quickly as she looked away from Jake and onto the front of the carriage. Crow shook his head as he overheard the painstaking silence before focusing on the driving part of his role.    TBC… Episode Three "Uncontrolled 3" The sun began to set forcing Crow to pull over into a small clearing and order the party to set up camp. The small clearing sat surrounded on three sides by a thick forest, a few miles from the lair of Satan Riders. Crow didn’t have a lighter that could illuminate a large area and if he did, then the Riders could use that hint of light to pinpoint their position and eliminate them without a moment’s hesitation. In order for them to operate with full force, they needed to strike during daylight.  Crow lit the campfire with a small lighter while Jake was ordered to gather firewood for the fire. Yang was put as a bodyguard for Jake while Alice prepared the small amounts of meat they held, before grilling them over the campfire. Meanwhile, Samantha went ahead to scout the Riders’ lair.  As the party moved to fulfill their duties, the sun began its descent, disappearing from sight and allowing the darkness to take temporary control of the land. Everyone met at the campfire, sitting around it as the small fire spewed smaller embers into the air, crackling before hitting the ground. Crow, who watched as the atmosphere tense began breaking each person down, decided to speak up and ignite a conversation. “Well, since you two are new to traveling with us, let’s reintroduce ourselves and reveal our strengths and weaknesses.” He suggested. Everybody except for Jake nodded their heads, agreeing with Crow’s statement. “I’ll start first… my main weapon is a longsword and my skills are all rank-threes. ‘Flight’, ‘Increased Perception’, and ‘Strength Boost’.” “I use an ax. My skills are both rank-fives, ‘Increased Strength’, and ‘Increased Speed’.” Yang muttered out loud. “Well, I use a bow and I possess two rank-four light skills, ‘Light Arrow’ and ‘Light Heal’.” Alice bragged. “Well, firstly, I’m good at handling a sword while Jake here is good at using a knife,” Samantha told them while slightly motioning towards Jake. “My skills are a rank-four ‘Increased Speed’ and rank-five ‘Increased Power’.” “I have a… fire and power skill,” Jake whispered, attracting the attention of the group. Jake turned his head to face Samantha and received a glare, forcing him to look away. “What was that, Jake?” Alice asked. Jake didn’t respond to her question, maintaining his silence. Why did she shut him down? Something is off with them, thought Crow. That strange action killed the atmosphere and pushed Crow and the others away from Samantha and Jake. One by one, everybody went to sleep with Samantha being the first, then Alice and Yang. Jake and Crow didn’t sleep as Jake couldn’t fall asleep while Crow wanted to keep an eye on Samantha and Jake, staying up the entire night. TBC…  Episode Four "Uncontrolled 4" The five awoke to the sound of people’s screams and cries. They jumped up and rushed towards the origin of the horrific sounds. Three Riders attacked a convoy of carriages and managed to kill the majority of them, leaving a bloody crime scene behind. “We’ll hit the Riders with a hit-and-run tactic, so prepare to deal a little damage before dashing away!” Crow ordered as he prepared his sword. “Alice! Attack from a distance! Everybody else! Hit them and run as fast as you can! Prepare to make multiple runs on them!”  “Jake!” Samantha shouted. “Pick up our stuff! Do not engage!” She ordered, taking the rest of the party by surprise. She’s a control freak! He can help us, but she wants him to stay on the sidelines! Crow thought as he prepared himself to make his first run. He then threw those thoughts to the side as he dashed towards the Riders. The three Riders that stood in front of them were known as Jester, Arin, and Rag---who was the size of orcs with human features--- and wielded an enormous sword and shield. The Riders were known as a race of demonic beings called the Titans; these Titans were the birth between female humans and Zork Demons, high ranking demons under Satan’s control.  “Don’t forget my plan!” Crow shouted as he landed a slash on Rag before running past him. He slid, gathering traction, before turning around and heading back for another slash. Yang followed Crow and managed to land a slash on Rag which was followed up by Samantha plunging her sword into his torso before darting away from him. The sword locked itself into both hearts of Rag, simultaneously.  To kill a Rider, both hearts must be punctured before they could die, which is possible to do simultaneously due to the close distance between the hearts.  Crow didn’t manage to get another swing at Rag, but he was amazed at her raw strength. He knew that she could take a Rider without any help, but he was unsure what she was doing with Jake, keeping him as a pet. Again, he threw the thoughts away as he zeroed onto Arin. Alice held the string of her bow tightly as she aimed away from Rag to Arin’s head, preparing to take her finger off the string. She watched as Crow, Yang, and Samantha landed slices on both Riders before releasing her charged up arrow, created out of light. towards one of the riders, who felt much pain from the light arrows due to the darkness that made up their bodies. Their enormous bodies were triple the size of normal humans and weighed over a ton, limiting their speed while increasing their strength at the same time. The light arrow flew through the air, taking its time, before making it to its target. The heart pierced one of Arin’s hearts but missed the second one by mere centimeters. Blood gushed out of the heart and leaked off Arin’s body onto the ground. Fortunately, the arrow left a large hole in Arin’s torso, exposing his second heart. Crow went for the kill, darting away from Jester and towards Arin, penetrating the second heart and collapsing his body.  Now with one Rider remaining, everybody focused their attention on him. Jester raised his sword and pointed towards them. Crow smirked as he turned around and darted towards him. Yang and Samantha followed behind him. Alice waited for her chance to allow another arrow to fly. Jester smirked before he sprinted towards them, catching everybody off guard. Riders were never known to be quick. Crow and Yang managed to dart to the side, but the unprepared Samantha wasn’t given the opportunity. Jester managed to dig his sword into her shoulder and ripped it out within a second. Blood spurted out of her shoulder wound with more on the way after she fell to the ground, sliding on her shoulder wound and tearing the skin apart. Jake sat nearby and managed to sneak a few glances at the fight. His jaw dropped as he watched blood spurting out of her wounds, forcing him to react.   TBC Episode Five "Uncontrolled 5" In a fit of anger, he threw out everything that Samantha had taught him, activating his power skill known as ‘Tanzo’---which boosted his agility and strength. He charged towards Jester and slashed him with his dagger. The dagger wasn’t able to cut a deep enough wound to pierce through Jester’s first heart. He jumped away and began running laps around him as he waited for another opportunity to show itself.  Jester swung his weapon at Jake but he managed to dodge the attack. Jake continued running around Jester, finding an opportunity to jump on his back and pierce his body. His dagger tore through his body but missed the first heart by an inch. Jake twisted the dagger into Jester’s body, attempting to scratch at his heart. However, Jester wasn’t going down easy. He turned his weapon towards Jake and jabbed at his back, missing Jake by a few inches. Jake ripped the dagger out of Jester’s back and jumped off him, landing on the ground a few feet away from him.  Samantha watched as Jake attempted another jump on Jester, earning the destruction of Jester’s first heart. “Stop, Jake!” She shouted. Her words fell to deaf ears as he continued to slash at Jester and slowly tire him out. Jester--- irritated, and frustrated---decided to use a new tactic. He spun around in circles and swung his weapon, reducing Jake’s chances of gaining an opportunity. Jake raced around Jester as he looked for a new opportunity. Samantha stood up, but her strength was zapped out of her, falling to her knees. Alice rushed to her side and began to heal her using ‘Light Heal’. She managed to seal the wound, bringing Samantha away from death’s door.  Meanwhile, Crow and Yang were on the sidelines as they watched Jake attempt to break into the stamina-exhausting move that Jester held onto. Jake’s eyes widened as a demonic expression rolled onto his face, even creeping out Jester, who was a Rider for Satan. Jake slashed at Jester, being blocked by his multiple strikes. Jake decided to take a risky plan by forcefully cutting into Jester’s spin attack, but the plan paid off, nearly instantly. He managed to find a small gap and inserted himself in, slashing Jester in the chest. The slash stopped Jester in his track, dropping his weapon and leaving him defenseless. Jake used this chance to pounce on Jester and repeatedly stabbed him, missing the second heart by a few inches. Jake wasn’t disappointed by the stab’s failure, instead, smirking at the action. “Black Fire!” he shouted, igniting his fire-skill that made its way into Jester’s body and burned the inside of his body to a crisp, liquidating all of his organs within a moment. Jester shouted as he felt immense pain running throughout his body for a few moments before collapsing to the ground as a burned and charred corpse.  Jake jumped off and landed on the ground, slightly panting as both skills began to deactivate. Once they fully deactivated, the blood loss added with the sudden use of his power led to him collapsing. Alice rushed to Jake’s side and checked his vitals, seeing if he was alive, unlike Jester who has a different diagnosis.    TBC... Episode Six "Uncontrolled 6" The group decided to venture to the Riders’ hideout in complete silence. After Jake slaughtered Jester, Samantha scolded him for his careless actions that put the group in danger. The rest of the group were confused at Jake’s sudden outburst of raw powers, something that they never knew he held. As they walked towards the Rider’s hideout, Crow decided to speak out. “Why do you restrain him?” Samantha looked at him, shooting a glare.  “Yeah, why?” Alice asked, building the confidence to speak up. “You don’t allow him to speak at all.” “You also scolded him for saving us, especially you, from death,” Yang argued.  Samantha glared daggers at the three of them. “I don’t have to explain anything about him to you three.” She declared. “Let’s focus on the mission on hand, instead of worrying about something that isn’t important to you.”  She walked past them, brushing by Crow’s shoulder. She led the group to the hideout with Jake staring off into the distance, not paying attention to the group; Crow, Yang, and Alice looked at each other, raising their eyebrows and shrugging their shoulders. Samantha led them to a bushy hill overlooking the hideout. Samantha crouched into a bush and watched the hideout’s main entrance. The rest of the group, except for Jake, crouched in nearby bushes with Samantha. Jake kept his distance from the group, reflecting on his choice to expose his power that, potentially, saved Samantha.  Unfortunately for him, Samantha scolded him for revealing his power while it was at its peak for danger. Samantha worried that using his power would expose his body to major backlash because his power was too great to be contained within a human body and couldn’t be controlled at its current state. She ordered Jake to leave the fighting to the group, instead of him due to this extreme power that he held. Jake didn’t enjoy watching Samantha in multiple fights to protect him without being able to help him. It hurt him as much as the backlash did, which nearly crippled him. Luckily, Jake managed to recover quickly and continue the journey with the others. Samantha snapped him out of his mind, alerting him to her plan. “I’ll attack the front of the hideout with Crow while Alice will attack from afar. Yang and Jake will ambush them from behind, pushing through the back entrance. Jake will be relying on his dagger and not his powers in the fight. Once we push through the building, we’ll meet up in the middle of the building where we’ll destroy the remaining three riders.” She instructed, receiving the almost-reluctant nods of Crow, Yang, and Alice.  The group dispersed to reach their positions, but Samantha held Jake back for a moment. She leaned in and whispered in his ear: “I’m letting you fight in this battle, but you’re not allowed to use your powers or skills during it. This is not a suggestion either, it’s an order.” Jake nodded, brandishing his dagger and heading to his position. Samantha watched as he ran off before focusing on her part in the mission.    TBC… Episode Seven "Uncontrolled 7" The last three Riders appeared outside of the hideout, interrupting Samantha’s plan, and wandered around the area. Everybody masked their presence in the bushes as they watched the Riders patrolled the area, not noticing the party or indicating that they knew about the downfall of their comrades. Crow, Samantha, and Alice waited in the front of the hideout while Yang and Jake were positioned in the back. While waiting for the Riders to head back into their hideout, Yang turned to Jake and whispered to him. “Is she hurting you?” Yang whispered, keeping his eyes on the nearby Riders. “She isn’t. She’s helping me.” He responded. “Is she silencing you? Do you need help?” Jake looked around before facing Yang. “She’s… controlling my large mana pool.” He then glanced around before continuing. “She’ll get mad if I tell you anything else.”  “You’re a Tanker?” Yang asked him. Jake raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. “What’s a Tanker?” Crow tilted his head. “A Tanker is a being that holds a large mana pool. This uncontrollable large mana pool often leads to the destruction of the human being. People called them Tankers because, if they can harness their large mana pool, then they become near-invincible.”  “How do you know this?” Jake questioned him.  “Not much information is known by the public about Tankers, only high-ranking nobles know anything about them. The reason why I know anything about them is because my wife was one of those Tankers. She was known as the ‘Silver Goddess’ in her prime.” Yang told him. “Why are you in this party if you have your wife fighting?” Jake asked him. “Well… I have my reasons.” Yang whispered. Jake went to say something, but he was cut off by Yang reacting to Samantha giving the signal. Yang motioned for Jake to follow him into the back of the hideout. Samantha sent the signal once all Riders entered the hideout, giving them an opportunity.    TBC… Episode Eight"Uncontrolled 8" The three Riders split into two groups. The leader, Altar, stayed behind while the other two Riders, Gold, and Zero, went outside to search for teammates. This allowed the party to take down the Riders. Samantha sent the signal to Yang and Jake before motioning for Alice and Crow to follow her towards the Riders. Samantha and Crow clashed with Gold while Jake and Yang clashed with Zero. Alter, irritated with their actions, grabbed Yang and slammed him down to the ground, knocking him unconscious. He looked up at Jake with frustrated eyes.  “Jake! Use your magic!” Samantha shouted. “But you said-” “You’re going to die if you don’t!” Samantha shouted. Jake nodded before charging towards Zero, using another skill of his, Negative Second; a skill that stopped time for only a second. This one second allowed Jake to sprint behind Zero, stabbing him in the back. He also activated Tanzo to dig the dagger further into his back, puncturing one of his hearts. Jake backed off as Zero turned around to face him. Zero glared at Jake, slightly catching him off guard, as his sword began glowing, indicating a skill being used.  Zero activated Blade Fury before sprinting towards Jake, striking him and knocking him backward. Blade Fury deactivated after the first strike. Jake used Negative Second to get behind Zero before striking his second heart. Zero’s lifeless corpse crumbled to the ground, pouring out the blood that his two hearts released. The rest of the party focused on the second Rider. “Alice, heal Jake!”  “Copy,” Alice said as she rushed towards Jake. Samantha and Crow rushed at Gold and pierced both hearts simultaneously, dropping him to the ground. His lifeless body laid on the ground, blood pouring out of his mouth. Crow inspected the body while Samantha rushed to Jake’s side. She patted his shoulder while looking down at Zero’s lifeless body. Alice finished healing Jake’s wound before rushing to Yang’s side, checking his status. Crow went over to Zero’s body, inspecting it. “This one isn’t dead. It’s still alive,” Crow declared, brandishing his weapon. Zero was mumbling something under his breath, unintelligible to the party.   TBC…  Episode Nine "Uncontrolled 9" “What is he saying?” Crow asked. Samantha shrugged her shoulders before leaning in to hear his fleeting words. Once she leaned in, she could hear his words. “-our power ‘Zero’.  The powers of all Riders, ‘Golden Fury’. Your mission is to defeat those that robbed us of our lives. As the remaining Rider, I will grant you my ability ‘Future Sight’ to help in your revenge. You have our power Zero. The powers of all Riders-” He then looped his words, recounting the same declaration over and over.  “He mentioned the last Rider, Zero, and something about a Golden Fury and Future Sight. That and about sharing their powers.” Samantha recounted. “An ability to share powers does exist,” Yang chimed in. “It does,” Alice asked. “It’s called ‘Divine Connection’. It has the ability to transfer all abilities from the Riders into the only Rider remaining. The only way it can be acquired through the blessings of a god or goddess. It’s one of the perks that you would receive if you can achieve the affection of a god or goddess.” Yang told them. “A blessing of a god? How did the Riders achieve that?” Alice asked. “Isn’t there an evil god?” Samantha asked. “Slade Wolff, the evil god,” Yang muttered. “Wolff? I’ve never heard of the name.” Alice said. “You never would,” Yang muttered.  “Let’s focus on the mission on hand,” Crow said while staring at the hideout.  “Agreed… after this, it’s time for us to go our separate ways,” Samantha remarked. “We understand,” Crow muttered before walking away towards the hideout’s main entrance where the last Rider was. Alice and Yang followed after him. “Let’s finish this and head to your grandparents’ house,” Samantha whispered into Jake’s ear. “Can they help me?” Jake asked her while his eyes looked up at her. “They will,” She said while patting his head. “Let’s go meet with everybody else.”   TBC… Episode Ten "Uncontrolled 10" The group detected Zero’s presence inside the hideout. He now held the combined power of all six Riders. He wielded his longsword and large shield as they entered the building. “You have killed my brethren,” He muttered in a deep and grumbly voice. “I will not let you leave here alive.” “Likewise,” Samantha muttered before charging towards Zero.  Alice stood dumbfounded at her action. “Wait… what about the plan?” Alice shouted. Alice’s words floated away like a leaf, intertwined, in the wind. Meanwhile, Samantha sliced at Zero which didn’t deal any damage. His skin was reinforced by one of the abilities granted by another Rider.  “You may cut us down, but with the abilities of all six, you will not slay our name.” Zero declared. Samantha didn’t care about his words. “Crow, back me up! Alice, Yang, and Jake! Start circling and corner him!” Samantha ordered. “I see,” Crow muttered under his breath.  He rushed towards her with Yang and Alice beginning their entrapment tactic. Jake joined their tactic, deciding to use one percent of his mana power, plunging it into his skill. “Jake, if we can cut a hole into his skin, can you use your fire skill and burn him from the inside?” Yang asked.  “Yeah,” Jake said.  “Perfect,” He then turned around to face Alice. “Hit him with everything you got,” Yang ordered. Copy,” Alice responded. She then began chanting spells that unleashed multiple skills. Instead of using her normal Light Arrow skill, she used Dark Arrow and Multiplier. Multiplier increased the number of arrows that the user could fire while the Dark Arrow skill was enchanted with poison and the stench of death.  Her chanting ended as she began to fire arrows at Zero, who was busy dealing with Samantha and Crow’s attacks. The first arrow pierced a small hole in Zero’s body while the remainder of the arrows were blocked by his shield. Jake charged towards Zero and managed to close the distance between them. Jake then jumped on Zero’s back and found the open hole, launching Black Fire into his body. The skill, instantly, burnt his organs and inner parts of his body to a crisp. Unfortunately for Zero, Jake continued to launch Black Fire into his body to disintegrate every part of his body.  “The job is done, Jake,” Samantha said. “Thank you,” Jake whispered. Samantha crouched down to reach his height. “I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you. You must survive.”  “Thank you,” Jake said. “Well, let’s prepare to depart,” Samantha announced. Everybody began packing their stuff into their bags, picking up their trophies from the deaths of the Riders. Nobody noticed that Samantha collapsed to the ground.  “The true power of the Riders has emerged, ‘Rider Force’.” Everybody’s heads snapped to Samantha’s unconscious and bloody body and Zero’s reawakening. “With this, our last strike can be made to finish our foes when they drop their guards.” He announced proudly. Jake stared at Samantha’s body and noticed the enormous amount of blood flowing out of her wounds. A fatal amount of blood created a puddle around her, drenching her in it.    TBC… Publication Date: October 13th 2020 https://www.bookrix.com/-na50a1c958baf75

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RWBY lover, Asuna Yuuki kirito's surprise part 2 things stir up kazuto woke up the next morning as it was a saturday but he felt like he couldnt move as he lifted the blanket he saw both yuki and gal hugging him "What are you both doing here" asuna woke up and explained her self as she saw gal in the bed "and her i dont know how she got here i fell asleep and she must have came in the room after i did" she said, gal awoke then looking at kirito she'd hug him and not caring about asuna "dont just hug my bf you small little girl you" asuna said angrily, as soon as she said it kazuto and gal were gone already " huh where did they run off to "gal please stop running why are we running" kazuto said outta breath, "well i wanna be alone with you since i havent seen you since we were kids when mom and dad died", she said with a trembling look on her face. "well you coulda just told me that and why were you sleeping next to me when i woke up this morning" he said looking at her with a curious look, "oh that well you see i didn't want to lose to yuki asuna, you see im in love with you". she said it while blushing. "but were brother and sister and she is my girlfreind after all. "Kazuto i am going to kill you!" yuki yelled as she ran outside the house towards them. Kazuto grab gal by the hand and ran like crazy trying to get away from yuki. "why are you running im not going to hurt you to badly" yuki screamed as she was running after them. " gal then pulled him into an alley as yuki ran past them. "wow that was a clos" as he said that gal kissed him on the lips telling him shes been looking for him all her life "kazuto i love you" gal said with a blush on her cheek. Kazuto just stared at her as he got mad and walked away from her and went back home. gal just watched him as she started to cry with no noise. part 3 will be out on thursday Publication Date: October 8th 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-narutolover11

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Emani Brown The Family Wars The Family Wars Publication Date: September 3rd 2010 https://www.bookrix.com/-they.lovinq.chica.

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Speculative Fiction Authors The English Pond A Line Story English Pond   It's Sunday afternoon.  I know she’ll be there seeking solace from the chaos in her mind while staring at the slight ripples in the Willard's pond. Indeed, Amina Abbasi stared into the mirage, pretending that it really was her British friend's pool. "I miss home," she whispered in  her soft little voice with a depressive tone. This led to the next question in the bedlam of questions that always filled her mind, the answer to which had eluded her for days - how could everything go so suddenly and completely wrong? One second he was here... now he's disappeared... vanished. How can that be? I didn't go with you, but saw you from the distance, thinking  about those younger days..if only you could know how much I wanted to go with you. It was a complicated situation we were in after all.  My parents had always been against you, always. The Arabian beauty turned her back on the false pool and stared into the red sand at her feet. "Samuel is gone now, Amina," I told my best friend,  appearing next to her side, "your family is to blame for this you know." Amina just stared off into nothing for a brief moment before collapsing.   She hit the ground with a loud thump. “AMINA!” I cried in terror. Quickly, I rushed to her side. I held her hand, trying to decide whether to rush her to a healer, my home, or her home. I was reluctant to leave her side, but I gently put her hand down to stand to find the healer. I had just turned to go get help when she spoke. "No, wait," Amina said hoarsely. "Amina?" I asked, confused by her words "Let me explain," she said, standing. She brushed  the red sand off her tunic, while I just kept my eyes on her every move. I watched and listened  in awe as she spoke words I never thought I’ll hear. “I saw Samuel in a vision,” she said, smiling, “ he's calling to me!” “ But… how could you have seen Samuel?” Amina smiled again. “I don’t know, but he waits for me at his English pond.” Publication Date: January 21st 2014 https://www.bookrix.com/-vb3b367848da425

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Meghnaa Sonkar PRISTINE RIVERS She who soared high Chapter 1 Blissful Pride Kate was inevitably alone during parties. Lost in her own thoughts, she deemed it impossible to communicate with the others standing Text: Meghnaa Sonkar Images: Meghnaa Sonkar Editing: Meghnaa Sonkar Translation: Meghnaa Sonkar All rights reserved. Publication Date: March 2nd 2013 https://www.bookrix.com/-princesss.nevermore

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Maria1415 21 century girl life sucks!!!! middle school In all my life was not hard not untell now, when i went to middle school. Every thing change,boys,love,jealous of girl and games. need more help if you like it and u have ideas sned me some love maira1415 Publication Date: November 28th 2011 https://www.bookrix.com/-maria1415

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Nick Venom Archer & Disciple: Season One Episode One "The Master Archer" “See you next week!” An older woman shouted from the doorstep of her house. “See you, Ms. Hankins. Your back pain should be fixed by then.” He remarked, waving goodbye to the woman. She nodded, thanking him again before he continued going down the long paved concrete road to his home at the edge of the village. However, he was stopped several hundred feet down the road.  “Hey, Avin! Off to train?” A man shouted. Avin turned his head to face the man, finding a pale skin frail man staring at him.  “Morning, Mr. Pollard!” Avin said. “I need to keep myself in check.” “With a body like that? There shouldn’t be anything you would need to do.” Mr. Pollard remarked, glancing at Avin’s skinny but muscular body. Avin’s hair was lime green and extended to his waist. His hair was straight and well-maintained. Avin’s eyes were deep blue, a darker shade of the color than anyone had ever seen. It was memorizing and enchanting. It matched well with his tanned skin that was more on the whiter side than the darker one. He wore a mostly white, with a few splashes of red, robe that felt loose on his body, ending at his ankles; not covering his shoes. His robe had splashes of red on his sleeves, creating long streaks and flowers, which were sporadically placed around. On his back was his longbow and his quiver filled with a large handful of arrows. The quiver was made of Darkwood, a mixture of mana and normal wood that was better suited for long-time use thanks to Darkwood’s increased strength and duration. “It appears so, but I need every day to keep it,” Avin responded. “Come on, at this point you’re making every guy in the village insensitive about their bodies.” He joked, pointing at his own body. He was lean thanks to the back-breaking hours in the fields. “And you’re luring away all the girls in the village. Soon the men will hate you all.” Mr. Pollard said before chuckling softly. “I’ve said it before,” Avin said with a smile. “I’m not interested in any women.” “Except ours.” Mr. Pollard’s wife chimed in. She stepped onto the front porch alongside her husband, a frail woman a few inches shorter than Mr. Pollard. She stood straight, her back not being destroyed like most of the people her age.  “Elizabeth is still waiting for you.” She said. “I’m afraid Ms. Pollard, but she’ll have to wait an eternity,” Avin told her. He noticed two emerald eyes peering out of an open window. The eyes disappeared inside the house before reappearing by Ms. Pollard’s side.  “Don’t say that!” Elizabeth, the Pollard’s child, exclaimed. She stood in front of her mother and covered her mouth with her hand. “Don’t say anything more.” Ms. Pollard tried to say something, but it came out muffled. She tried again, but Elizabeth pressed down her hand against her mother’s mouth.  “Awww, our daughter seems to be embarrassed.” Mr. Pollard remarked, flustering Elizabeth. The pale-skinned girl shook her head. Unlike her parents, she had emerald eyes where her parents had brown and brown hair where they had black. There were some doubts of Elizabeth’s true parents, but those doubts were often silenced. “Don’t tease her too much, Mr. Pollard,” Avin said, glancing behind him. “I’m afraid, I have to go.”  Ms. Pollard took her daughters’ hand off her mouth, turning towards Avin. “Don’t worry, Elizabeth will wait two eternities for you.” She said with a smile. “Mom!” Elizabeth shrieked. “Don’t say that!” Both of her parents and Avin erupted in laughter as Elizabeth looked down, doing her best to hide her blushed cheeks.  Avin waved goodbye, heading further down the road to reach his home. He had finished his business with Ms. Hankins and now it was time to rest and regained his lost six hours of preparing. However, other business prevented him from doing so.  “Leave me alone!” A female’s voice shouted. It came from an alleyway not far from Avin’s house.  “You’ll sell for a pretty good amount in Asher.” An older man declared, his voice being kept close to a whisper. Avin peered down the alleyway, seeing a man grabbing a girl and slamming her into a wall. Disgusting slavers again, Avin thought. He drew his longbow, pointing an arrow down the alleyway.  “You wouldn’t want to do that here.” His voice boomed. The slaver heard Avin, frightened instantly. “I am Avin, the protector of this village of Paradise. Any action to hurt those under my protection is a threat to me. I eradicate threats.” The slaver looked behind him, noticing stares from passersby. They were all directed at him. Knowing that he was trapped on both sides, he threw the girl before brandishing a knife. He sprinted away from Avin, hoping to capture a hostage and get out that way. However, he misjudged Avin’s strength, not feeling the arrow piercing his leg until his head hit the ground. Avin had fired off an arrow that went through the slaver’s leg, tripping him. He crashed to the ground, looking up at the passersby in front of him. Two people, dressed in iron armor, grabbed him and dragged him away. They were part of the security in Paradise. Avin rushed to the girl’s side, asking if she was alright. She nodded, bruised but not beaten. She stared at Avin, her large hazel eyes on full display. “You are Avin?” She questioned. Avin nodded. “Yes, I am.” “Then-” She kneeled in front of him, looking at the ground. “I am Jaylee and I’ve been looking for you.” “Me?” Avin questioned. “Why?” Jayle looked up at him. “My family told me to come here. They want you to take me in.” “Who is your family?”  “My father is Griv and my mother is Itayda.” She told him. Avin sighed, taking a step back. “Of course, those two are your parents.” “You do know my parents?” Jaylee tilted her head.  “They were my ex-party members. How are they?” Avin asked. “They’re okay. They retired in a village known as Warlock.” Jaylee said. She glanced at the crowd that had formed on each side of the alleyway.  Avin didn’t notice the crowd. “How is your brother, Blaze? Has he been adventuring?”  Jaylee nodded. “Blaze is a rank D adventurer now.” “Rank D!” Avin exclaimed. “Wow, time has definitely moved. It felt like yesterday that Blaze was a small boy who looked up to me and wanted to be an adventurer like me. Those were the days… Okay, going back to the topic, they want you to serve as my disciple?” Jaylee nodded. “They said I had potential with bows, so they sent me off to find you,” Jaylee told him. She showed off her bow, a makeshift bow that was on its final legs.  Avin turned around, noticing the crowd. He waved them off, leading Jaylee out of the alleyway and towards his house. “If you want to become my disciple, you’ll have to prove your worth. I don’t take anybody, even if they’re prodigies, if they have no ambitions and can’t put an ounce of dedication into training.” “Do you have any other disciples?” Jaylee asked him, glancing behind her. A shy Elizabeth followed after them, holding a bowl of vegetables.  Avin glanced over his shoulder at Elizabeth, stopping. He turned around and pointed at her. “She’s my first and only disciple. She wasn’t a prodigy, but her dedication to her training has far surpassed them.” Jaylee turned around to face Elizabeth, who muttered a weak “hi” to her.  “Okay,” Avin cleared his throat before continuing. “I’ll have you take care of a small den of goblins not far from here. If you can do it without Elizabeth or I’s help, then I’ll accept you. If you rely on us, then you’ll have to return to Griv and Itayda.” He told her. Jaylee nodded. “I’ll do it.” “Perfect.” He grabbed fruit from the vegetable bowl, thanking Elizabeth. “Let’s go right now. Elizabeth, ask your parents and then meet with us at the main gate. We’ll be heading out to see whether or not I have a new disciple.” *** “What do you mean you’re leaving me?” A younger Avin asked a woman. The woman, a blonde dark-skinned girl wielding a longbow, turned around to face him. She had a long face that made her look older than she was with charcoal-black eyes. “I’ve done what I wanted. You’re now the youngest Master Archer and part of the Legends of Historia list. I’ve done the best I can. It’s time you spread your wings and return to your parents’ hometown while I search for a way to replicate your achievements.” “But my achievements are yours,” Avin whined. The woman shook her head, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I might’ve taught you how to walk, but you’re the one who started running.”    TBC… Episode Two "All I Need Is Time" Avin led Elizabeth and Jaylee to the goblin den, stopping a hundred feet from the main entrance. He turned to face the girls, who both were in their late teens while he was nearly a decade older. “I’ll lure them out, Jaylee, focus on killing them. Elizabeth, stay back and help her only if she’s on the verge of death.” He ordered. Both girls nodded their heads, turning towards the goblin den.  Avin dashed forward, drawing his bow. He enchanted the arrow with his skill of Light Arrows, using another skill named ‘Enchanting’ - a rather straightforward name. He released the string, throwing the Light Arrow down the cave that housed the goblins. It was joined by a Wind Arrow, made to spin at fast speeds and pierce any goblin it made contact with. Both arrows were enough to provoke the goblins hiding inside, throwing them out. A small handful of goblins expelled themselves from the cave, searching around for the culprit of the arrows. They were a disgusting mixture of dark green and brown; small beings wielding a variety of weapons stolen from adventurers or unfortunate passersby. With the goblins lured out, Jaylee pushed forward. She drew her makeshift bow, putting an arrow on the bow. She released it, hitting one of the goblins in the shoulder. It didn’t kill him, only throwing him to the ground. Jaylee drew another arrow, releasing it and dinging a goblin in the head. It flopped backward, crashing on the ground. This irritated the other goblins more. They darted towards her, hoping to attack her before she drew another arrow. However, their short legs weren’t quick enough to deal with her. She drew her third arrow, piercing the head of another goblin. She then sprinted around them, gaining distance. She stopped and drew an arrow, killing another goblin. She continued this tactic, playing an intense game of cat and mouse, moving around before plucking off a goblin or two then moving away. Using this tactic, she took care of the small number of goblins that came out from the cave. With them dead, she could finally crumble to her knees, her mana and energy drained. Elizabeth rushed to her side with a towel. She wiped the sweat off her forehead. “Are you okay?” Jaylee nodded. “Thanks.” “Of course,” Elizabeth said with a smile. Avin walked up to Jaylee. “You’ve done good, but I wouldn’t call you a prodigy.” Elizabeth’s head snapped to Avin, her mouth gaped open. “Master!” Avin shrugged his shoulders. “You should be able to defeat those goblins while standing in one place. That moving and hitting tactic is okay for rookies, but I need you to be able to kill them without running.” He turned away and approached the goblin on his back, an arrow going through his shoulder. He drew his bow, pointing it at the goblin.  He glanced up at Jaylee and Elizabeth. He released the arrow, splattering the goblins’ brains out. “I need better.” He turned away, beginning the walk back to Paradise. Elizabeth helped Jaylee up. “Is he always like this?” She asked.  Elizabeth nodded. “When he’s in teaching mode, he’s stricter than anybody you’ll ever meet.” “Why? Couldn’t he be a little nicer, especially when it’s my first time out with him?” Elizabeth shook her head. “He doesn’t want to baby anybody. Especially if they tell him they have experience with bows.” She glanced behind at the massacre of goblins. “He was teaching every child and teen in Paradise and was too lax with them.” “What happened?” Jaylee asked. “Were they too weak to help him?” Elizabeth nodded, facing her. “They took advantage of his kindness and got themselves killed. After that, he’s become extremely strict. Everybody dropped out when it became too much, except for me.” Jaylee stared at her, tilting her head. “Don’t tell me you’re the same as him.” She shook her head. “Master is leagues stronger than me. I can only barely keep up with him, even though he’s been training me for two years now.” “Wow, you must be very skilled now.” Elizabeth shook her head. “I don’t think so.” “You don’t?” Jaylee asked, tilting her head even more. “Well, you must be stronger than me. I’m probably a bug under you two.” “Don’t say that,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head. “Don’t think of yourself as a bug. You’re the same as us, you just… You only need some more experience.” Jaylee nodded, picking up the pace. Her energy was slowly being replenished and stripped away from her at the same moment. She turned to face Elizabeth, memorized by her eyes. “Still, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you become his disciple? I mean… you’re a…” Her voice trailed off as she tried to figure out a way to phrase her sentence. “A farmer’s kid?” Elizabeth asked, raising an eyebrow. “You’re free to call me that. I am a proud child of a farmer.” She smiled an honest and genuine smile. She loved her family, even if they embarrassed her every once in a while. “As for me becoming his disciple, it happened because my parents are close to Avin and were convinced I had some affinity to bows. Avin relented after refusing hundreds of times and took me to train.” “Were… Were you bad at first?” Jaylee asked, almost nervous to hear the answer. Elizabeth nodded her head, still smiling. “I was really bad. So bad that Avin refused to train me. However, I didn’t give up. I kept training without him and, eventually, became good enough that he accepted me as his First Disciple and truly began training me.” “Wow,” Jaylee muttered. No other words came to her mind, Elizabeth’s story almost leaving her speechless.  “Well, how was it for you?” She asked. Jaylee rubbed her nape, unsure how to answer. “My story isn’t all that great. I was a prodigy in my hometown. My parents were sure I would become a Master Archer like Avin, so they sent me here to train under him.” “What about training?” She asked, not hearing an ounce of dedication being put into her bow.  Jaylee shook her head. “I trained for about a year before being sent here. My friends and family were sure I would be a powerful archer, but Avin doesn’t think so. He’s right that I’m not good enough; an amateur.” She hung her head low. Elizabeth shook her head, grabbing Jaylee’s face with both hands and raising her eyes to meet hers. “You will become a Master Archer like Avin. All you need is time.” Jaylee gave her a small smile. “You’re right… I will.” Elizabeth released her grip on Jaylee, taking a step backward. “I’m sure you will.” Jaylee nodded. “Well, first I need to become the Second Disciple before I can reach the title of Master Archer, but you’re right. All I need is time.”   TBC… Episode Three "Esperanza" “Slow down your breathing. Don’t force yourself.” The woman told him.  “Yes, Master,” Avin remarked, drawing a short bow. His aim was shaky. He closed one eye, staring at his target, a dummy a hundred feet from him. Slooowww dowwwnnn . He told himself internally. He released his grip, letting the arrow fly. It flew towards the dummy but missed its torso by a few inches. It nicked the dummy’s side and flew off. The woman shook her head, facing Avin. “Steady your aim, otherwise, you’ll be hitting the dirt for the rest of your life.” She grabbed his arms and steadied them using hers. “Fire again.” He released the arrow, watching as it cracked through the air and hit the dummy’s shoulder. The woman nodded her head, backing away from Avin. “Good, you’re doing better. A couple more tries and you’ll be stronger than me.” She said with a large smile. Avin shook his head. “I can’t be better than you Master. I still have a lot to know.”  The woman chuckled softly, shaking her head. She looked up at the clouds flying overhead, different shades of white and gray. “I am in my late thirties-” She glanced down with a stare that screamed, don’t you dare question my age or tell anybody . She looked back up at the clouds. “-and I’ll be retiring from my archery days. When I do, I need someone to take my spot on the Legends of Historia list. My title of Master Archer will soon escape me; I need somebody to take it from me.” She grinned, facing Avin.  “But… I’m not as strong as you. You faced strong beasts, I barely killed a deer yesterday.” Avin said.  “Ha!” She exclaimed, sitting down on the grass. Avin sat next to her, watching her face as she spoke. “I’m not as strong as you painted me as. I’ve never been able to defeat the Deity or the demon king. Those are monsters out of my grasp. However-” She glanced down at Avin. “-you may be able to defeat them.” “How?” Avin asked, almost jumping to his feet. “Can I do it soon?” “Hahaha,” She shook her head. “I’m afraid that you can't do anything without activating Master Archer’s Lifetime Arrow.” “Then…” Avin glanced down at his bow. “... all I need to do is become a Master Archer?” The woman shook her head again, smiling. “You make it sound like becoming a Master Archer is easy. Well, you have to become a Master Archer to have a chance at getting the skill, but more is needed.” “What? Mana? Aura?” Avin questioned. “Aura Force isn’t the same as the Lifetime Arrow. Aura Force coats your weapon with your mana, creating a blue glint, which takes years to do. Lifetime Arrow, on the other hand, takes almost an entire lifetime, as the name implies, to activate. It’s a hidden skill that only activates for every one in ten Master Archers. However, there are not that many Master Archers around.”  “Then… is it impossible?” Avin asked.  The woman shook her head. “I think you’ll be able to master it with ease. As long as you’re patient, it should come to you naturally.” Avin nodded, staring at his bow. “Thank you, Master.” The woman laughed. “I should be the one thanking you. If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve given up long ago.” She patted his head. “You’re my bright disciple. I expect a lot out of you, so do your best. Even if you don’t get the skill, as long as you become stronger than me, that’s all I care about.” Avin nodded, staring up at his master. “Yes, Master.” “You don’t have to be so stiff. You can call me by my name.” Avin hesitated, unsure if he was being tricked or not. The woman nodded her head, forcing him to say it. “Thank you, Nyla.” “Anytime Avin.” *** Avin and the others returned to Paradise, passing through the main gate and heading to his house. Once there, Jaylee collapsed onto a wooden chair, her stress and exhaustion flooding out.  “How did she do?” Elizabeth asked. Jaylee glanced at Avin. “Honestly?’ Avin sat down on a chair that was nearing its end. “I think she did better than expected.” “So she’s accepted?” She asked. Jaylee jumped out of her chair, exclaiming  “You accept me?”  “Well…” Avin’s voice trailed off. “You didn’t do bad and there are many things I need to fix. I could tell Griv and Itdayda didn’t train you as an archer. They taught you how they think you should be taught, but they were way off the mark.” Avin stood up from his chair, approaching her. “Firstly, what is the name of your bow?” “My bow… My bow’s name?” She asked, tilting her head. “Why would it have a name?” Avin chuckled. “Every being deserves a name. In combat, who saves you?” Jaylee shrugged her shoulders. “Myself, I guess?” “Wrong, your bow does. It shoulders your emotions and gives you an outlet to express them. Every time you draw the bow, you’re pushing your emotions onto the string. When you release the string, you release your emotions. That’s why bows are an archer’s most valuable partner, excluding family.” Jaylee glanced at Elizabeth. “Does your bow have a name?” She nodded. “What is it?” “Phoenix.” She answered.  Jaylee turned around to face Avin. “What about you?” Avin smiled. “Esperanza. It’s an otherworlder word that should mean something similar to hope. Because this bow and the person who made it for me gave me hope. Hope for the future.” Jaylee nodded, looking down at her makeshift bow. “Then I should name it?” Elizabeth, meanwhile, turned away and strolled to a window facing the middle of the village. She had heard some noises, straining her ears to track them. “Only if you have a name in mind. Don’t give it a name that doesn’t match your feelings.” Avin said. “Think of bows as your children. Every child needs a proper name. Names that have no emotion in them won’t work. Make sure it matches what you want.” “So, I think I have a name,” Jaylee remarked, staring at her bow. “I will name it-” She was interrupted by screams and shouts. They were coming from the middle of the village. Elizabeth turned around to face Avin, her eyes widened. Avin dashed outside, hearing more shouts and screams. “Call Avin!” “Monster!” “Help!”  He heard multiple people calling him, which slightly frightened him. However, the fright left as quickly as it entered. He pressed forward, drawing his bow as the monster’s head filled his sight. “Don’t betray me now Esperanza.”   TBC… Episode Four "Old Rivals" The monster was the height of three stories, composed of stone and mud - a stone golem. It moved slowly, flinging its limbs at the roofs of buildings, but never at the bottom. It pressed forward, avoiding people in its path.  Avin drew Esperanza, releasing an arrow. It cracked through the air, flying through the air and hitting the head of the golem. The arrow was crushed, falling to the ground. The golem continued forward as if nothing had happened. He drew another arrow, attaching his Wind skill to it. It flew through the air, hitting the golem’s head. The wind propelled the arrow into the golem’s head, going cleanly through it. The golem stood still for a few moments, as the hole in the head became apparent. However, it quickly sealed itself up, the hole disappearing as the golem healed itself. The golem then turned its head to face Avin, revealing a man dressed in a black cloak standing on its shoulder. The man recognized Avin, pointing a long index finger at him. The golem moved towards Avin. Avin drew a third arrow, enhancing it with Light. He released this arrow to little effect, simply bouncing off the golem. The Wind Arrow was pushed forward by the wind, but the normal and Light Arrows had nothing that could pierce or, at the very least, dent the golem. The man motioned for the golem to kneel, jumping off it and facing Avin. He was a black-haired man, his body masked by a black cloak. He was around Avin’s age but lacked the same muscles as he did. He had a smaller frame than him. “I’m here to challenge you Avin. It’s time to end this rivalry and see who’s the true King.” The man remarked. “It’s been a while Sudo,” Avin remarked, drawing a Wind Arrow. He pointed it at Sudo. “You haven’t changed.” “How can I change when I haven’t beaten you?” He remarked. Avin glanced at the Golem kneeling behind him. “Was all of this necessary?” Sudo nodded. “Of course, this is necessary. If I didn’t make a grand entrance then I wouldn’t have gotten your attention, right?” He said with a smug face.  Avin sighed. “If you wish to get your petty revenge then you could have simply asked for it. Now you have included the citizens in it. For that, you don’t deserve the chance to fight.” Avin said. He then muttered something under his breath, something in a demonic tongue that Sudo reacted to quickly. Sudo bolted towards him, hoping to strike him before he finished his chant. Avin activated a skill that he rarely used, known as Inescapable Barrier. As the name implied, a barrier of transparent walls left the people inside unable to escape from it. He cast it on Sudo, stopping his momentum. Sudo hit the transparent walls hard, bouncing off it and landing on his back. “Well,” he said before sucking in air. “, you still have that ability.” “And I will continue to use it against your petty grudges,” Avin remarked, turning around. “Help me Elizabeth, I need to-” He noticed Elizabeth’s eyes frightfully staring at something behind her. She pointed at something behind her, forcing him to turn to face it. It was a petite tanned girl standing in front of him. She had golden locks that went down to her waist, straight and clean. She had a tanned face with large features; large eyes that were doubled the normal size, big lips that were thin and petite but large enough to be noticeable, and ears that stuck out like a sore thumb. She was dressed in a black and purple robe that covered her body, only her face and her hands being seen. She wielded a two-foot thin wand the color of night. She held it tightly, pointing it at Sudo. “Well, it would’ve worked if I didn’t join him.” Avin froze as he eyed down the girl. She was another rival he had in his earlier days, a magician who was known as the ‘Witch of Red’ “Why are you here, Hill?” Avin asked. “It couldn’t be that you want to beat me as well?” “Would you believe me if I said yes?” Hill asked. “As much as you telling me that you like Sudo.” Avin teased. Sudo turned to face Hill, his eyes widened. Hill shook her head, blushing. “I don’t like Sudo, he’s lying. I like-” She cut herself off. “Oh, now you provoked me.” She said while smiling menacingly. She began chanting, getting rid of Avin’s Inescapable Barrier to his annoyance.  She then focused her chanting on Avin, activating a fire spell and a water spell. She threw Fireballs and Water Slashes at him. He glanced behind him, noticing his disciples behind him. That’s how you want to play? Avin thought to himself before he enchanted the arrow he drew to become a Wind Arrow, releasing it. It cracked through the air, passing through a few fireballs and nicking Hill.  Hill dodged the arrows, chanting for more spells. She threw everything she had at Avin, who eliminated them with his Wind, Light, and normal arrows. He used a mixture of the three to stop her attacks. He couldn’t move or the attacks would hit his disciples. Elizabeth noticed this, grabbing Jaylee and taking her away. She left his back empty, allowing him to dodge without worrying about their safety. Jaylee drew an arrow, releasing it. It flew towards Sudo, who had recovered and was retreating to his golem. The arrow nicked him. He glanced in her direction, seeing both of them. However, they were too far for him. He jumped onto his golem, ordering it to attack Avin. The golem complied, staggering towards him. Avin, meanwhile, fought Hill’s spells head-on. He threw the spells towards unpopulated land or extinguished them. “I can’t believe none of them are connecting.” She exclaimed, her mana on the low side. “You made me use this!” Avin’s eyes widened as he recognized what she was trying to use. “Hill, don’t use it! It’s too dangerous!” He shouted. He drew a Light Arrow, infusing it with wind. He fired off the mixture of both elements, watching as it neared Hill, but dissipated against the spell she cast. She threw a spell towards him, a magic circle made of black goo. It moved quickly towards him.  Sudo noticed the black magic circle, his eyes widening further. “Hill, that’s dangerous. You’ll kill him. It's supposed to be a simple duel, not one to the death!” He shouted. He glanced behind him, towards his house but didn’t see his disciples. He sat them a comfortable distance away. Good idea Elizabeth. He thought, smiling for no more than a second. He turned back to face the oncoming threat. I told Master Nyla I’ll never use this skill, but I can’t wait any longer. Hill has already sacrificed everything for this petty duel and this spell will take everything out of me, so what do I have to lose? My disciples? They will be sad without me, but Elizabeth can train Jaylee in my stead. Maybe Master Nyla will return and train them. Avin activated his fifth and most dangerous skill - Ruin. Ruin was a dangerous element that needed the fusion of every Main Element into one---Fire, Water, Light, Darkness, Earth, and Time. The Ruin element was the seventh and often forgotten Main Element. It was the most dangerous of them all. He drew his bow, pouring a skill under Ruin known as Drain, into the arrow. He knew that the skill and the element itself would have a large backlash that could kill him, but if he didn’t extinguish the spell in front of him, the city would be destroyed. Hill cast Instant Death, a vicious skill under the element of Death, which itself was an element under the Ruin element. Instant Death was a poison that didn’t stop once it made contact with something. It would continue to move, fighting against all beings and corrupting them all. If Avin’s house was affected by Instant Death, it would move like a parasite to cover the remainder of Paradise before absorbing the rest of the world. It was too dangerous to leave alone, the only way of stopping it being to extinguish it before it hit anything. He took in a deep breath before releasing the arrow. It flew towards the black circle, piercing through the middle of it. The circle began to disintegrate but continued with its momentum. Avin took a few steps back, grabbing an arrow from his quiver. He was out of arrows, the Ruin Arrow being his last one. A Fire Arrow came out of nowhere, striking the black circle and finishing the job. Avin glanced at his side at Elizabeth, who had her bow now pointed at Hill. Her bow’s name wasn’t random as she named it Phoenix because Avin taught her because of her fire skill known as Hellfire. It burned faster and did more damage than normal fire. The black magic circle was gone, the last-ditch attempt made by Hill failing. She collapsed to the ground, her mana running out. Sudo, who saw that the duel had changed and Elizabeth now drew an arrow aimed at him, jumped off his golem and went to Hill’s side.  “We give up, the duel has gone too far. It’s Hill’s fault. Since I brought her here, it’s also my fault” Sudo kneeled, one hand resting on the collapsed Hill. Avin approached them, his body trembling out of Mana Exhaustion. Sudo looked at the ground, ashamed. “You did well. You’ve improved.” Sudo looked back up to see Avin smiling. “You’ve done better than I expected.” Sudo smiled back, a tear escaping his eye. “It wasn’t done how I wanted, but I made a big golem. And Hill has learned more spells, it’s just…” “It’s okay Sudo,” Avin said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “However, you two must face your crimes of destroying parts of buildings and inciting panic. You should-” Avin collapsed, his body hitting the ground. Sudo jumped, taken aback. Elizabeth and Jaylee rushed to his side as Sudo stared, confused and surprised.  Am I dying? Avin thought before he went unconscious. Is this the end of me? TBC… Episode Five "Leader" Avin awoke two days in his bed after he collapsed from the backlash of using Ruin. What happened to me? He thought as he strained his neck to look around. His bedroom was empty and devoid of sound. It was eerily quiet.  Where is everybody? He thought to himself as he forced his body to sit up, his body trembling softly as he readjusted himself. He positioned his back against the head of the bed.  Now sitting up, he looked around again. He strained his neck and ears to detect if anybody was nearby. Did the spell touch anything? Could… Could everybody be…? He got out of bed, wincing at the pain. He stumbled towards his bedroom door, opening it and peering outside. He saw Elizabeth and Jaylee in the dining room, which was in front of his room. “Master!” Elizabeth shrieked, sprinting towards him. She hugged him tightly. “You’re okay!” Avin patted her head, smiling. “Don’t worry, I-” He winced in pain. Elizabeth released him, shifting backward. “Sorry Master.” She told him, staring into his eyes. He could tell she had been crying, her bloodshot eyes being evidence of it.  “Don’t worry about it Elizabeth.” He glanced at Jaylee. “How have you been?” Jaylee looked up, smiling an ingenuine smile. “Good,” She weakly responded. It was apparent that she had been crying, less so compared to Elizabeth. Avin nodded. “Was there any destruction after or during the duel?” Elizabeth shook her head. “Nothing was destroyed.” Avin nodded his head. “That’s good,” He took a step towards the door, wincing at the pain. Elizabeth rushed to his side, helping him outside. Jaylee followed suit, holding his other side. They helped him walk outside to sit down on an old rocking chair.  Once on the chair, Avin looked around. He noticed people freely walking around; mothers heading to the stores, construction workers fixing up any minor damage caused after the duel, and children playing with each other - all without a care in the world. Nothing that could reflect the aftermath of a dangerous duel. “Master, there was someone here for you,” Elizabeth said, standing by his side.  “Who was it?” Avin asked, his eyes focused on the town and not his disciple. “Another rival of mine?” He joked. “Yes,” Avin furrowed his brows, facing her. “Who was this person? Was it a female?” Elizabeth shook her head. “It was a bulky man. His name is Tian.” Avin relaxed, nodding his head. “Good, it was just Tian. Do you mind calling him here?” “No need.” Tian appeared, coming from behind Avin’s house. “It’s been a long time Avin.” Avin stared at the bulky black-haired man. The man had a chiseled jawline, bulging muscles, and a clean-shaven face. He took a step towards him, his outfit on display. He wore a large and loose black tee and faded jeans with black boots. His clothes hugged him tightly; it was blatant that it was a size too small for him.  “Tian? Why were you behind my house?” “Repairs, you had a broken wall,” Tian said, closing the distance.  “You caused the damages?” Avin asked with a raised eyebrow.  Tian shook his head playfully. “If I was the culprit, wouldn’t you be the only one to fix it?” He joked. “I’ve always cleaned up after your messes.” Avin teased, smiling.  Tian was now face-to-face with Avin, his large seven-foot stature intimidating Elizabeth and Jaylee. “Well… you WERE the leader, right?”  Avin scowled at him. “Doesn’t mean I have to pick up after you.” He said, chuckling. “Anyways, why are you here Tian?” “To bring back the two idiots.” He bowed his head. “My bad, I didn't have my eyes on them, which led to your current state.” Avin waved his statement off. “Not your fault. I should’ve ended everything in the past, not leave it alone for the future.” Tian raised his head, smiling. “Can we talk… privately?” Avin turned to Elizabeth, asking for her and Jaylee to step inside. They complied, heading inside and leaving Avin and Tian outside. Avin, satisfied with his disciples gone, turned to face Tian, his hands resting on his lap. “What’s wrong?” Tian’s smile disappeared at the snap of a finger. He, instead, had a serious expression on, staring Avin in the eyes. “ She’s on the way.” Avin nearly jumped out of his chair, the pain shooting him back onto the chair. “She? Is it…?” Tian nodded. “She’s on her way here to challenge you. However, I managed to delay here. She’ll be here in… maybe a year or so.” “Then I have a year to prepare. Thanks, Tian.” “No problems, Avin,” Tian said. “Any punishments you have in mind for the idiots? I already have one in mind, but I want your opinion.” Avin thought about it for a second. “The same as the past.” Tian’s smile returned. “Vicious.” Avin smiled. “For what they did, my punishment is nowhere near enough.” Tian nodded. “Okay, I’ll take them out of Paradise. They’ll be out of your sight.  I only have one question? Are you okay?” Avin went to nod but stopped halfway. “Elizabeth! Bring me, Esperanza!” He shouted loud enough for his disciple to hear. Elizabeth scrambled to grab Esperanza and his quiver, handing it to him. He thanked her before taking out an arrow from the quiver. He left the quiver laying against his chair as he laid the arrow on the bow’s thin string. He pulled the string back, pointing it away from the buildings and Tian. He released the arrow and, to everybody’s dismay, it went four feet before plopping down.  Tian shook his head. “Drain took a lot out of you. It appears that it absorbed your strength.” “What does that mean?” Elizabeth chimed in. Tian looked at her, biting his lip. “He’ll become a cripple if he doesn’t heal himself.” Avin nodded, trying to wrap his head around Tian's statement. “Is there a way to heal me?” Tian stroked his chin. “Maybe the Fountain of Youth, but rumors say that it’s in the Spirit Realm. Then… maybe the Holy Springs of Asher. It’s a far journey, but it’s the only place that can heal you.” Avin nodded. “Then I’ll venture there.” “I’ll go with you,” Tian said. Avin shook his head. “I’ll go alone.” Tian shook his head. “You can’t! You have no strength in your body anymore. You need protection to reach the springs.” Avin shook his head. “You have to deal with Sudo and Hill. I’ll leave this village in my disciples’ hand. I’ll go alone.” “We’re not letting you go alone, Master!” Elizabeth chimed in. “Yeah, you haven’t even officially accepted me as your disciple!” Jaylee exclaimed, coming out of the house. Tian nodded his head. “Take your disciples. They’ll help you reach the springs. Remember that she’ll appear in a year. The journey could take half a year, more if you venture alone. You’re the only one she wants to face and if she can’t find you, she’ll destroy the village.” Avin nodded. “Fine, I’ll do as you say.” He turned to face his disciples. “First Disciple Elizabeth, ask your parents for permission. If they agree, pack your stuff.” He directed his attention to Jaylee. “Second Disciple Jaylee, pack your bags. You’ll be assisting me in the journey. You’ll experience real combat on the road.” He ordered. His disciples nodded, dispersing to do as they were ordered. With them gone, Avin faced Tian. “Can I ask you a favor?” “I already know, Avin. I’ll remain here with Sudo and Hill to defend the town. Sudo and Hill’s punishment will be to fix their image in the villagers’ heads. Don’t worry about Paradise, it will remain as it is.” “Thank you, Tian,” Avin said. “No, all the thanks are for you… our leader.”   TBC… Episode Six "Six Months" “How did you think it turned out? Do you think he healed himself?” Sudo asked, walking alongside Tian and Hill towards Avin’s house; Hill remained quiet during their conversation, only Tian and Sudo speaking. “It’s been six months already, he should be up and running already.” “Shut up Sudo,” Tian said, waving at passing villagers. The villagers waved back, saying their hellos to the guardians of Paradise. With Avin and his disciples gone, someone needed to step up and protect the village in their stead. “The trip takes around six or seven months for him to reach the springs. It’ll take the same time to return here. They still have a lot of time before we can expect their arrival.” Sudo shook his head. “When is she coming? Do we have enough time before she arrives?” “Five or six months. She’ll be heading our way soon and when she does, we need to be ready for her.” Tian told them. “In the past, she was the most vicious out of the seven of us. She’ll destroy Paradise without a second thought if she can’t find Avin here.”  “Then what do we do?” Sudo asked, being the first to reach the front door of Avin’s house. He pushed it in, heading inside. “We can’t fend her off for a month or two. And what’s stopping her from arriving a month early? We’re definitely dead.” Tian shook his head. “We can delay her further. I’m sending Hill-” He glanced at her. Hill looked down, barely speaking a word after the incident. She was the reason behind Avin’s injury and all of the villagers knew it. “-to scout for her.” Hill looked up at him, her stare saying, why me? “Because-” He read her expression clearly. “-you’ve been inside for too long. And you haven’t been socializing with anybody. Go to Black Rapids and see what you can find about her. Anything you can find, even a shred of information.” He told her. “If you find her, delay her as long as you can.”  Hill shook her head defiantly.  Tian ignored her. “It’ll take you two months to reach Black Rapids and two months to return. Find as much as you can.” He ordered. Hill opened her mouth to argue but closed it. She nodded her head, turning around. She headed outside, walking down the dirt road and towards the main entrance. Tian and Sudo watched her until she disappeared from their sight.  “Will she be alright?” Sudo asked. “She will. Think of this journey as her redemption. She made a mistake and she’ll need to correct it.” Tian said, turning away from the door. He walked deeper into the room. “Sudo?” “Yes?” Sudo closed the door, turning around to face him. “What’s wrong?” “I need you to contact the Victor Orc Tribe and ask them for warriors.” “The Orcs?” Sudo questioned. “Why them?” Tian turned around to face him. “Orcs are born with greater strength than humans. If Hill can’t stop her or delay her long enough, we’ll need help to protect the town.” He took out a cloth bag filled with coins. “Take this and hire as many warriors as you can. Don’t get any non-warriors, we don’t need them.” “What about her magic?” Sudo asked. Tian shook his head. “Her mana pool was minuscule, so I doubt she’ll be able to use any magic spells. Focus on brute force, we’ll take her down if needed using it.” Sudo nodded, turning around. “Give me a few weeks and everything will be in order. Will this… factor in future punishments?” He asked, facing the door. “Keep delaying your order and I’ll punish you here. Run seven laps stark naked.” Tian said. Sudo shook his head, sprinting out of the house. “No thanks!” He shouted as he headed in the direction of the orc tribe. Tian watched with a smile as his orders were being put in place. With orc warriors arriving to defend the town and Hill delivering reliable information on her . They would have enough to delay her. *** “Master, we’re almost there!” Elizabeth exclaimed, pointing at a sign that read, “Holy Springs of Asher; 5 miles.” “I see,” Avin said, sitting in the back seat of the carriage. Elizabeth sat across from him and Jaylee sat by her side. “We’re almost there.” Jaylee peered out of the carriage at the sign. “5 miles? We’re almost halfway done, Avin.” Avin nodded, Esperanza laying on his lap. “It’s been six months and a half and we finally arrived. I’m afraid we’re falling behind schedule. Paradise’s destruction is set at twelve months.” “Well… maybe Tian can delay her for long enough.” Elizabeth thought out loud.  Avin nodded. “We’ll have to hope so.” Elizabeth and Jaylee nodded their heads, staring outside of the window. Avin stared at his disciples, analyzing them. In the past six months, these two have gotten stronger. Soon, Elizabeth will surpass me and Jaylee is already nipping at her heels. I think Nyla would be proud of me. Raising two disciples and having them become Master Archers is a feat already amazing. Let’s hope they surpass my ranking and become part of the Legends of Historia list. Avin’s thoughts lingered in his mind for an hour as the carriage crept closer to the springs. Elizabeth and Jaylee, on the other hand, were engrossed in the yellow grass and green trees that filled their sights. The scenery was beautiful, on full display to everybody. The large open plains, surrounded on one or two sides by trees, sandwiched the road. Due to the springs being maintained and protected by the royal family, the surrounding land was under the same effect. Everything was kept beautiful to attract customers while also ensuring the springs remained a wonder of the world. `“Sir, we’re here.” The driver said, looking over his shoulder. “Welcome to the Holy Springs. Your stop is here. Avin nodded. “Thank you.” He turned to face his disciples. “Ready to go?” “Yes,” Jaylee said. “Yes, Master,” Elizabeth said. “Then let’s get going. We need to return before she arrives. Otherwise… Paradise will be destroyed.” Publication Date: October 25th 2021 https://www.bookrix.com/-na50a1c958baf75