anthropocentric

Simon Allington-Jones

anthropocentric

never plea, only ask

Disenchanted with life Byron Diaeh placed an advert in the paper for Death. It read: I sit in a chair of the finest apathy and as I wait quietly for the world to become fiction, I request a tryst with Death. May we discuss Life. Please Respond.

If you are anthropocentric it is your belief that mankind is the centre of existence. Not an unusual belief, most of mankind believes it to be true, that they are not only the dominant species but they are also the superior species. But what exactly have they achieved due to their superiority? To stand on two legs? Big advance. Ask the ape, or the bear, or the dinosaurs that preceded them. Opposable thumbs? I suppose it makes it easier to poke these thumbs further up their collective arses. But then again, monkeys have four opposable thumbs, and bigger arses. And of course not forgetting to fight; to have the self awareness to hate others of the same species for reasons that eclipse on a planetary level the conception of the ridiculous. It gives them the minds to invent endlessly more efficient and entertaining ways of destroying themselves, and the planet that they carve up with misconceived ownership, to disperse in the most self-gratuitous way possible. Rhetorical questions are not my strong point.

Not all mankind, now a term the wrong side of politically correct. Not all personkind (even the women) believed this. Byron Diaeh didnt believe this. Death herself didnt believe this.

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Byron would have liked to have been a poet, but he wasnt very good with words, his heart had the poetry, his tears bypassed language. Alot of animals have the capacity to love, no other animal but the human has the capacity to hate. There is a civilisation wide delusional feeling of grandeur on this place, a phenomena which might be somewhat ironic, cause mirth even, to those that can sit, watch, and realise. The folk that laugh to themselves in the many establishments designed for the mentally unhinged, I believe they get it. Give them the world and go home for jelly I say, youll feel better. And before this fictional story starts, pay human kind the greatest honour, and laugh at yourself. With respect, youre funny.

Mr Diaeh stared with a mix of pretend apathy and real disappointment at the scrap of paper upon which the advert had been written. It had been three weeks since it had been placed, and it had run for the full three weeks since. He had received the usual abusive response, it had amused him at first when he collected the mail from the post office box. Now it was merely vexing; threats on his life, from people who did not know him, the recipient of a dozen leaflets from a dozen different religious groups, offering their help. Now you may ask, what of these believers and their gods a plenty, do they not give credence to the previous statement of anthropocentrism? I will merely speculate; however high the power, humankind does not do humble.

Someone had even sent Byron a packet of razor blades, the note attached said see you on the other side. Byron could not raise a smile to this one. The cup of coffee under his nose began to steam his reading glasses, the noise from the coffee shop began to filter back in, Byron added a sigh to the general blare. He sat uncomfortably in his middle twenties, of average height and weight (if not a little undernourished). The one redeeming feature he held was the cause of the destined solitude he had endured his whole life. Beneath his dark and untidy hair, matted in places, hid his eyes of indistinguishable colour. They were dark, of that people were sure, but how
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dark no one could say, they appeared to be permanently under shadow. It had led to his peers never knowing or understanding whether he was actually looking at them or not. Therefore he had never been included, his appearance made him an outsider to the normal folk. But it was something he never did mind, his voyeurism on life gave him a perspective he thought he would not have had if his eyes had been blue, possibly a forced superiority complex of his own. Those who did see him, and did not look to his eyes first, may have seen the scar on his arm if it was uncovered. And they would still have walked away. His left arm had a jagged disfigurement running from his shoulder to half way down his forearm, the scar was raised in parts, indented in parts and the sewing punctures were still visible. The accident had happened over fifteen years ago, and still he was judged a man of questionable ethics, they assumed it had happened in a fight of somesort. They probably watched too much television.

When Byron was ten years old, he used to swim in the local reservoir. He was always alone, even at this age, although he did not understand, he had learnt to accept his fate. If you believe such things: Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, may spin, apportion, and cut his life yarn, but his destiny was his own. Of this he was adamant. Byron believed he was in control of his destiny, a director, and not a player in somebody elses. He had swam here for the last few years, no one asked him anymore where it was he was going, he had isolated himself long ago. The day was bright, the sun warmed his poets heart and he even managed a smile at the sky. He striped off to his cut up jean shorts and carefully folded all his worldly belongings into his towel. A yell of excitement echoed through the woodland beside the reservoir as Byron threw himself into the dark blue water. The glacial chill accepted him again without emotion. The water was always cold even on a hot day like this, as it stung his bones and reminded him he was alive. An event was soon to happen that reminded him what being alive was. The fair folk of his hometown had an inherent laziness when it came to the dumping of household bulk, the tip was another town away, and the reservoir was not. The basic mathematics of humankind dictated that
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an old bed and half a car were better off under water. Unfortunately certain sides of this reservoir were not man-made and therefore sloped as natures erosion intended. The stinging at Byrons' bones was no longer just the cold, he had twisted under the surface to swim back to air, but as he did, somewhere between the iron bedsprings and the decaying bonnet he became stuck. The iron springs gripped at his arm, the bonnet snapped at his legs like an emaciated hippo. As he struggled vainly his lungs expelled the air he wanted to keep, rising to the surface in bubbles, each bubble wore a face of mocking as they burst to the surface leaving Byron behind. Panic pushed adrenaline to all corners of Byrons small frame, his legs at last came free, and with what little oxygen that remained reflexively hurled his feet against the solid metal of the dead car. The sting became a burn in his arm as he exploded towards the surface to inhale a breath to rival his very first. Pain swan across his arm and legs, he lurched against the agony to reach the bank and dry land. As he crawled out he noticed his legs were cut and bleeding, the water mixed and turned the blood pink as it cascaded across the downy hair on his shins. Not too badly hurt he thought, until the pain in his arm forced his eyes to look. A hideous mouth stretched from his shoulder to his forearm, white puffy tissue smiled at him, blood did not pump, it seeped maliciously from the opening. Blind terror forced his other hand to grip at the fissure, trying to force it back together, it was then it started to bleed. In sporadic coughs the blood that was supposed to feed his brain vomited from his arm in thickening clots. Grabbing his t-shirt and wrapping it about the gash, more to take his eyes from it than to stop the bleeding, he slammed his feet into his trainers and ran home. Blood pumped faster around his body and it was sheer terror alone that got him to his front door. He kicked madly at the wooden blockade, his heart in his ears. He remembered his mothers face, looking worried for the first time that he could remember, her screams for his father were the last thing he could remember before passing out.

The doctors had said the reason for the uneven technique on his patching up was due
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to the fact that parts of his flesh were literally scoured out and that they had to bunch the skin in places, it could be corrected by cosmetic surgery after it had healed. Byron looked at his forearm now, it had never been corrected. Partly, he remembered, because of his stubbornness not to have it corrected, it had made people care after all, but mostly because he slipped back into anonymity soon after the accident. He remembered getting a telling off by his father, never to go back to the reservoir again, the disciplinary speech rose in tone as his father demanded that Byron look at him when he was speaking. Unfortunately Byron was looking at him. His father walked away in mid scream, yelling to his mother that the boy was impossible, that he didnt pay a blind bit of notice to him. Life wound on.

Behind this memory was the passion to meet the personification named Death. He knew she existed, he had told the councillor that, after his accident in the third and final meeting before he was dismissed, he had seen her. Death was a girl the same age as him, he was sure. She was in the water with him, she had swam to the surface with him, he remembered. He remembered her complexion, ghostly white, nearly florescent under the darkness of the water. She had walked from the water with him, always a few steps away, looking at him calmly, constantly. His mind racing with the pain he had hardly noticed that she was there, until he thought back later. She had run all the way home with him, just looking. Her face blank and expressionless, but within the features carved from stone was something, something of a feeling rather than any impression that he got from her, sort of like compassion, maybe even concern. As he reached his house, she stopped behind him, and then Byron could remember no more. He knew that she had been Death. She had been wearing a black dress. Her lips were red, her eyes were black, utterly black, without pupils. They had reminded him of his own eyes. Byron had been persuaded that it had been part of the panic he had felt, that his mind had been playing tricks on him. But Byron knew it to be true, his ten year old logic told him so, and so he had kept quiet about it ever since.

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Begrudgingly leaving the warmth of the coffee house Byron began to speculate, his resolution still fixed on his truth; that it was her turn now, to stay quiet about his existence.

Never get in a boat going to Hell

The day was cold and the warmth of the coffee shop disappeared quickly from his bones. His arm had begun to ache. The city he had moved to a few months ago, the city he now attended, busied itself around him, it paid him no heed as he meandered through street and park. Those he looked at he recorded their faces, he could watch longer than others, who can pass only the merest of glances between strangers for fear of making too much eye contact. A sad state that people can no longer greet a stranger in the street without being branded a pervert, a mugger, a thief, or a killer. Even hormones are fought in the battle not to touch anothers eyes with your own, men do not want to be mocked, or worse, misinterpreted for a rapist. And women do not want to appear to offer themselves as prey, or become part of the male dominated sport of nice arse, shame about the tits, but I could still ave her. If angels sing in the clouds it is without societies enlightened inhibitions.

The letters clutched in his hand were a weight to his soul, the huge park he walked through seemed nothing more than an offensive scar on the citys otherwise self delusive perfect complexion. He discarded them, threw them in a passing bin and muttered a curse pulling his coat around him tighter. Hey glum gus, Maybe there was the reply in that lot. For a moment Byron ignored the voice of the woman sat on the park bench next to the bin, Byron wasnt used to people making conversation with him. Hey you, do you hear me? Still no reaction. Byron you plank. She spoke again, this time with a little more volume, enough volume to rival a gas explosion. Byron heard his name, from someone other than
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himself, an odd experience he hadnt been familiar with for a while. He stopped and walked back a few paces to behold the women calling him, apart from a little tug in his stomach at the appearance of the pretty stranger no recognition fired in his mind. You think Im pretty? Why thank you. The voice took on a girlish tone of sugar, the kind fathers cave into all over the world. Perplexed, Byrons face showed an emotion that may have resembled a smile, but it lacked practice. He continued to look at her silently, the subtleties of manners passing him by with a tisk. His colourless eyes whirled in reverence at her milk coloured skin touched with peach, presented to him by a plunging v-necked jumper and visible between the open lapels of a heavy woollen coat. She uncrossed and crossed her legs unconsciously pulling his eyes to her short skirt and thick woollen tights, all cloth made of black. Byron's eyes followed the indulgent symmetry of her reclining figure, ascending her slender neck, the colour of her skin and slow recognition, to her poetic face. Her full lips were painted light blue, the colour was vibrantly alive compared to the paleness of her cheeks, her eyes were wide, open, and beautiful. And they were black, without pupils. She flashed a smile at him. Do you remember me now my little Houdini? Im a bit dryer than when you last saw me. She whispered with sugar. Death? but your older. Replied Byron, the total lack of notation of a possible insult passing his non-existent people skills with deft speed. Why thank you. Death replied indignantly. No I didnt mean... Im sorry Stammered Byron, his alarm diminishing as Death flashed another playful smile. I didnt think youd reply, He Said, They thought I was mad you know, when I told them I saw you all those years back. Behavioural problems and delusional tendencies they said. Byron stopped. Hed noticed Death looking at his face quizzically. I know, my eyes. The sorrow in his tone discharged the excitement he felt at an actual conversation.
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Theyre pretty. Death replied. Theyre grey. Byron flinched unable to disguise his astonishment. Are they? His voice nearly pleading for confirmation, I didnt know, or at least I knew but no one else has ever known. Thank you. Your.... I know, you think Im pretty. Death laughed easily, Byron could just stand, stupefied. She reached out a slender hand her fingers tipped in blue to match her lips, chilled to the touch she gently caught his hand and pulled him carefully to sit next to her. She swung around on the bench and sat cross-legged facing him. He turned his head, a little overwhelmed, his eyes darting across her beauty and to the floor without control. His brow furrowed for a second, his mouth forcing a question to challenge his reason, a conversation is a powerful tool to those who cannot converse with ease. How can I know that its really you? You could just be another nut or predator like the others that responded to my ad. Or would you like to save my soul? Byron avoided the girls eyes, unfortunately the sweep of her sweater offered the only other view. Byrons eyes narrowed, just visible under ribbing of the v-neck was the tip of an odd tattoo, it was a crude design, it looked freshly scribed but in a style that must have died in the last millennium. From what he could see it looked to resemble the tip of., Its a scythe. Death pulled the neck of her jumper to the side, quite an unfortunate act for Byrons already shivering heart. Her skin lifted with the shape of her breast, too smooth and faultless, it seemed unreal. The barely perceptible crescent of subtly darker pink whispered promises of equally perfect nipples. Byrons attention flitted nervously between the two. Finally, and surprisingly, the black and ancient shape of the scythe won. It looked engraved rather than painted into the skin, scoured by tools that no longer existed. He looked to her eyes for an explanation. It was done by a people that live now only in myth, just before their island sunk. And yes, it hurt like hell. I am Death Byron, I dont have to prove it. I am who I am, just as you are who you are. And stop looking at my breasts. She demanded. He looked shameful in his questioning, embarrassed with his line of vision, but to most
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people Deaths anthropomorphism was a fictional creation at best. Byron was just touching on a corner of societys rationalism, within its square was a place totally void of fancy. Life. A place, to his credit, he did not visit often.

Now this tryst that you requested, shall we begin? Death leant forward, Byrons eyes, heart, and lap, twitched in foolish and uncontrolled anticipation. His heart nearly gave up as he saw Deaths tongue dart across her lips, wetting them before a kiss. She touched her lips to his. The delicate pressure fed his heart with as much adrenaline as it had ever tasted, soft was a word that would be left describing thorned bricks in comparison. The frictionless moisture pressed against his dry mouth, her lips opened slightly and he felt the tip of her tongue like a waterfall sending pulses of sensation through his chest, some parts of him indicated that they might explode. Death pulled away slowly, tracing the bow of his top lip with her tongue before she departed. Byron could not open his eyes. He dare not in case she had gone. Open your eyes little one. He heard hear voice and knew she remained, but it sounded different, the atmosphere it resonated in had changed, they were somewhere else, but where? There was a slight echo to her speech, inferring a space enclosed, and the silent wind of the park was now deafening in its absence, but how? Slowly and anxiously Byron opened his eyes to find himself still sitting beside the figure of Death, he went to breathe a sigh of relief, until he realised the park bench he had been sitting on was no longer a bench.

Death sat beside him continuing to stare at him with a smile wide across her face, the ease of her smile failing to subdue him. Where the hell are we? Byron jumped from his seat, which now took the form of wooden seat at the bow of a half built river barge. That is to say the barge was without cover, the wooden seats were the only interior visible, and they stretched back the thirty or so feet to the stern in shapeless irregular rows. The boats rudder was manned, if such a description could be bestowed on the creature leaning
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nonchalantly on the ancient and knurled wood, the only other presence on the boat. Red lensed glasses perched on his long nose, his skin looked as it had been weathered by the sun, for about eternity, his hair struck out from his scalp to resemble the sweep of the device he leant on, it too had been bleached by the sun. The skeletal frame held on to his skin loosely, as if it could no longer be bothered with the effort. A cloak of faded black, more fitting in style to Byrons travelling companion, used him as a coat hanger. It lay undone giving up the fight to maintain any decency the creature had left. The creatures eyes stared calmly ahead in a tranquil lilac colour, a dry smile permanently pulled at the side of his mouth. Charon. Death acknowledged the man, her voice soft but carried to the ears of the ferryman as if she had stood next to him. Lady Death, hows it sailing cheri? His voice carried back in the same manner, his accent for some reason was of New Orleans descent, yet he must have been in existence well before the United States were even a twinkle in Columbuss eye. Good my old friend, this is Byron my.. Guest. She replied. I though I smelt life in him. I will not question, I just hope he pleases your loins. The gravel of his voice broke into a dry chuckle. Byron sat bemused. This is the river Styx? He asked instead. It is live one, it is indeed. Charon chuckled again. So were going to Hell? Byrons voice took a tone of understandable panic. Thats an inaccuracy of journalism at the time. Myths may start in truth but the truth rapidly becomes invention, a necessity of recital I think, who knows? Charon ferries all dead across the river, to the Island, and to the wait. What Island? Byron queried with idiosyncratic predictability. That one. Death pointed before them, and Byron wished he had never asked. The river, if you could call it that it was too calm for any reality to present itself as the norm, was more like a sea in its sheer size. Byron had not questioned what land they had come from, for there was nothing behind them but what was in front of them. The whole plane seemed to be covered by a dome of clearest blue sky sporadically
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interrupted by opaque orange clouds This offered uneasy explanation for the eerie echo to every uttered word.

The boat came to a halt suddenly on the beach now very much beneath them. There was no tide washing back and forth, just glittering sand which seemed as it should be shimmering in the sky and not on ground beneath them. The beach stretched as far as the eye could see to each side of them, but instead of the expected steady incline of the beach leading the quintessential height above sea level theory, twenty feet away from them inland the Island became concave, graded to create a huge basin. Everything else was there, the sparse foliage leading to a denser, sanded forest entwined with well-trodden paths in no particular direction, just the land forgot to rise but fell instead. Where is this? Where are we? Byron asked, before he made any attempt to vacate the old wooden barge. It seemed safer. Precisely or with a touch of fiction? Precisely we are inside one of those tacky snowglobes which currently sits on the desk of an estate agent, a present to him from his brother. Or with a touch of rational fictionalisation, this is the Waiting. People, wait here. Answered Death plainly. For what? Asked Byron suspiciously. Humans like to wait, what can I say? Vagueness, Byron was beginning to understand, being one of Deaths multi-faceted talents. It wasnt that she answered Byrons question, or even hinted that she could not give an answer, she merely hinted that to enquire further would be a mistake. And still she smiled. Why have you bought me here Death? Am I to die? He stood stock still even his unusual sanity was beginning to question itself. You asked to see me, requested a tryst sitting in your chair of finest apathy. Her voice took a mocking tone, playfully he hoped. But why did you decide to answer me? Because you asked. She responded sincerely. Not many of you even believe we
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exist anymore, its nice for a girl to be asked out once in a while. Now come on. Death pulled off her coat and fell to a seat on the glistening sand. She hurriedly tugged at her shoes, throwing them down the beach like an excited child, with more grace than Byron thought possible she squirmed her bottom on the sand grabbing at her tights and pulling them off and discarding them the same way as the shoes. Death jumped to her feet beaming at him. I love the feel of this sand, its like dew touched grass. Byron watched her bemused and enchanted and Deaths unimpeded happiness crept onto his face in a small smile as she wiggled the sand between her blue painted toes. Can you love Death he thought, or was that just a mixed metaphor? You can love me if you wish. She replied. Now do I have to kiss you to move you anywhere? Yes. Byron mouth opened before his brain could intercede, or even think. He felt his face blush red, an unusual feeling he had not felt for a long time. He tried to look away but just felt his eyes drawn to the newly unveiled legs of his companion, aiding his embarrassment tenfold as blood left his head and began to migrate south. His body had mutinied, and his mind was quick to follow, as he momentary thought of running his hand from her feet and over her smooth calves. He saw her legs bend before him in a curtsy, pulling the sides of her skirt slightly away from her thighs in mock reverence. Thank you sir, your thoughts are most becoming. Byron forced himself to look at her face again, past the burning in his cheeks, to read her features in prayer that she was joking once more. Her smile remained, the burning of his face began to fade. Im sorry, its just I havent been in many situations of conversation, especially with someone His voice trailed into silence unable to eek a compliment from his diminishing confidence. Its alright, youve said already you think Im pretty. Death cut in. Beautiful. His mouth spoke again without his brain, this time he was pleased. Thank you, but you didnt have to say, I mean your jeans seem to be trying to tell me
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all on their own. Byron closed his eyes and realised how lucky hed been, to be able to forget exactly what embarrassment felt like. He was being reminded now, he didnt even have to look, he felt the crotch of his jeans push out with a further kick in the teeth pulse of blood. Death continued to laugh easily, the sound impelled him to reopen his eyes. The laughter stooped and the girl Death stepped closer to him, her face tilted down slightly but her eyes wide and provocative staring into his with the innocence of a devil, Byron could do nothing but stand stock-still. With one hand around the back of his neck the other brazenly caught and squeezed his jeans in the place that had been the source of his embarrassment, his jeans pushed back in an attempt to imbedded itself into her palm. She giggled again. Now are you coming or what? Again she touched her lips to his, and again he fell into an abyss of rapture.

the tryst between lovers

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The sensation of both of Deaths hands on his face, the gentle but passionate touch of her tongue entwining with his, bought Byron back from the heady darkness. He felt her pull slowly away, kissing him twice in quick succession as if to bring him round. The world suddenly felt as if it tumbled awkwardly 360 degrees but forgot to tell Byron, noise filtered back into his ears, or became noticeable because of its new abundance. He felt a cushioned bench beneath his rear and assumed he must now be sitting down, something pushed his shoulder. Come on Mr Diaeh, open up. What flavour soda do you want? Byron opened his eyes again slowly in time to see Deaths foot poke him in the chest again. She sat crossed legged on the table in front of him, grinning again, she withdrew her foot and folded it beneath her. Can I kiss or what? So what flavour do you want? The oddity of the question did not fail to pass Byron by, the reasoning behind it became clear as he saw where he was now sat.

Something you get few of in England, are the million or so evolved life forms known as soda shops. The whole place was clinically clean, decorated in memorabilia from what must have been the dawn of time, like one of those hideous themed places. It looked to be a small place but there was a feeling that if Byron attempted to walk from one end to another it would take him half an eternity. The carbon trimmed booths and red vinyl bench seats shone with a newly born glow, the chequered floor immune to the dust friction of the rollerblading waiters and waitresses busily taking orders and asking for no payment. The place was almost full, the reverberation of uncountable conversations bounced of the plate glass walls. The building appeared to be situated within a graveyard, also seemingly without boundaries. Byron looked harder amongst the infinite gravestones of all shapes and sizes and saw groups of mourners scattered around the grass and gravelled ground, they were inconsistent in their spacing, and all were obviously unaware of the ceremony beside them, or along
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from them. His head began to ache. It sometimes helps the new arrivals to put their current circumstances in to perspective. Death answered without being asked. You mean remind them unequivocally that they are dead. Retorted Byron with muted emotions. Yeah, something like that. The funeral just in front of you is happening in a small village in Cumbria They sat silently together for a while, Byron saturated with a dozen feuding feelings of fear and laughter. His face was stony, the standard expression, that his face could fall into without the compromising action of thought. He watched the tearful mourners closest to him, Cumbria oddly being not a dozen metres away from the glass. He saw the deceased quite obviously standing amongst them, the dead mans face was serene and calm, breaking only into concern as he looked upon what Byron assumed was his wife, crying without the restraint of stability. He saw the man walk towards his preoccupied wife to hold her, it offered her no comfort but the deceased appeared placated. Drawing himself away from these proceedings Byron finally spoke. Cherry peach smoothy please. And a blackberry milkshake. Continued Death as the waitress materialised at the table. Byron saw the waitress show some amount of surprise and fear as she immediately recognised this particular customer. Certainly Lady Death, my name is Tess and Ill be your waitress today. There was an air of stammer in her voice, behind the well-practised words. Death smiled at the girl. I know your name Tess. It was a statement, purely and simply, but a statement can never be simple. The waitress skated away barely managing to disguise the speed in which she wished to depart. Whats up with her? Asked Byron. Well its like if you find your proprietor sitting at a table, and you want to please her in case she makes you work here for another century. Byrons mouth opened to
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question further but Death looked at him, without her smile, and he fell silent. Tess appeared again next to the table and placed the tray with their order on next to Deaths knee, as she remained perched on the table. Will there be anything else? Food perhaps, substance, waiting times? The waitress asked timidly. He is not waiting Tess. But thank you. Tess bowed her head briefly and without question, and skated away again in some relief. Shes scared of you. Byron stated looking directly into Deaths eyes for a response. Death continued to watch waitress Tess roll away but replied. Everybody is scared of Death. She said absently, Byron tried to read the words, between them, through them, even underneath them, but found it just to be a sentence, nothing more, nothing less. To Byrons relief Deaths smile returned as she turned back to him. She uncrossed her legs and placed her bare feet on each of his thighs, she handed his drink to him and playfully rolled around the straw in her own drink with her tongue. So Byron Diaeh, what do you want? She asked with a small sway of her legs, forcing Byron to compel his eyes with renewed vigour to look only at Deaths eyes, a feat he surprisingly managed, much to Deaths humour. You have me here, what do you want to ask? To tell the truth Byron had never thought this far, he believed he knew Death was alive, or in existence anyway, but it was the type of belief that he was happy just to believe in, and not actually test. This was, with a few exceptions, the longest conversation he had ever held, he just wanted to stay here and talk, but he hadnt the slightest idea what about. He remained silent, Death continued to look at him drawing slowly on her drink, she was not known for her lack of patience for she must have forever. When the silence was broken, it was neither by him nor by her, it was by another.

Hey sis, I like what youve done to the place. Whos your friend, because I dont think hes quite dead yet? So introduce me. Byrons eyes were locked on Deaths
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and so he saw them blink a non-verbal curse before they opened again to a natural smile. Death leaned herself over to the edge of the table and kissed her sister. Life, this is Byron. Byron this is my twin sister, Life. Byron looked over and extended his hand, which Life ignored and instead leaned past her sister and kissed him square on the mouth. Hello Byron. There was bird song within her words. She was indeed the image of Death, or at least the same features. Her hair was the same length and style but it was sky blue in colour, tipped with green. Her eyes looked to be the colour of sunrise and had more life within them than Byron had ever seen. Her mouth was as full as her sisters with the same small downward turn, but they were unpainted and naturally moist as opposed to the aesthetic colouring of Deaths. Her clothes were of exactly the same cut, except her v-neck top was vibrant orange, her short flowing skirt the colour of a sun-drenched meadow. Both items of clothing were almost translucent in fibre, a further strain on Byrons heart, but not the strain he felt as he glanced back to Death. Death felt this and something that might have been concern on her face disappeared, she winked at him and Byron felt warmth. Visible through the cut of her sweater and through the transparent nature of the material, he saw her tattoo equal in position on her left breast, over her heart. But this image was of an Egyptian ankh a symbol of life herself. Her skin had none of the paleness that Deaths had, but still conjured images of peaches and cream to his mind. Life took a seat next to her sister on the table and facing Byron, her unshoed feet on the vinyl a respectable distance from her sisters that were still resting on Byrons thighs. The varnish on her toes and fingers were flaked in away that suggested the entanglement with life, unlike Deaths that would always seem freshly painted and untouched. Still the remaining reds and purples resonated vitality. So what are you lovers discussing? Life smelt of flowers in a summer breeze. We are not lovers as far as I am aware dear sister. Replied Death a little indignantly. Byron visibly appeared upset, as if he knew this to be the case but there was nothing wrong in pretending.
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Im sorry Byron darling, Said Death in response, she touched a hand to his cheek in a gesture that Byron felt was a kick in the teeth, an affection he could not possess. His reaction again was visible, Death tilted his face towards hers and kissed him tenderly on the lips once more. Is that what you want? Me? Byron looked sheepishly from her eyes, catching sight of the all too apparent curving of Lifes thighs. Before Byron could answer, if he could indeed manage an answer, Life interrupted. Byron darling, Her voice matched her sisters with tenderness, Would you please give me a minute with Death, maybe go and get me a drink or something? Glad of the reprieve from honesty Byron nodded silently and lifted himself from the bench, making every attempt to remember the feeling of Deaths bare feet running smoothly from his legs. He walked away to where he assumed the counter to be without looking behind him.

Life and Death re-seated themselves in the booth, Death slipped herself in to the cushioning bench seat, her legs resting across its length to prevent her sister from sitting next to her, and thus Byron from taking a seat beside her when he returned. Life duplicated her movement in to the seat across the table. Death looked away from her. What are you doing? Why did you bring him, a mortal who should inhabit my realm, to this place? Life could not sound demanding it was a character flaw, but it was a good impression. I couldnt take him to my place could I? He would have to be dead. She replied coolly. Why Death? Hes the one you let go isnt he? A boy then of ten, he should have died that day but you didnt take him. I didnt understand then, and I as sure as bananas dont understand now. Life continued, her impression of anger getting better by the sentence. Why should he have died then, where is it written? Death demanded back at her
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sister. Its not written, you know its not written, it just is, you know when and you know where, it is your purpose. And what harm did it do the existence of humanity? Bugger all, thats what difference. Deaths annoyance at her sister was not a simulation. He carries round half a life, half a death, hell never be completely alive, those he comes in contact with will feel it, and they will take an unscheduled step closer to their own end just by touching his life. Have you seen his life? He is shunned, or ignored, invisible almost to those he comes in contact with. Do you not think that has something to do with you? Life interrupted with one of those infallible statements that can be so annoying. No. Was Deaths masterfully created riposte. Do you love him? Thats an odd question Life, why do you ask it? He asked to meet you, you met him, he obviously has fallen for you, if he hadnt already when he was ten years old. What can you give him, death? Life pushed for an answer from her sister. Death paused for a moment and saw Byron being led back to the table by an anxious Tess, she rolled along side of him her red hair fluttering behind her and caught sight of the twin sisters in the booth. She almost stopped dead. The lady Death was disconcerting enough, it was her that had requested that she take this job, but the lady Life, both of them on her table. Whatever existed after waiting, she had forgotten, but it seemed to be more inviting by the minute. If they had minutes here. Maybe Life darling, its what he can give me. Answered Death. Byrons timely interruption ceased any further enquiry from Life as they both flashed a smile at the dearly un-departed. I didnt know what to get you, so I got you a strawberry cream soda, hope its ok. He did indeed hope it was ok, though the wrath of Lifes was not as common a saying
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as a rolling stone gathers no moss, omnipotent eternal beings were not the type of personification you wanted to piss off. Thank you Byron its my favourite. Life lied, though nice of her to bother. But I have to go, babies born and life ongoing, you know the drill. Ill be going sister, It was nice to see you, we should do lunch in that beach front caf in Australia. She prompted. Death conceded. Yes, well talk more. She agreed. And with that Life hopped from her seat, gave the standing Byron a kiss, and disappeared. Nice to meet you. Byron stuttered his words to the place in time where Life once stood, the scent of flowers hung sweetly in the air around him forcing a smile from his chest to his mouth. Death bought his attention back by patting the seat next to her, Byron obediently and eagerly sat down, managing to hide his elation a little better this time when Death placed her legs across his lap and wiggled her toes at him. So Byron, back to the question. What is it you want from me? She asked sweetly. Not being one for reading signals carefully, or indeed at all, he looked at her, took an initiative and for the first time instigated a kiss. To his delight and without question she kissed him back, she reached her arms around him and did not stand back from the lighted touch paper. He pulled away this time, for fear of losing consciousness, he vaguely registered that the soda bar had become silent and that all eyes were upon him, but he could not take his eyes from her. With the kiss ended conversation hurriedly started once more, louder and with more vigour to cover its momentary silence, all occupants fiercely and notably made every attempt not to flick even an eyelash in their direction. The fear in the place became tactile, understandably unnoticed by Byron. He took a deep breath, an unusual occurrence in this soda bar.

You Death, its you I want.

Power, Flower & Candy

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The silence from Death could only be presumed to be a bad sign thought Byron, and he inwardly cursed his idiocy. Im touched Byron. She finally began. But. Byron stemmed coldly as he withdrew finally from the kisses lean, he sat bolt upright, but found he could still not take his eyes from her. But, youre alive for a start. Death tried to joke. So kill me, if that will work. His words a little louder than they should be and carried an unwavering honesty, but neither of them looked around at the other dinners, despite a second audible drop in the volume of conversation around them. She looked inside him, and he let her, he failed to read the thoughts in her mind but she could read his. Should she tell him? No, she tried the direct route. You are mortal, a human. I am Death, at this moment in time we will not become involved. Byrons head jumped before his mouth to avert a coming train wreck. He did not try to protest, the tone of her voice sounded as if the words were being chiselled from stone, possibly his gravestone. He fell silent and did not even ask about a different moment in time. But, I will offer you something else. She said, maybe because of what she felt for him, maybe because it was preordained, her voice was tender and not the voice of death. Your life as it stands is unused, you went to the city with every bit of money you had ever saved, and spent it trying to find me, I know you have nothing left. I will not lie, I do care about you and have done since you were a child. Byron leant toward her again, to kiss her, to quieten the rest of her monologue, if it stopped now it was what he had wanted to hear. She let him kiss her again, a small tender touch of lips but pushed him back before it could escalate. I do care about you, she repeated. and for reasons that you do not need to know, I feel responsible for at least part of your life. So, Death took a deep breath, whether she needed it or not was unimport.
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So, Im going to give you everything you want, even if you did not think you wanted it. Im going to give you my power, part of my essence, you will not obviously be another Death or have any of the responsibilities, but you will have a glimpse of her power. Its a power, or part of a power that releases you from all mortal rules, you will be governed by nothing but your own heart. What you do with this power is your choice, but bear in mind it is in no way equal to my own, or my sisters, it is only part of it. I give you this because I want you to be happy, I want you to know that this is against all the unwritten rules of my, job, but your happiness means more to me than you can know. Silence. Byrons face remained fixed in stone, without emotion and without reaction. Slowly he opened he mouth, disregarding all that she had just said. My happiness as you call it, will not be obtained until you take my life and make me your paramour. The absence of a pause was as harsh as Deaths answer. I am not married, and should I chose to take you as my partner it will not be under illicit circumstances. We will not be together now, we can not be, how ever much either of us want it. Exasperation was beginning to show in Deaths voice. It is all I can offer you now, would you refuse? She asked. Byron hesitated for a moment, his eyes looked pleadingly at Death, was this all she will offer? If he refused he knew he could not see her again, but the other side, to see her again would be as dying. He chanced his heart once more, and pulled her towards him, she slid easily into his lap. Without the use of an instigator they kissed each other one last time, Byron had not cried since the accident all those years ago and found he could not now, but still he tasted someones salt tears in his mouth. Byron would not halt the touch of lips and tongues and it seemed his partner was not about to either. He did not know how long they kissed for, but it could never have been long enough, he had circumnavigated her body with his fingers catching her owns hands as they did the same to him. It was a lovers kiss and Byron wished they could be turned to stone for eternity. They were finally interrupted by voices of unknown and unknowing origin.
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Wow, look at those two, youd think theyd get a room. If you can get a room in this godforsaken place.

The lovers separated but Byron could not see a trace of tears on Deaths cheeks, in fact after a tender smile she gave him, her face turned to one of black annoyance. She turned herself on Byrons lap to face the booth next to them, the air around them turned bitter cold, and the occupants of the booth turned death white. Oh shit. One of them managed to utter. I didnt realise, its you, but weve only just seen you, seconds ago, weve only just got here, we didnt know, shit were sorry, sorry. Sorry. The other cascaded the words from her mouth like a burst riverbank. Deaths face remained rigid, and the piercing breeze began to ice itself up across the once shiny red vinyl. It was Byron that interceded before the area around them looked like someone had spilt a barrel of liquid nitrogen, he squeezed Deaths thigh to calm her, to remind her where she was, with him. Because of this action or not, the ice dissipated, the red was once more gleaming, the light in the soda bar was restored. Byron looked upon the two girls and came to the slow realisation that he knew them. He had never met them but he knew them, just as he now knew every soul in the bar; Death had passed her gift to him without his acceptance. He had no choice, no reprieve in her affection, this was what he was getting from Death, not want he had wanted. The message was silent, but still, it was understood.

The two girls were both of the same age, sixteen, a sadly young age to die. I take the time to bring them to life for they were to participate greatly in the scheme of things, and Byron knew their story, it was a part of his. He continued to look at them, their faces regaining as much colour as their deceased status would allow, each of them raised a half smile to him in appreciation of calming Death, who continued to glare at them in some displeasure. As he looked their lives became an open book to him, he ventured further, paddling in his new knowledge. They had died sneaking out of the
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boarding school they both attended. One of those very English ones, nicely up to date in their teachings, without the uncouth distraction of it being a mixed school. Because of this the girls felt it necessary to sneak out with an almost nightly frequency in search of a more exciting side to their gilded lives. To say they were rebellious is an overused clich rarely used in the correct context, they were just bored and believed their undeniably attractive faces deserved a little more than ten oclock lights out and grand staircases. Besides, their parents had money, and certain types of money juniors are bred to egotistical proportions, with a heavy touch of conceit. Blame the parents, or the money, they appear to be the same thing. Quite without grandeur they were knocked down and killed by a drunk driver as they came out of an off-license having just bought cigarettes and two bottles of cheap expensive wine, an understandable oxymoron to the rich void of taste. Unglamorously they lay sprawled in the street for twenty minutes before the police and ambulance turned up, blood seeping from previously non-existent orifices, their short dresses indecorously situated somewhere about their navels. They were dead before they could hear the sirens, and dead before the driver had gotten a mile into his getaway. Flower? Byron muttered in a whisper of disbelief and amazement. The girl he spoke to looked perplexed. Have we met? I dont mean to be rude. She added quickly flashing a glance at the still ill tempered Death. Flowers hair was jet black, long to her shoulder. A classic novel schoolgirl. Her eyes were fluorescent blue, light as ice, even dead they were alive. She had English rose skin that was milk white, paler than Deaths herself. The girls slip dress failed with precision to hide her figure. A full and symmetrical chest, a little too unveiled, suggested soft whipped ice-cream nipples beneath the shift material. The make-up upon her face looked six years past her age, it was smudged, presumably by the grazing tarmac on which she died, but still it would rival that of Cleopatra. Flower looked sixteen, she could not disguise it, when she tried she became an uncomfortable stimulant. She swam naked in the clearest blue water with sex in her eyes.
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Candy. Byron said moving his attentions to the second girl, not so much a question this time, more an announcement. Candy blinked in response, quizzically she tilted her head and awaited recognition, there was none. Her slightly younger physical appearance belied her age more so than Flowers, smaller curves ran the course of her equally uncovered, yet equally exquisite, body. Her hair was shorter falling just below her jaw line, unusually blonde was its natural colour. The red died tips were not, however, natural. She wore it in small bunches, as it was the current fashion to look schoolgirl young, and she had schoolgirl youth on her side. Candys eyes were as captivating as Flowers, emerald in colour they grew lighter and darker in accordance to her dress, making them seem as if they sparkled with a life of their own. You could not guess whether these two girls were aware of their own power or not, maybe to an extent as it is constantly said that girls mature faster than boys, but then how mature is a boy of sixteen? A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing, but it is all schools teach. Not that it mattered anymore to the living world, the two girls were dead.

Byron turned to face Death once more, her face had calmed and she waited for Byrons accusations of a life without choice. So this is my power? A substitute for you? Why do you care anyway, come to think of it why do I? You are Death, beauty beyond my possible hopes, knowledge of you beyond my possible dreams. Its funny, in a needle in your eye sort of way, I could not find love in life it was a fictional and laughable notion, then I meet Death, and die without dying, to be placed back in the living without my heart. Predictable but well said. Death ran her fingers across his face, if he knew the truth of destiny she thought. It is all I will offer. And no, that is not the full extent of the power you hold, not even a fraction of it. She replied. And this is it, I cannot have you? He asked again, temper and tantrum playing on his voice.
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Yes it is what you have. And no, you cannot have me yet, it's not the right time.. She answered. Then my darling, in observation of these words I wish to use my power for the first time. He paused and looked back to Flower and Candy. I want them.

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Dead Flowers

Whatever Death was expecting from Byron, it was not this. She was a creature that existed outside of the constraints of time, therefore there is no future, no surprises, only history to be remembered in a particular order. This is true, but even Death didnt like to look at what people called the future in too much depth, it was an infinite knowledge only herself and Life could receive, yet alone understand. Still to them it was uncomfortable, unnatural, possibly a result of the million or so years spent with humans and their chronological thoughts. Things happen in three steps, one to be remembered one to be considered, both to determine the third, the future. It was all that people, including Byron, even without his new power, have to understand. Flower, and Candy, I want them. Byron repeated to Deaths silence. The girls watched Byron speak, understood the words, but they had no meaning. It was bad enough dying this evening but to be faced with a tiff between Death and her boyfriend was too much, what the hell happens when you die anyway? We are not what you would call an item. Death explained to the dead girls, her voice tight with her badly concealed anger at Byron. For Byron it was a further nail in his chest. No we are not. Byron spoke to the girls but looked at Death, his face a rejected lover. A hush, a moment of annoyed simmer fell about the four of them. The dead girls thought of protesting their role as nameless belongings, but it seemed this wasnt the time. The game span on without them and being dead was not what they had expected, it seemed to be just like being alive except they knew they didnt have to go to school ever again. Byron looked for an answer within Deaths black eyes. You know you can have them, they are dead and you have the power of Death, you may do with them as you will. You know this, so why do you ask with your eyes, or are you waiting for me to stop you, to change my mind in jealousy? Take them Byron Diaeh, do not attempt to play human games with me, or do you forget who I
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am? My eyes see nothing through my heart, only the goddess Aphrodite dressed up as Death. He paused at the flinch of her eyes and hoped it was her heart calling his name. I will take them for I am human, and nothing more can be expected from me. He finished, his anger at himself greater than his anger at Death. He was a mooncalf, but credit to his intelligence, he knew it. So be it my darling. Deaths voice was empty of hostility, if she felt hurt she did not show it, except maybe in her compassion. She slid herself from his lap for the last time and stood herself outside the booth, one knee resting on the red cushioning with the reluctance to leave. He looked at her once more, all of her inch by inch to seal her picture in his mind, the way she looked to him at this moment, timid and unsure of the world she stood in, but still she was the centre of that world. Goodbye my love, till I see you again. Byron wanted to shout When? demand that she stay with him, apologise profusely, he wanted to do anything that might make her stay a few seconds longer. He shifted himself across the benched seat kneeling on its edge to be face to face with her again all notions of personal space discharged in favour the lovers distance. I met Death, I loved her, and she left. He whispered to her. Be wise Byron Diaeh, we will meet again. The tender smile returned to Deaths mouth, he held her to him and she placed her lips to his, life was perfect for a second more.

When Byron opened his eyes Death had disappeared from before him, everything else was the same, except him. He rapidly bought is arms to his side again, the place Death left didnt need to be held. From his kneeling position he stepped out of the booth and slid into seat across the table from Flower and Candy. They sat bunched together, without words asking him for some sort of explanation. There was nothing fragile about them as they looked intently onto his face, an explanation was the least
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they deserved. The only living person at the table thought hard about his words before he opened his mouth, he looked at the dead as he did so searching an answer in their eyes. You could start by telling us who the hell you are. Your alive, we know this, I dont know how but we do, just as we know that we are dead. So why? Candy spoke first fed up with Byrons search for tactfulness. Look, if it helps well come with you. I dont know about Candy but I think all you do in this place is wait for a while, then I have a feeling you dont remember what happens next. Maybe you wake up, your personality disappearing before your eyes as you leave another womb, finding the only thing you actually know for sure is how much you want a tit in your mouth. I like being Flower, and I dont think I had a good enough shot at it. If youre going to take us back to earth, or whatever, then were in? Flower looked to Candy in a question, and Candy replied. Yes were in, I havent finished puberty the first time round, and I dont want to have to start again. All that becoming a woman crap, presents from your family making it a hallmark occasion and all the time your leaking blood from somewhere that really doesnt look like it should leak blood, and the accompanying suffocating feeling like there really is somebody somewhere that needs to be killed, horribly. No thank you, thats something I wont miss with being dead. Although I wonder, your not offering us our lives back are you? Strangely, Byron found that he had become a mute. Eventually however he managed to lift his jaw and found his voice. No I cannot do that, you will still be dead. But the upside, should you see one, is that you will be released, as I, from a number of mortal rules. You cannot and will not die again, and age is a ravage for the living not you. You are of spirit if you wish it, or of smooth skin if it pleases you. I seem to have you, it is part of the bargain, you can refuse me, but then you will refuse all that you have, your existence. I dont think I made these rules up, I think they have been bargained for since the beginning of man. He was quiet for a moment, sucking in his pride. I think I may have to apologise, it was a stupid stab at jealously, to make her not
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leave, and you seem to be a part of the screwed up shell that is my life. Youre both beautiful, and I never had anybody like you when I was your age. I may want what I cannot have again. Flower and Candy were aware of their beauty, but not their power. Experimentation with each-other, games with the innocence of boys of the same age, and the secret condescension for the older lecherous men that showered them with gifts in hope to see a flash of underwear, had led them to believe that their faces would do two things for them. Allow them to get away with murder, and cast them out from any other interaction but the physical. They had only each other, a product of their beauty, or a product of peoples small minds, it mattered not, they were to go back amongst the living and they owed the dark-eyed man for this. His price whatever it may be, was easily accepted, and by Flower, quite looked forward to. So what do we call you? Asked Flower. Sir? Master? Suggested Candy with more than a little hint of sarcasm. You heard Death call me by my name, its Byron. Reputedly a scandalous womaniser, a licentious lover, and a drunken poets heart. We did him last year in school. Flower answered sweetly. Do any of the above strike a familiar cord in you Lord Byron? She continued to push her sweetness card; it just needed a lollipop, a shift in power maybe. Without a pause Byron remained above the gutter and salvaged his soul once more. My eyes have pushed me out of most of the above, I have had only two girlfriends, neither of which were what you could call a success. I have not enough experience to be licentious. And my poets heart is only occasionally soaked in alcohol. And that, when my wallet allows. Now may I have a cigarette? He asked. Candy had almost forgotten about the cigarettes she still clutched, she remembered the last thing she thought before she died was that her parents were going to kill her for smoking, a pretty shit last thought she pondered. She handed Byron the packet and he gratefully lit one of the tubular pieces of heaven inside. Inhaling deeply, the part of him that was death, laughed quietly with an eerie patience. Byron grinned at himself and his
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absurdity, and said with moronic glee, So, should we bring Flowers and Candy to an unsuspecting world? The conspicuous absence of laughter was a rough indication that his attempts at light humour would still need more work, he was still practising with this interaction concept. You talk like we are the ones that pose a threat, youre the living time bomb with all that power the two of you were talking about. We want our due time on earth, its not easy dying young you know. Flower answered with a stony chill. Im sorry would you like to see your funerals? Would that help? Still practising. I have never seen my mother or father cry, when I actually saw them at all. Im not sure I want to risk seeing them fail to cry at my funeral. Candy answered in a strange monotone, it was beginning to tell on her face, her anxiety creeping inside her, her grip on the oddity of death was loosening and her eyes glistened like brimming pools of sorrow. To my head I still have my body, what they are burying I care not. My parents played truant from my life more than I played truant from school. They are still alive, its enough for me for now. But thank you. Flower interrupted drawing Candys attention from the salty burn in her eyes. They held hands beneath the silver coloured table, their fingers growing white with the pressure. Whatever you require from us one day will be given to you gladly if you will just get Candy and I out of here now. I can hear the other dead waiting, its becoming deafening and Im about to scream. Byron looked pale for a second, his power, his knowledge, had not come with an instruction manual. The look of panic illustrated his imbecility in this matter. The girls smiled at his slip from superiority, through equality, and down to window putty. How did you get here Byron? I know how we got here, but death in reverse doesnt sound like itll work. Candys eyes had dried, they now shone with sport. Byron felt a mix of embarrassment and absurdity at his answer. I got here, to the shore, and to the ferryman, each through a kiss. Byron pulled
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again on his cigarette to actively push himself through his self-conscious wince, he knew what he had sounded like, something less than inspiring. The dead girls looked at each other and Byron waited for the laughter at his expense. He was surprised that he only received a giggle, and it didnt seem to be directed at him, although he felt he figured somewhere in the light tune. Then a kiss it is. They said in unison. Byron could not deny the tensing of his chest at this prospect, anticipation coated guilt pushed his heart faster. Guilt, not for their age, for they were dead, but for the image of Death still fresh in his mind. But guilt has a funny way of hiding behind the present, it only resurfaces thereafter, to gloat over the unchangeable nature of the past. It certainly hid well in Byrons mind as Flower and Candy crawled with choreographed enticement over the boundary of the table and both to his lap. His arms encircled them with little required thought. The sparkle in their eyes were as a sun in the desert, and he felt their moist and petite lips against his, but his mouth seemed to be in spasm and could not answer them. Until, he felt the two small tongues push between his lips in search of his, it was then his balance took a familiar turn for the worse.

Death watched the empty space appear where Byron, Flower, and Candy had once sat. Despite herself she muttered irritably. The kiss isnt actually necessary you fool.

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Rational thinking is overrated

Filthy pervert. An odd phrase to wake up to, a little unpleasant thought Byron. As the unwelcome sensation of sound came back it was accompanied by a chorus of similarly worded and equally anonymous judgements. Each voice passed him in a kaleidoscope of direction, the heavy and familiar scurry of a hundred worker ants in suits dawned the realisation that he could only be at the tube station that had taken him to his small apartment with a monotonous frequency for the last few months. He hated the city, the country had its bird song and its natural breeze, the city had its myriad of nameless curses and its artificial diesel fumes. He accepted the insults for he stood with his arms entwining two young girls, barely wearing the sliver of material that pretended to be their dresses, girls that currently lapped at his lips with barely disguised glee. The glee was for being back. The insults were a mix of envy and outrage. Most occupants of the city were quite adept at blatantly ignoring the rest of the occupants of the city, and when the need arose passed their morality with an ethereal quality, quickly and without point of origin. Unfortunately the city sold alcohol. And occasionally when you placed a pint of your weakest larger before a certain type of man. Multiply it half a dozen times. And mix it with dreams of scoring the wining goal on match day whilst bedding a model, so out of his league, in the most degrading way possible, add to this a touch of egocentricity, and you have well your typical and all too abundant wanker. Looking for a fight. What are you some sort of pimp? Think your cool do ya? Holding onto two horney little girls like ya something special? Wanker. Come on Ill take that stupid smile off your face, then Ill take ya girls and take em back ta daddy. The lumbering side show pushed Byron in the chest, turning his stomach with the rancid smell of alcohol and vomit on his breath. The mans expensive suit hung crumpled on his shoulders, no longer a status symbol, more a bib. The crowd about them went on practising
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walking by without the slightest interest. Come on ya dirty pervert. He pushed Byron again, Byron remained still. Flower and Candy looked in some bewilderment at this example of the citys finest moneymakers, perhaps panic might have set in once, but not now, they were more intrigued to see what Byron would do. They knew too little about their mysterious looking benefactor yet he seemed to know them from the inside. Byrons matted hair hung about his face, darkening his eyes further, what little focus the side show man had was wasted and angered at his tormentor. Byrons frown was visible to both Flower and Candy, the stillness of his temperament agitated more of their nerve endings than the large drunken fool. The lights in the tube station dimmed for a moment. When they brightened again to their full power, and the audibly startled crowd around them regained their breaths after the exciting interlude to their routine lives, the dead girls noticed the obvious departure of the side show drunk. Byron had not moved, they had felt his arms about them the whole time. Perplexed and more than a little impressed Flower asked. What happened to him, what did you do? Byron thought for a moment, his face quizzical of his own actions. Im not too sure. He replied. Either I stopped him getting up this morning and ever getting to work, and therefore getting drunk this evening and hurling abuse at us. Or, he was never born. I dont know, still practising. Byron had stretched his power like flexing his hands, unsure whether it was his arms that needed to constrict and relax. It was an unstabling attempt at understanding what he had, yet there was no remorse at the vanishing tormentor, more a curiosity. He would need to practise more at this he thought.

The three of them boarded the train, finding seats vacated for them by a group of commuters, the travellers were neither getting off nor aware of the last few minutes events at the tube station. And it was too much to expect the seats were given up in courtesy for the girls. It was more the strange aura Byron had enveloped himself
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with, if you squinted, tilted your head, he looked to be surrounded by an abnormal dark light, it flickered like fire from his clothes. He was ignorant in his contemplation to the anxious looks he was receiving, Flower and Candy saw their faces and smiled as they huddled closer to his pliant body. Power offers security. Byron remained oblivious.

Still deep in thought Byron rounded the street that held his apartment building, it is enough to say it was not a property of wealth, yet it neednt be pulled down in this decade, and the streets were clean. The dead girls had been cold in the evening air, but couldnt decide between them whether it was because they were dead or just the evening breeze. So Candy wore Byrons coat, it brushed below her knees and swamped her hands, and his jumper now belonged to Flower, its dark fleece flaming on her skin still warm from his body heat. Both of them smiled as they each held one of Byrons hands, playing at skipping next to him, mocking their own age and goading his guilt, as if they were too innocent to have known better than to go with a stranger. Flower and Candy wanted a reaction, something other than his gentle, constant, cradling of their hands. Not to be contemptible, just to remind him that they were there at his request, and they did not want to go back. Byron felt no chill as he walked in his T-shirt between the girls, he smiled inwardly to himself at the sensation of their hands in his, they were small and hot despite their deceased nature. He had always walked down this street alone, no one ever looked or nodded at him, and he remembered it had always been colder than it was this night. He liked company. Whether a flex of his ability or his ego, the door to the building opened graciously in front of them before they reached the top step, as did the door to his flat on the second floor, and the illumination of the lights without touch to the switch. The dead girls made impressed sounds more in sarcasm than admiration, the sounds were noted and Byron grinned shyly, allowing himself to laugh with them at his bruised pride. This is it, its not much before you say anything. I realise you are a little more accustomed to the maid opening your curtains to wake you when your at home with
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breakfast in bed, but money I dont have. Byron explained hiding his face from theirs and purposely not mentioning the fact that the apartment looked like a small explosive had gone off. The money he had saved before coming to the city had paid for the rent of a one bed roomed fairly spacious apartment. The hallway led to an open-plan living room and large kitchen with diner taking most of the space, it led on to make a small corridor holding doors for the bedroom and bathroom. Flower and Candy took the lead and looked around without chaperon, their secret hushed conversations at the lack of personal items around the place falling without insult on Byrons ears. Unsure of what to do he made them dinner, or put pasta and sauce in a saucepan, brewing coffee at the same time. With dinner served they sat silently at the table for a while, the steam carrying a surprisingly inviting smell from the unprofessional presentation on the plates. Finally Candy broke the silence, and revealed the cause for their distracted picking at the food. Do we still need to eat? I mean Im not hungry, but then it does smell nice. Her voice was almost an apology. Neither am I. Admitted Flower avoiding Byrons eyes and instead sheepishly looking to her friend. Im sorry I should have thought it through. You dont need to eat, or drink, you see Im having trouble letting go of what should be and what actually is. But I dont suppose thats anything compared to what youre going through Your funerals are to be next week, you could have seen them in the waiting place, but in that place time has no laws. Your bodies have been identified preliminarily by your schoolmistress, and your parents will bury them next week. What you currently are, I cannot explain, as I dont entirely understand myself. You are your consciousness made flesh, but, the flesh doesnt work as it did before. Perhaps its easier to say, if you think your hungry, then you should eat. Bemused faces looked back at him. Flower, hold my hand. He instructed, and she did so. Now think your hand empty, lose the sense of touch. Flower looked puzzled but still attempted to carry out what Byron had asked. Her shock was evident as her hand
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remained visible but passed through Byrons as if he wasnt there. Like a ghost. She muttered letting out the breath she had held in disbelief. Kind of, but you can have touch back, you can be for all intents and purposes real again, ghosts dont have that option. There are certain rules of life that no longer apply to you, just like there are certain rules of everything that dont seem to apply to me anymore. Byrons lowered his voice to a tender whisper. If you want to go back, please just say, I didnt mean to drag either of you into this, but I did. He looked at both of their faces, one at a time, and he could not help thinking how beautiful they were. The decision was quick, for there was no decision to make. No. They said together. We would like to stay here for a while. Flower continued. Cause some damage to the small minded. Finished Candy with a hint of misconduct in her voice. She smiled sweetly, they both did. Tell you what Candy and I do want, or think we want, or whatever. A bloody bath, and weve seen your somewhat of a dark-horse with that big ol corner bath in the bathroom. Byron felt a further onslaught of embarrassment coming. It came with the apartment, all the furniture did. He felt he should explain. We saw that. Retorted Candy. He threw a sarcastic smile in their direction. It was strange to hear such a thing as laughter in the apartment thought Byron as the deceased left the table leaving their cascades of giggles behind them. He liked the sound. However, unfortunately for Byron together with laughter, the deceased girls began to shed their clothes as they left the kitchen, purposely within his view, leaving a trail of discarded material and shoes throughout living room. In accordance to their choreography he saw two bared behinds step from their underwear as they entered the hall and rounded the corner followed by further cascades of laughter. Well be in the bath, and you stink. So when youre ready. Was the non-corporal invitation shouted from the bathroom.

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It was a good twenty minutes before Byron entered the steam lacquered room, many deep breaths had been taken between then and now. He had eaten, washed the dishes, and drank two of the cups of coffee on the table. It was not because of the contemplation he was putting into the morality of the situation that had taken the time, it was more that he experienced what anyone in a similar situation would go through, the gradual accumulation of courage. They saw him enter the bathroom and a silent smile was passed between them. Thought you werent coming. Smiled Flower. They watched him with expressions of sweetness as they sat at either end of the corner bath, the water that held them was discoloured with the peach hue of soap and the bubbles from the shampoo he rarely used. The steam rose gently from the water that lapped about their shoulders. Both girls sat up slightly, purposely exposing the flushed pink of half emerged nipples, his eyes flashed between their faces and the distorted view the water offered. Their skin was seamless, without crease or wrinkle, sickeningly smooth. He remained standing, hardly breathing. You cant get in with those clothes on. Candys voice rippled though his blank mind. Flower stood gracefully naked from the bath and stepped out towards him, he remained motionless but allowed her to guide him nearer to the edge of the bath. Flower climbed back in and Candy stood to be with her. Cautiously they removed his clothes from his body, Byron could only silently consent, he stared in awe at each droplet of water that slipped from their skin. His eyes were wide as his prominent anticipation was bared with the disrobing of his jeans, yet he failed to register embarrassment as the tender touch of giggles caressed his ears and instead let them guide him into the waiting water. Flower and Candy washed him together, sporadically pausing to kiss his mouth, or allowing their skin to brush gently against his in long drifts of sensation. He took his turn to wash them, using the soap to caress them without friction, his hands running smoothly and carefully over their entirety. Their joint innocence was maintained, though the delicate hands of the deceased glided easily to bring an elated Byron to the peak of his consummation.
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All three of them, one living two dead, slept deeply that night in a tight bundle of entwined limbs. The presence of each other in the bed warmed them all, a simple craving of touch rewarding them the unequalled press of anothers skin, at the same time it deliciously unsettled them in the knowledge that at some point they must let go. When they woke their limbs still encircled each other, in an elaborate bind of assurance. Subtle and harmless shifts of position in half sleep; a drawing in of a thigh, the stroke of a breath across a chest, the nuzzle of cheeks, and the search for warmth, each escalated slowly until their joint innocence had been seduced and lay moist with sweat. When Byron eventually pulled himself from the bed he left Flower and Candy asleep, they slept like the dead. He found himself to be whistling as left the house to buy them clothes for the day, for he knew they could not continue to wear the dresses they died in, it seemed a little morose. Not withstanding a touch of necrophilic irony. As he moved between shops his wish to return home increased with each step and Byron wondered absently when exactly it was he had learnt to whistle.

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Flip flops and no underwear

When Byron returned to the apartment he found his new roommates at home on the sofa. They were absently flicking through the educational abyss that was daytime television, half dressed in a couple of his old shirts casually unbuttoned to the navel. He bought the bags to the girls in the living room and laid them down on the table in front of them, smiling widely and pleased with himself and the gifts. Summer had announced its arrival in the air outside, a reward from the greenhouse effect that the country finally had a summer, even if it came so suddenly and choked the air that you were supposed to breathe. Byron was not used to buying clothes for anyone other than himself, but he had had the forethought to look at the discarded dresses for size, and with a little help from a dozen accommodating, but mildly suspicious, shop assistants he had managed to buy them a few items. His taste ran to what ever the assistants picked for him, and so he produced two short summer dresses, two pairs of oddly decorated flip flops and canvas shoes, two pairs of jeans (you couldnt go wrong with jeans he thought) and a couple of cropped T-shirts. I didnt know what to get, and we can go out and get some more, but I didnt want to, you know, put clothes on you, I thought it a bit sugar daddyish. He managed to stutter through his grin. You loved it you liar. Accused Flower. Your right, I did. Admitted Byron sheepishly. Might be a strange question, but, underwear? Candy said as she nosed through the bags. Byron flushed red. Two reasons. One; I couldnt really bring myself to buy age sixteen underwear, it raised a few questioning eyebrows getting the clothes. And two; well if I picked it, it would either be impractical, or in an awkward attempt not to imply that you are objects or objectified or possessions or anything, more conservative than blue is possible. So you didnt buy any? Asked Candy again.
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No. answered Byron Fair enough. We didnt like wearing them much anyway, we just will not wear any anymore. Candy winked at Flower and they passed a smile between them. Their embrace on Byrons weak male hormonal mind, and thus their continued presence on the planet, strengthened. It was not a calculated action, just games of clich the moral humankind had taught them to play. We might, however need a few other things, for instance Id kill for a bottle of nail varnish. She continued. And lipstick. Suggested Flower. You may have what you wish for, for plastic is a wonderful thing. Announced a reaffirmed Byron. Each girl unfolded herself from the sofa and tip toed to press their mouths to his. Thank you, for the clothes, and before the jury re-enters, for bringing us back. Whispered Flower.

The shopping trip was an experience for Byron, he became wrapped in the youth that he forgot to experience. The slapping of feet attempting to run in flip-flops from store to store pulled a less reluctant Byrons mouth into a small smile for hours on end. He enjoyed being pulled by the hand in to the stores, he even enjoyed the endless waiting to the joyful chorus of excitement that called to him from behind the dozen and more changing room curtains. Each girl would take turns to come out and twirl for him, laughing at each other and supplying him playfully brief flashes of more skin than was decent in such a place. Each shop assistant would turn their back uncomfortable in the questionable relationship between the older man and the younger girls, yet more uncomfortable in the lack of their obstruction to such events. The customer is always right, wasnt he? Where there was no assistant positioned in the changing rooms he allowed himself to be incarcerated behind the curtain or door with either Flower or Candy, assisting them in the removal and adornment of various items of clothing. He felt part of something, something not necessarily real, but
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something that consumed entirely his attention, his mind, and his body. For these hours of these days there would be nothing allowed except laughter, touch, and total submersion in the embodiment of enthusiasm that was Flower and Candy.

Late morning had turned to mid afternoon by the time the three innocents paused and took a moment to breathe, figuratively speaking. They stopped within the boundaries of the same park Byron had been alone in just the day before, each of them took their seat on the warm dry grass. As Byron fell in to place against a charitably positioned tree, Candy laid her head onto his lap and Flower lay on her stomach next to him, she faced the park stretching before them rocking her legs contentedly, and occasionally poking at him mischievously with a bared foot. Candy watched the sky, Flower glanced through a magazine she had bought, and Byron watched them both. The silence was warm and alive. Observant to Byrons lingering gazes, Flower pulled up the hem of her summer dress, discreetly revealing the very top of her thighs and a dawning glimpse of her delicate unclothed buttocks, she chuckled quietly with a watching Candy. So Mr Byron, do you have any plans for your new found life? Candy asked after a while of letting the sun warm her face. New found life? Or my virginal introduction to the company of life that I have never yet been a party to? I have been given what my eyes had taken away in both of you. Ive been given a non specific and almost omnipotent power, but all I wish to use it for at this moment is to create a packet of cigarettes from the air, and spend the afternoon with you, the sun, and the warm grass. Byron held his hand out and sure enough a packet of cigarettes appeared as if they had never been anywhere else. He offered the packet to both girls who accepted with a smile. Flower turned and sat up to face Byron allowing him to light her tobacco and filter tube. She looked on his face warmly. You know this power of yours, you understand that it would be a vacuous and fruitless entity without someone to show it to. Candy and I are reason enough to use
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it, and use it you must for the instigator of change can be a god and they can be Satan within the same misguided breath, and you need to know which way you will turn. The clothes you bought us this morning, you paid for them with your credit card. You didnt have to, you know that, just as you know that walking here was not necessary, but you did it. Youre no longer one of them, and I wonder if you ever were. Flower pointed at the plentiful amount of inhabitants dotted around the open grass before them, groups of people, couples, solitary readers of novels wanting to leave the planet they were on and walk with freedom within the pages of a book. Byrons frown slipped back to his features, his contemplation shrouded with anxiety, did he want responsibility where there once was none? No I was never one of the people you see, I might have been. You see that man sitting bolt upright, pouring himself into the pages of the book he reads, that might have been me, except for his companion laying next to him. The smile she causes to cross his face was never offered to me. It might sound as if Im baiting you with my melancholy, but Im not, once I was bothered, now it wouldnt even occur to me. He paused, putting words in order. Except now, both of you, I will have to bear the pain of being alone again should you chose to leave, and I have sunk too deeply to feel anything else. Perhaps my destiny altered irretrievably when I asked Death for your hands, perhaps the only way I can go is onward with thankful blindness. I have to use this power, for Im only human. But for now, all I want is to sit here, with you, with someone other than myself. He looked away from them as he spoke, watching the people around him lead their normal lives, if he had it in him he would hate them all. The dead rose to his mouth and kissed him deeply. Flower and I are going nowhere. You gave us this sun, this grass, and this life after death. Said Candy to his mouth. He kissed them back his arms wrapped about them to protect them, and to protect him from the future yet to come. The embrace ended and the other occupants in the park turned back to their conversations, most of them now about the perverted man by the tree, within some of them their disgust was
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tainted with audible envy. Byron smiled at them, they were all only human. He pushed himself to a laying position to allow both girls to use his chest and lap as a pillow, the pleasant warmth of the sun on his face was quietly equalled by the rising heat from where his heart remembered how it used to beat.

The afternoon wandered away and the evening beckoned with salutations. The three figures by the tree had not moved, their conversation had filled the afternoon in hushed whispers and the ebb of dispersing people from the park had forgotten them. Twilight left them alone on the grass and Flower climbed quietly onto Byrons lap, all the while looking attentively towards the empty park. The light rocking of her hips against his pelvis wakened his senses. Candy smiled and taking a silent cue from her best friend she reached between them and released the growing desire from his dark jeans and placed it gently inside the receptive Flower, inducing a sigh of velvet to the forgiving sky. Candy kissed him as Flower bought them unhurriedly to a tenacious rhythm, climbing slowly spirals of ocean waves to their equal, elated, completion. Without moving from his lap Flower laid her consumed body against the grass between his legs, she whispered silently through her short shallow breaths; I love you. No one heard her, it was enough for the grass to know. Through the remembered thumping of her heart in her ears she heard Candys giggles from behind her. She turned her head to see her friend affectionately teasing Byron, removing her T-shirt and displaying to him her small peaked breasts, caring not for any opportunist passer by, for there was no one around. Candy guided his hand across her chest, dwelling deliberately on the yielding discs of her stiffening nipples, moving his fingers slowly in a circling caress. Enticing his desire back from satisfaction she pushed his hand from her chest and across the smooth contour of her stomach, its precious horizon interrupted only but the honey dimpled mouth of her bellybutton, she pushed his hand further still, descending carefully inside her unbuttoned jeans running Byrons touch through downy hair. Passing a glance at Flower she knew she could not take her place on his lap and so satisfied herself with his dazed but tender
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agreement, her grip tightening around his wrist as she pushed him to realise her own thirst. Flower felt his excitement from within but jealousy failed to accompany the sensation, she laughed freely as Candys fingers tightened white around his wrist, her guiding hand stopping suddenly into short shudders, chorused by a small whimper. She laughed harder when Candy finally opened her eyes to poke her tongue out at her in counterfeit abashment. She looked back to Byron, his face a static impression of wonder and exhilaration. Darling. She said, kissing him deeply. Take us somewhere, use your ability. I think maybe the sea would be nice, what do think Flower? I think the sea would be ideal. She grinned back, squirming herself into Byrons hips teasing his reaffirmed desire. I will take you anywhere my sugared orchids. His voice above land and sky. He motioned to stand, Flower removed herself from his lap obediently. Redressing himself as he rose he motioned to the tree behind them, holding his arms as if to perform some astounding magic trick, the poorly mimicked clich was lunar eclipsed by the outcome. Where the tree once stood was his living room, where the park once was, his apartment. Within blink or transition they stood and sat as they were in the park, but now in his apartment, any conjecture to follow would have to be answered only after you could say for definite whether you had left the apartment at all. Byron grinned smugly, the fleeting thought of no kiss required relaxed his mouth from smile as he thought once more of Death, but his teeth were displayed once more as he saw the look of wonderment on the deceased orchids faces. How? Began Candy. No dont answer that. She rebutted herself quickly. I thought you might want to change first, the evening air can be cold near the sea. Byrons attempts at flippancy might have worked if he hadnt have been grinning like a baboons rear end. Both girls picked themselves from the floor, grabbing the shopping bags as they did so, they kissed Byron sweetly on each cheek and ran to the
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bathroom to get ready. Byron walked to his kitchen to make coffee for himself, his mind split between the day and the early evening. Why had he been given this, he was entranced by both Flower and Candy, and it had been the power given to him that had bought them home with him. But why him? He wasnt anybody, he had no idea what to use his life for anymore, what he wanted he had been given, and the space left he had to fill with a new wish list, except now it neednt be based in reality. He wandered off through images of Death in his head, creating ethereal hallucinations of her before him, in these hallucinations she did not turn him away, but he knew this was a wish he could not have, could not make. From the corner of his vision he was distracted from his minds false icons and saw the naked forms of his new lovers walk hand in hand from the bathroom to the bedroom leaving delicate damp footprints on the carpet in between. Flower looked toward him, her towel precariously balanced on her head, she smiled at him and threw him a wink, and he was unsurprised at the sting of salt he felt in his eyes. Maybe heart attacks felt like this.

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Moon, sea, sand, and the accumulation of wealth

The answer to how they were going to get to the sea was answered by the awareness that the front door to his apartment, which usually, with steadfast predictably, lead to the hall and stairs of the building, had irresponsibly shirked its previous dependability. It now irrationally opened to a set of steps of moon bathed stone that descending gently to a patient evening lit beach. Much to Candys enjoyment Byron invented an ice blue flame from his palm, the light emanating flame took to the air on command and lit her way down the manmade steps to the sand. Slowly their eyes became accustomed to the darkness, vision filtered back with help from the lights from the promenade now behind them, and the stilted pier now to the side of them, illuminating their surroundings. Were no longer in Kansas then? Asked Flower looking around her, she recognised nothing as even in the same country as the one they left. No, but right country. Were in California, I saw this place on the T.V. once, and I remembered it looked a little too picturesque not to visit one day. Do you mind? No. Flower answered looking at Candy, both in astonishment. This power he had, how much was there? We dont mind. Eyes of wonder turned to excitement only found in youth as yet unjaded by life in general. They yelled out with unburdened enthusiasm and ran head long to the waterfront, kicking their shoes off in mid run and shedding their coats on the sand behind them. Byron watched them scoop and kick water at each other with further screams of glee, he remained standing at the top of the beach smiling widely. He wondered why the vanity of age kept him there, he remembered that the last time he had done something like this, he was a child and the sea was a reservoir, he wondered again why he stood still. An odd sound he barely recognised left his mouth
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in a whoop, his legs began to run with an unstoppable strength tightening in his chest, his shoes and coat went the same way as Flower and Candys, and he fell arse long into the water between his new life. Both girls took their advantage and charged at his re-emerging body, they yelled in laughter as they used every available method of pouring more water on to his elated bellows. Soon they had all been soaked and eventually staggered from the sea with perfectly aching sides. Falling to the sand in heaps, Flower managed to speak through painful giggles, So why is it we had to die to feel so alive?

They managed to crawl off the beach a while later, and found a table outside in a sea facing boulevard restaurant. The looks of bemusement from the other diners at their slowly drying appearances only made them ache more. It was a young man with sun bleached hair that took their order, his irreverent gaze lingered unwelcome on the girls wet, clinging, clothes. He introduced himself as Mitch, flashing what seemed to be a patented and copyrighted smile and his bewilderment at being rebuffed seemed almost virginal. Bugger off sun boy, slip yourself back over there and get us some ice tea. Candy spoke up. Youre English then? He grinned, unused to being brushed off, his was the delectable perseverance of the young American dream, blind to consequence. If its alright with your dad, Id be happy to show you the local sights in the evening light, I get off in an hour. Perseverance. Flower and Candy spurted laughter at Byrons expression, father indeed. Listen Mr Baywatch reject, he is our lover, you could even say our salvation, what hes not is most definitely our father. Now piss off and fetch the ice tea, theres a good boy. Flowers pseudo anger was betrayed by her amusement at Byron. To prove a point and repair a male ego, both girls leant over to Byron and ran their tongues over his lips, their eyes playfully wet with laughter and looking deeply into his. Byron did not stereotype egomania and so did not look up to the waiter with elevated conceit or
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smugness, instead he looked at both girls as they returned to their seats, his sheepish wonder apparent by his expression. The sun boy muttered something derogatory about the English as he took his leave, refusing to scurry and to obey his dismissal in such a fashion, the deceased calling unsubtle and very audible insults after him. Their drinks came and came again, though Byron was the only one to eat. As the alcohol drifted from Byrons glass to the youthful drinkers both Flower and Candy remembered what it was like to get drunk, no questions were asked of Byron as to why he ordered his drinks in threes, and as to why the Ice teas were filled only occasionally. The music from a dozen sources drifted about them making an uncomfortable opera of infectious melodies and cats dying. All these sights and sounds were like nothing any of them had ever experienced, and though Byron remained as tranquil in appearance as a wave rider sitting before his ocean, his heart and eyes raced with an awakened hunger to fill each minute with intoxicating life. He felt his release in the impassioned jubilation of his company.

The acquisition of wealth my darling reaper, that is where everything begins. Flower managed to announce as she peered into the bottom of another empty shot glass, the elbow resting on the table the only thing that balanced her more or less vertical posture. We had money Flower, or at least our families did, and look what happened to us. It is the necessity of it that makes it nasty blue monkey thingy, it sucks But it can buy horses, ohhh can I have a horse, can I? Not the most contributory sentence Candy had ever managed but she was doing well to remain conscious. Money, Why money? Queried the more sober Byron. Because it may not make you happy, it may not buy you love, but being poor sucks. Besides my dark eyed lover, well need something for when you leave us. Flowers face looked away and intently at the glass, trying to find answers within. Why would I leave you, either of you? Why cant we just stay like this? He asked. It is the nature of power, the nature of having what you want until you no longer
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want it. She replied. Horses. Candy offered. What of the nature of acquiring a life you have sought since birth, what of contentment?" He asked again. Some are true exceptions to the rule, others are fictitious, lies to yourself. Why stop when you know you can have more without even trying? I cant lie to you, and Ill deny this tomorrow blaming the drink, but I love you Byron. Candy loves you too, though she will not show it, but I cant help showing it. If you say Im too young to know what Im talking about Ill slap the shit out of you. I can not say you are too young, if you do love me your age only means that it is a love untainted by age or reservation, it is possibly the truest love anyone ever feels. And if you do love me, dont expect me to leave. The future may or may not be predestined, whether it is or not is immaterial, because you can never hope to secondguess it. A white one, with a tail. Candy said. And bugger you Flower I do love him, you just take things too seriously, were dead for Christs sake, you cant take that seriously. And a big house with a stable and swimming pool and river. She finished with a dash of sobriety in the middle. Byron leaned over the table to her and kissed her tenderly, Candy kissed him back then poked her tongue out and shook her head, covering his cheeks and nose with wet giggled affection. Flower gave in a little, and sat herself on his lap as he relaxed back in his chair, putting her arms around his neck allowing herself to be kissed and to feel what she was feeling. She was smiling again as she pulled away from him, Byron lit another cigarette to occupy his hands in public. Money it is then, my darling dead orchids, but we need to think how. I dont think I can just make it like the cigarettes. Besides I like having to sleep in the same room as you two. Byron fell silent. The three of them thought for a moment, though not completely abstemious in their alcohol content, the girls faces contorted in concentration to think around the bubbles, but their speculations and ideas were
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interrupted. Excuse me sir, there has been a report of disturbance of the peace by you and your friends here from one of the members of staff. But then that seems to be the least of your worries, supplying drink and lewd conduct with schoolgirls, in public. Possible soliciting, or do you want to explain how a man your age comes to be with two young girls of their age. Youre either paying for them, or pimping them. Now we can do this the hard way, or the easy way. The Presbyterian Policeman rested his hand on the butt of his holstered gun, clicking the popper in emphasis. Byron wondered why he had chosen America, everybody seemed to have a gun here. I am neither officer, and a man of my age as you put it, is only ten or so years older than my companions here. Byron looked ahead, refusing to make eye contact with the officer. Flower remained on his lap, Candy had pulled her chair about to sit nearer to him protectively. Hes going to buy me a horse, and I love him, even if I dont get my horse. Is that a real gun? Is that a real donut gut? Candy wasnt being helpful, but poked her tongue out at Flower for she had said she loved him twice now, Flower stuck her tongue back. The officer began to feel like he wasnt there. Look boy, I think you should come with me. Quietly, you dont want to disturb the other people eating here. With one hand still resting on his holster the policeman placed his other hand on Byrons arm guiding him to stand. Byron didnt stand. Officer I dont believe any of the people here are eating anymore, they are all watching us, and if you dont mind me saying it is you that seems to be causing the disturbance. Still Byron looked away. The police officers face began to turn a funny shade of red and his grip tightened on Byrons arm. Now Byron looked at him. There is an eighth colour in the rainbow, invisible to eyes of man and his machines, it is a base colour resembling the yoke of a blind eye and blood of the deepest red, it is a colour darkness itself is fearful of. Where Byrons eyes should have been, under the shadows of his features, the police officer could only see two tiny balls of fire, fire of
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the eighth colour. The fire grew in intensity, lighting the late evening shadows around him. Byron then ignited himself with the same black flame he had emitted before, except this time it was clearer, brighter, and furious. The officer wrenched his hand away, yelling in pain, Flower smiled at the cursing officer herself wrapped in flame also, he grabbed at his hand feeling it burnt but seemingly without scar. Byrons flame subsided, but remained a subtle aura around him, all mortal rules had left him. He continued to look at the police officer, his face expressionless. You do not want to know what I am, or what these girls are. All you need to know is that we appreciate your concern, but we are fine and we wont be pressing charges against sun boy over there. The police officer looked bemused for a moment, his eyes glazed over and he calmly released his clutch on his once burning hand, letting it fall thoughtlessly to his side. Sorry to disturb you Sir, ladies, I will talk to sun boy, give him a caution. Again Im sorry for disturbing you. If the officer noticed half the remaining occupants of the restaurant standing, shouting, crying, or screaming, he did not show it. He merely walked over to the sun bleached waiter Mitch, who currently stood stock still trying to ignore the damp trickle he felt descending his leg, and cautioned him for wasting police time, harassment, and having small genitals (that was Candys suggestion). Byron restored the worlds obsessive rules to the restaurant, he would only think back later to how easy it was to let go of them. How easy it was to like the fear he provoked. I think we should leave, I dont like the way the alive people are looking at us, youre the big bad scary one not Flower and me. Candy caught hold of Byrons hand and pulled him easily to a stand, Flower grasped at his other hand, the three of them left quietly amidst the hysteria. All eyes were on Byron, each mouth clamping shut against its tearful and vocal fear as he walked past them. His face remained expressionless as he looked on the many blank wide eyed faces, he felt their fear of him and it made him momentarily uncomfortable in his skin, uncomfortable at the attention, and uncomfortable at his own presence.
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They walked in silence along the sea-facing promenade for a while, both Flower and Candy persistent in their clutch of Byrons hands, guiding his listless frame across the artificially lit boardwalks and concrete manufactured, silver dreamed rivers. A number of living adolescents of Flower and Candys age skated past them in a shoal, each baggy trousered junior scanning the girls forms from front and behind. Comments of edible body parts were soon to follow as the shoal took another pass by them. They were abruptly dismissed by the unbecoming language that flowed a little too easily back from the girls of their own age, and hormones bowed down to heated embarrassment as they tricked their boards away in a final show of male pride. Byron managed to raise a smile, but a fearful apprehension whispered quietly in his head. The girls that held his hands loved him. His age, absence of charisma, lack of interpersonal relationships (yet alone conversational skills) in his sheltered life meant nothing to them. Had he caught them, or had they caught him? The vision of Death floated in the back of his mind amidst a field of lilies, it was a constant he had given up trying to push out, he merely covered it with sheets of silk and laid pictures flowers and candies upon it. He had never cared what people thought of him before, maybe because they hadnt thought about him at all, being nobody was lonely, being somebody is lonelier still. He felt two small hands squeeze his, bringing him from his head and back into the world. He was no longer alone. How long would it be until he fucked it up?

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Moon bathed skies of sun rainbows

The following day the dead tried hard to forget what hangovers felt like, in theory they didnt have to feel quite so nauseous, quite so tender, but with heads hurting so much it was a theory that wouldnt stand up to scrutiny. With dull mumbles they climbed in to the shower together, slow aching limbs meant they took the opportunity to use each other to wash, backs that would require stretching themselves were proving just too strenuous without the aid of someone else. Eventually the slow extravaganza of headaches and ouches concluded with Byron laying flat out in the bath, his face being painfully refreshed beneath the persistent cascade of lukewarm water. Flower and Candy blearily raised each foot for him to wash from where he lay, the act of bending to do it themselves sternly declined. They remained still for a moment before broaching the effort to get out. From the bottom of the bath Byron giggled to himself at the situation, and at the towering shapes of the girls half-asleep above him. They looked down on him, the subtle giggles from Byron twitching within their own small curved smiles. Flower pushed a wet foot into his shoulder, lightly taunting him to be silent. Ahh, the reason for my life stands above me. He chuckled. He found himself subject to a barrage of gentle kicks from both sides in retort. As he fended off the innocent blows he found the water that stung his eyes was not from the shower, it was a previously unknown happiness that choked his chest, and the warm sting in his eyes was not unwelcome as his eyes leaked too rarely to remember. The sight above him could well have been heaven, painted with sun coloured rainbows by angels feathers. He saw the two girls pass a glance between them, taking a breath before speaking in agreed unison. We They paused unsure, maybe unready, to go on. Images from their minds
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flashed about in to his head, projected by them to him consciously or unconsciously he didnt know. He saw last nights discourse, the alcohol induced declarations of a much misused word, a word they wanted to offer to him again, a gift more precious than any material wealth. I. He replied, purposely interrupting but halting as they did, the words did not need to be repeated yet, it may have seemed too soon, too foolish to feel, yet alone voice. Each of them for whatever reason felt the others hearts beat in their chests, it was enough for now.

On the other side of the world, in a beachfront caf in Australia two figures sat. The caf was a purposely-planned mismatch of dilapidated wooden chairs and strips of wood on precarious legs cut through the centre with a star of shining chrome tables. The waiters and waitresses were all dressed as if they had just walked up from the picturesque beach reaching to the deep blue before them. The caf fulfilled its design perfectly and called to the diners over the smooth paved path between the beach and the road, the toll free bridge to the fabled golden sand. A mix of sun umbrellas and make shift gazeboes peppered the sanded car park on which it sat, it was a place of lazy destiny, and was called the same. The two figures that blended as travellers amidst the gathered wave riders and ocean kissers were sisters, possibly twins from the look of it, they were also the owners of the caf. They attracted casual glances from a few passers by, but no more than the other occupants drinking there to preen and be seen did, their pale colour and sun-worshipping attire incorrectly branding them tourists. Unknown to the other diners of the caf, the two young women that sat at this table had existed since the first life and first death time had ever known, before time even knew about itself. Deaths black pupil-less eyes stared over the shoulder of her sister, away from the words her sibling spoke. Look sister dear, Im the oldest and therefore deserve a little attention when I preach nonsense that you dont want to hear. Death looked to her sister and smiled, her blue painted lips revealing the whitest of teeth. A stranger sitting a few tables away
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suddenly felt fear for sharks, his eyes flitting across Deaths face with a mix of attraction and an ominous feeling of shark bait. Her sand blonde hair was loosely tied back, and she seemed as the others did, that she had just come from the beach. Life appeared the same, wrapped in a sarong over a similar but slightly more vivid bikini set, she flicked at the ice-lolly in her hand spraying splinters of orange over her sister. Death brushed the chilled flecks from her open neck in mock annoyance. Im sorry Life my darling, but I know what I did was not necessarily within the rules, I dont need to be reminded. Just whose damn rules are they anyway? Im not reprimanding you sister dear, we do not judge you know that, and I could never judge you anyway. I just wanted to know why. I didnt know why you let him live past his time in the beginning, but to give him your power now, it just seems blatantly foolish, detonating a mistake to make a catastrophe. That or premeditation in an elaborate scheme Im not to know about. Life looked at her sister with her sunrise eyes, trying to feed her curiosity with a response in her sisters expression. Deaths placid smile remained unmoved. I havent given him everything, but I took so much away when I let him live past the age of ten, its enough to say that I am capable of remorse. Besides there is something about the man, I remember him with different faces and I have always been attracted to his life force. Ive seen him before in ages past, his soul has an energy that frankly warms my thighs, and our relationship or situation together is and will be unique. She grinned at her sister. Crap Death darling, it is never as Neolithic in reason as that. Im afraid youre above that as an explanation. Why am I above that? Why can I not have what the living have, the mortal purposeless but undeniable craving to feel someone elses skin against their skins. Why can I not want? Death sounded insulted, glaring at her sisters tranquil expression. You can and you do, as I do. But if thats all you wanted, thats what you could have had, easily, for he loves you and you know that. Besides, I have had more
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lovers than Lilith herself, it is part of life, of feeling alive, and its part of me. And you darling sister, are by no definition a virginal creature. I more recently remember a certain Egyptian god now deceased, I remember it as ironic for he was supposed to be the guardian of the dead. Alright, but Byron Diaeh is different. He walks half-alive, half-dead, because of me. It would have been too easy on me if I had given into him when he asked me to. How was I to know that he would take those girls, dead faeries and their glamour. Deaths beauty pouted with scowl. Life looked surprised at her. You really didnt know he was going to do that? It is not their fault you know that, one day they may be left on their own, and I want you to promise me they will come to no harm, it is not your place, as it was not his, to consume somebody elses destiny. You should promise me Death, they do not deceive anyone with any glamour, they are now alive in their death and should be allowed to continue to be until they decide not to. Promise me. Life pushed an answer from her sister. Alright Life, I will promise. Technically they are not really mine anyway, as you say they have life in them, removed from mortal rules from our rules. I will admit that they are yours until they decide otherwise. Death tempered her voice, refusing to sulk at herself. They love him, you know that. Stated Life. I know. She paused. He deserves the happiness, they can give him. I can wait. Her noncommittal remark registered in Lifes ears, but she declined to question further. What her sister was doing with this life, was beyond her control or understanding, but time held no secrets that it would not eventually expose. She worried for her sister, Life was born into existence first, but Death would be the last one to leave, to turn the light out. It was a knowledge that weighed heavy on Deaths consciousness. Do you love him? Life pushed. Death looked surprised at her. Sister I would need to answer that to myself before I could answer it to you. I will keep from his path until I can no longer do so. She replied non-committaly. They
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sat looking at each other, each the reflection of the others existence. Words would not solve this saga, only the slow creep of mortal time. Life swung her shapely legs in quiet defeat on to the table between them, dismissing the intensity of previous sentences. Does he have a brother? She asked bursting with laughter as she spoke, I feel the start of a new life being created between a couple in Norway, being present at that would just put me in the mood. She laughed again at her sisters rolling eyes. No he doesnt, now drop it. Lets bake ourselves on the fabled golden sand. The matter was dropped for now and the sisters walked away from the caf to the waiting wash of the sea at their toes. Byrons image remained in Deaths mind, and behind lilac sunglasses perched on her nose she hid a smile.

Byrons world continued, as he wanted it to. Flower and Candy had stayed living with him in his apartment for the last couple of months. They ventured out each day, Byron performing elementary parlour tricks, hiding himself from the true power but keeping himself amazed, and opening his mind to a new sight, a new experience each day. They went everywhere together, and had bought most of Londons clothes surplus. These relatively small but necessary amounts of money coming in plentiful amounts from generous, if not confused, benefactors as they passed them in the street or bumped into them coming out of their collective banks. Byron merely looked at them and they suddenly and harmlessly felt a need to offload large amounts of their folding promises of non-existent gold. The consequences of these donations effected them in various degrees, most wouldnt actually miss the funds, such was the gold lined streets they walked and corrupted. Spring had pretended to exist for a day, but the global summer masked its freshness as the new sun filled days heated the pavements and parks underfoot. An answer was required however, a promised gift of fortune to two dead girls. So our heroic, apathy-ridden lover, you have something to tell us? Flower asked sweetly. The three of them sat beside an outdoor swimming pool, the girls feet
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pushing the water between their painted toes as they sat on its sun-baked edge. The pool itself was in the grounds of an enormous riverside home, three storeys of symmetrical beauty built four hundred years ago on the rivers pillowed grass banks. Willow trees bowed in awe to the water at the end of the long garden, and the other ancient trees that flanked the grounds applauded their branches in eternal homage to the architect. The current possessors were expectedly not at home, and they lay easily in the protection of the house and grounds, without fear of discovery, the open picnic basket that sat beside them a sign of their untroubled trespass. Byron lay on his back putting faces to the sparse clouds above him, the towel about his waist his only costume, he grinned at Flowers question. First I ask for a kiss. Byron answered pushing the explanation on a few minutes. Flower sighed with mock labour, and pulled herself closer to Byron. Candy however, sprung to her feet and dived on them both in a squeal of glee. There was no feeling in the world quite like your lips being kissed and licked by two girls together that held your life in their hands, each mouth on his lips shared its room with the other, each small tongue flicking his giving life to reason and reason to life. Candy planted herself across his middle wriggling on purpose with detained promises without answers, she pushed harder to his lap in challenge as she felt his towel tighten and push between her thighs. Flower sat behind his head, her bared legs across his shoulders pinning him to the floor, the material of her bikini bottoms rubbed against his crown, with detained promises without vision. An answer was required from within the laughter, Byron stood no real chance, as was his delight. Alright, alright my dead Helens, I give. Flower bent over his inverted face and planted a kiss on his bottom lip and chin, licking his nose as she straightened herself once more. We knew you would. She answered with confidence. Yes I expect you did. Its the house behind you, the pool beside you, and the grass you park those small bottoms on. He smiled. It will take a trip by me to somewhere, but they are yours, ours, by request.
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What? Exclaimed Candy her voice rising with a leap of joy. Ours, this beautiful place, the huge house, the pool? Everything? Yes. He answered with some smug contentment. How? I mean its not even for sale? Candy looked at Flower and matched her disbelieving grin, they pounced on him once more, each embracing him in a tight succession of thank yous and excited yelps. The disbelief was rhetorical, they knew if he said he could give them the house, he would give them the house. As they eased off and sat themselves up once more Byron explained, for he wanted to hear the words to play his part and convince himself that he could do what he was about to do. Part of this...power gift, is a phenomenal and disturbing memory of all that has past, and all those who have passed with it. I think part of Deaths memory is mine, if I try, and believe me I dont like to, for my brain feels too small to be able to comprehend, but I can remember those that Death has seen, those she has delivered, awakened. Or at least thats how I see it, I think. I cant think back too far or my head tends to freeze, but I remembered from school, or T.V., or something, about the raided tombs of the dead Egyptian pharaohs. I remembered that when they have been discovered over the last couple of hundred years the tombs had already been raided by tomb robbers, the gold and jewels from the first couple of chambers were always gone, taken and sold. So I thought, if I can remember the death of one of the robbers, as long as he died at the tomb, I could go back, take the jewels for myself and sell them now, enough of them will make millions. He sat wide-eyed and childishly excited at his master plan. The two girls looked at him blankly, until they could not hold the explosion of laughter in their chests any longer. Byrons face fell somewhat hurt at his audiences reaction. Who do you think you are my lover, Indiana Jones? Why go to all that trouble? Just go to a bank and take the money. We could even do that, walk through the walls pick up the cash, and leave, whos going to stop us, and how would you arrest two dead teenagers? Flower picked fault, but the sarcasm was withheld from her voice, trying to ease the pain to his ego.
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It does seem a little elaborate my darling adventurer. Candy agreed. Byron looked from the fluorescent blue of Flowers eyes to the harmonised colour of the pools water, looking for an answer to back his idea in the peaks of the breeze kissed ripples, he bowed his head in rising bashfulness. I have actually thought about that, but the idea of consequences plagued me. For you both and for the living people who would have to be affected. I thought back to then because nobody knows how much there was in these chambers, or where they went when they were stolen, it affects nothing of history if I take them. I didnt want to come back and find you two missing having never existed through some bizarre act of historical consequential hereditary. The acts we commit now may do the same for the future past, and I dont want to change anything, I dont want the responsibility of knackering time. I dont know enough about it, and Im sure it would take more than a Band-Aid to fix it. At least this way Im not changing anything too drastically. I expect the current owners of this place may not have moved out in a few days if I hadnt of asked them to sell to me, but they will only go to a house just a big, just somewhere else, because money tends to fall on duck down bricks. Byron looked at them letting a smile emerge on his face. Besides Id make a better than average Indiana Jones. The dead girls exchanged glances and a small curve at the corner of their mouths. I guess you would be testing the Lady Deaths gift, the extent of what you can do, instead of the small acts of sorcery youve done so far. I know that you can make paths between places thousands of miles apart, but are you sure you can do it with time? Were not going to lose you to misguided antiquity are we? Flower asked of her living partner, a trace of anxiety sounding audibly in her voice. Im pretty sure, I mean when we visited that Florida beach caf it was evening here and evening there, yet there is actually eight hours difference between us. We visited the evening because I wanted to, because it was evening here. He offered. That was eight hours. This iswell how long is it? I dont actually know, there are no calendars at the scene of the mans death.
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So youve picked a death then? Candy deduced. Yeah, spooky one, pharaohs curse and booby traps kind of thing. Can we come with you? Flower questioned already knowing the answer. I dont think so, I dont want to risk losing you to delinquent historical vacuums, if there are such things. Byron confirmed. The two girls reluctantly agreed to let him have his elaborate plan. Still holding on to the indefinite apprehensions to an idea so bizarre.

They reclined the afternoon away swimming and touching, and simply being together. Each of them decorated a room in the house with excited vision and animation, playing down the disquietude of the unknown. As they left through the swimming pool, emerging from the freshly run warm bath in Byrons apartment all thoughts of journeys were put off until tomorrow, for tonight there were bodies to be washed, mouths and thighs to be kissed, and a wet picnic basket to be dried.

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The dog was called Indiana and the beauty was Jewel

The disillusioned adventurer of time and death left his apartment as dawn slammed at his door. He left his young lovers asleep in their bed and smiled at their small frames curled around the space he had left. The first acquisition was always wealth, it was the idealistic end of worries, and bought happiness in a poor theoreticians mind. His mind didnt stretch to the logic that achieving a desire only leads to another more unobtainable one above it. Another reason for leaving so early was his attire, he appeared a cross between the fabled celluloid archaeologist and an angel of the apocalypse, Flower and Candy would have had a field day abusing his fragile vanity with jest.

Byron knew that the doorway to the unspecific date in his head would prove to be a little more difficult than a doorway across miles and hours. He wasnt sure where to make a doorway, how to aim with any accuracy. He only knew that at his death destination the man had died in pain from a ridiculous amount of scorpion stings, that he was in the tomb, and that the blinding terror of dead curses was the last thought to hurt his dying mind. Byron wandered in contemplation as the rest of the city began to wake up around him, the ascending wail of the disgruntled city existing against its will rose with the traffic of people and pollution. The irritation and the rising intone on his ears lead him quickly down the steps of the nearest tube station. To escape further into quiet he ignored abusive shouts from the station guards and jumped into the gorged out track of the train line, disappearing from their harassed yells and furious declarations of his idiocy into the dark silence of the waiting eastward tunnel. He looked steadfastly at the dark ground at his feet, they walked without instruction,
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or predetermined destination, ever forward. The chill and damp from the tunnel walls crawled across his skin in unpleasant waves of spiders legs, he thought of sun, of warmth, away from the damp unwavering track, he was approaching another station he could see the flicking light off from the tip of his vision. The moment had come he decided, the encroaching light before him was not the light he reached for. Byron focused his mind on the dead mans face, torn in agony at the burning stings at his ankles, he focused on the pain the man felt, made it his pain and visualised the expiring eyes last vision, this last vision gradually cleared and became lucid in his eyes. And the last image the man saw was Byrons own face looking back at him. The sudden darkness unnerved him as the man died, and he blindly called his own eyes back to see the blurred figure of the man fall to the ground before him.

He felt the sun immediately upon his neck and back, but the assault of arriving had killed every sense he possessed and all he could see was the colour of sand, he looked about in panic, looking for a different colour to distract him, to ground him. He stumbled and fell to the sandy floor, his back to the dead man and all that surrounded him. Byron pulled his battered and patched knee length cow coat over his head voluntarily plunging himself into darkness, and tried only to concentrate on one sense at a time. His sense of touch first, the lightly grained floor that kissed his cheek, his smell, and he wished he had left that to last but attempted to bring only the dry dust to his nose. His ears next, they filtered sound to him slowly, and the voice that he heard made him question his presence there at all. No I agree sir, not a nice way to go, now let me take you to where you will wait, I was in the district anyway. Her voice, Deaths voice, sounded like a thousand ethereal butterflies kissing his ears with ember mouths. His urge to look up to see the face of the death Angel was overwhelming, but what would she do if she saw him there? More to the point what would he do? Possibly throw his demising narcissism off the nearest pyramid and throw himself at her feet. But her decision to give him her gift was not to happen for another three thousand years or so, would she even
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recognise him? Or take him to be a stray soul and in wrath put him back into the waiting place to live a different set of lives than those he has lived so far. Wait, three thousand years? Was he that long ago? As the maddening cascade of abnormal consequences battled for space to be heard in his mind, her voice disappeared, the butterflies dispersed, and her participation in the desert sand ended. He slowly drew back the coat from his head, squinting at the brightness of a younger sun, breathing heavily with subsiding anxiety and barely perceptible self-control. Three thousand years ago? He questioned aloud to himself, dusting off his inappropriate clothing. He turned to thank the deceased behind him for being a beacon strong enough for his path, and indeed the man was there, collapsed to the ground his legs still in the puddle of scorpions. Slow realisation of inconceivable coincidences threw bricks at his minimal logical thinking processes, and he questioned the likelihood of a man accidentally tripping into a puddle of scorpions, and where would you get a puddle of scorpions? Unless The man very much alive standing behind the deceased glared at him in an inhospitable manner, he had not moved until now, his anger was spurred by an itching fear as to where the oddly dressed stranger had appeared from. Byron looked blankly back in return, his eyes drawn slowly to the landscape around him, consciously not wandering to far from the barely dressed and furious man in front of him. Byron had seen pictures of Egypt, holiday shows and documentaries on Egyptian life but they had always shown ruins, this was something different. The sandstone pillars stood tall and magnificent uncorroded by time and 3 millennium of wind abraded erosion, they flanked the landscaped necropolis of aligned pyramids and tombs, as kept as a stately English garden. The lack of intermediate colour lent uncertainty to the size of this theatre, the historic proportion likening itself to a Hollywood epic, understatement being a nonexistent as an adjective in the American dictionary. The shallow valley that they stood in fought the sky for the winning majority of the hazed horizon. Cloudlessly the diamond blue sky filled the air with heat from the sun, only the sporadically placed bleached linen tents at the valleys entrance offered any variation on the sand
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coloured theme. The growing agitation of the living ancient Egyptian was voiced in a torrent of foreign tongued abuse. Byron stared in confusion at the man dressed in the short skirt and leather strapped sandals, his olive skin was flushed with anger, and his irregularly beaded jet-black hair was becoming pasted to his temple with angry perspiration. The words swam visually before his eyes in scripted pictures of birds and boats, slowly words of English crept into his dialect, until finally, Tell me now stranger or die vomiting your own entrails at the hands of Anubis! Who are you? From where did you appear? You are man in shape, you are no god, and your skin is the colour of Nile washed ass milk. You defile the pharaohs resting place, the city of the dead. Speak or I will kill you where you stand. The Egyptian cleaved the air with the short sword gripped in his hand showing Byron fear-spurred strength. The scripted words of pictures transformed into letters of a twenty-six-letter alphabet, English words presented themselves to Byron before deteriorating to pure sound, words voiced by a man more than pissed off with his presence there. But at least he was in the right place. Byron inadvertently smiled at his new found translation skills, his unthoughtful actions continued to upset his tormentor. Ox molester. Or words to that effect, the Egyptian shouted. Who are you? He demanded again. Byron straightened his shoulder slung leather satchel, pausing in his answer, deliberately causing shifts in the dominance of the conversation before it began. Dr Jones. He grinned dryly touching the brim of his symbolistic dark brown hat in salutation, and completing the vanity driven facade for his own amusement only. The ancient Egyptian notably missed the witticism. And who are you? He asked courteously. I am of the Necropolis Administration, and you are trespassing, that means you are a tomb robber and will suffer the same fate as this camel vomit. Answered the assumed soldier, still he held the short sword between them but failed so far to venture closer, Byron could feel the subtle fear the superstitious man felt. Enough of these pleasantries sir, could you tell me where the nearest tomb entrance
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is? The question was more rhetorical in nature. Byron knew that to make the man disappear, as he had done to the drunk in London, might call for too much unwanted attention to his presence there. Deaths sweet lily and strawberry smell was still fresh in the air. Still something must be done about the guard. The two mens eyes remained locked and silent, Byron pondered his options and the Egyptian fought his superstitions mustering the courage to attack. The Egyptian resolved himself first and charged around the scorpion puddle taking a long violent swing at his unknown adversary, he yelled out to accompany the vicious, if not a little ignorant, lunge. The settled features of Byron became unsettled, and he hurriedly went to escape the attack surprising himself at his sudden appearance behind the assailant without seemingly any movement in-between. Some actions are reflexive. It occurred to Byron that without the restraint of physicist-made incontestable rules, his reflexes bought about a whole new range of reactions. He passed thanks that reflex was an unconscious reaction, or he might have found himself uncomfortably impaled on the wrong end of a sword. The reaction of the Necropolis guard was altogether different, fear and anger are two emotions in one circle, somewhere there is a point that one snaps to the other, unfortunately it is a grey line within a grey circle. Anger fuelled anger and fear dropped from the disc as he picked himself from the dusty ground and threw himself with renewed vigour at Byron. Again Byron moved without movement, again standing unflustered behind the grounded guard, he smiled with inevitable narcissistic indulgence, and the guards anger escalated to flame. The game could have lasted for as long as Byrons interest was maintained, but he was still rooted in some small part of morality and cruelty was not a personality trait a self-imposed recluse has the inspiration to develop. As the defender of the sacred dead stood once more and turned to make another pass, Byron wished him elsewhere. And the skirted man with a fading look of utter shock flew backwards, pulled from the ground he had relied on, and so free of friction he diminished to a small speck on the horizon within a matter of seconds. Away from the newly arrived petty thief of the ancient.

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Byron looked around him once more, breathing his surroundings and letting himself feel again, the wonderment of being somewhere that was soon to be lost under the sand for the next few millennia, to be forgotten and ignored by odd men that believe in just the one god. Men that would turn from the persecuted to the persecutor, and would eventually beat their Christian beliefs in to the last of the first storytellers. Byron kept expecting to turn around and see a herd of white socked with sandals tourists clicking their way through a hundred film rolls in-between suitable gasps of wonder and curses about the heat. But there were no tourists, no bloated and pale, red-flushed mosquitoes, communicating to each other in stern warnings; not to eat the food, and telling mystical tales of epic bathroom visitations. The sky was free of aeroplane noise, the horizon was free of electricity giving monsters, the air was free of car exhaust, and the sand free of cigarette ends, Byron was truly three thousand years ago. A thoughtless appreciater, he fished a cigarette from his pocket and lit up. He laughed to himself and wished briefly for the company of Flower and Candy, but his head still reeled from the journey and he knew he wouldnt have been able to move the three of them this long ago. He resolved himself with their picture on his eyelids, their laughter at his attire in his silent ears.

The tomb robberies were most rife long before the sand encroached on the Necropoliss forgotten majesty, between 1075BC and 945BC. It had surprised Byron that he was now within when, but it made sense: A few hundred years pass after a Pharaohs death and mummification, his burial site in the dead city is still known, a little less guarded but as rich as a bank. A simile probably not used by the Egyptians at the time. He scanned the sand around him looking for what he quickly found, steps carved into the ground leading down to the entrance into the earth to the broken sealed door of the tomb. The entrance was as dark a Deaths eyes, its depth only perceptible on inspection with a torch, the forward planning Byron produced one from the satchel he carried. The artificial light he shone violated the virginal natural darkness as he stepped through the rubble that was once the seal, and into the long,
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gouged corridor. His sharp inhalation was one of veneration as he marvelled at the myriad of tiny carved pictures adorning the corridors walls from top to bottom, more birds and symbols. He didnt care to translate, lest it take their mystic beauty away from his inspired eyes. He traced his fingers across their intricate grooves reading poetry into their meaning. The air had circulated well enough but remained slightly stale in his nostrils, still it failed to distract him from the mesmerising walls. The corridor sloped gently away from him, descending into further darkness, Byron peered uselessly down its length, abruptly he noticed a light to the side of the corridor coming from one of the antechambers, causing him to switch his torch off quickly. The light flickered subtly, indicating a flame, maybe a torch hung from the wall within the room, he wondered if the Necropolis guard had missed all the tomb raiders, that he had left others to fill their pockets with Byrons future wealth. With an indignant huff he stalked closer to take a look, the chamber was one of two that he could see along the corridor, the other rooms doorway outlined by flickering shadows past the first. He gained courage as he approached, his steps light and barely audible on the sandy floor for a dramatic surprise entrance, rewarding him with the consumption of superstitious mens fear. But something made him stop just before the broken doorway. It was the sound of ember butterflies kissing someone elses ears. Her laugh pushed blood from his brain and quickened his heart, he knew immediately that the laugh was intimate in nature, someone else was with her, making her sound like that, and unjustifiable jealousy kicked brutally in the pit of his stomach. Resentful anxiety pushed him to look, to see with his own eyes his heart pulled from his chest. Byron attempted to hide his presence from discovery by pulling the shadows in around him, he steeled himself and carefully peered around the broken door. Illusions of crimson destruction danced before his eyes as he saw her again.

Death, the Death of three thousand years ago, sat giggling to her companion on a small wooden chair carved from African Ivory, her feet lightly touching the similarly
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carved footrest. The room she centred was gently lit with the warm flamed glow of the torches supported on two walls. Small and symmetrically square, it was decorated with multitudinous, basic-coloured paintings, stacked with clay pots, small furniture, and small boats carved from wood. She wore her smile and little else, the little else were the woven linen bandages that were being wrapped around her ankles binding them to the footrest, the same bandages that bound her hands lightly behind her back. To Byrons disbelief the contemptible man that constrained her looked to be no man at all. The voyeurs face contorted in horror as the scene clarified with offensive lucidity before him. The undressed man he saw kneeling at her feet winding the linen bandage delicately about her ankles, was a man to his broad shoulders only, above the shoulders he displayed the head of a Jackal. Byrons mind raced to lessons at school he should have paid more attention to, until anger quickly bought the gods name to his lips. It was Anubis, the Egyptian god of mummification, the guardian of the dead. The gods black fur shone offensively in the torches flicker, his muzzle was smiling like an excited pet dog. It spoke in a low growl. My goddess, He half whispered in her ear, Byrons ear, Byrons Death. The warmth of her laugh iced his soul. He watched the Jackal gods hands ascend her body to caress her cheek and he watched Death lean her face to his touch, until he could watch no more. Byron threw himself back into the corridor wall, away from the sight of his torture. He pulled the shadows closer around him until he could see nothing but darkness, but he could only take sight from his eyes, not sounds from his ears. And he heard the deafening sounds of her lips on the Jackals chest, he heard the nauseous sounds of the dead gods mouth on her body, and he felt blood drip from his eardrums. Still holding the shadows tightly around him he crawled across the corridor to the other doorway to escape, the rubble from their chambers broken seal hid his retreat. He kept his belly to the floor until he entered the second antechamber, pushing himself to a sitting position he released the shadows and tried to halt his eyes from weeping. Why was he bothered? Death had not wanted him, and the Death he
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saw here was the Death that didnt know him and wouldnt know him for another three thousand years, she didnt even know he existed at this time, because he hadnt existed here. Still the disillusioned jealously clawed at his throat, still his crimson heart danced into pieces before his eyes. Byron attempted to quell the painful constriction of his stomach, to put his mind to other things, his reason for being here for a start. He steadied himself on the wall of the second antechamber, long minutes went by as the distant giggling from the other room continued to set flame to his ears, until finally, it faded and there was silence. He knew however, that the sounds had only moved to another place, not stopped, that the echo of smiles were still whispering, just elsewhere, and this knowledge was relentlessly present in his anguish. At least his ears had stopped bleeding. Byron collected himself and made his legs once more take his full weight pushing himself off the painted surfaces and to a stand. He thought hard about his Flower and Candy, the shape of their smooth carves above him in the bath, and the droplets of water cascading towards him. He managed to push a smile on to his mouth thinking of their heavenly faces, but still could not stop the sky coloured curses seeping from under his breath as he searched once more for the flashlight in his satchel.

The sudden luminescence of dissipating circles of light bought his horde into proportion, despite himself the smile remained, even widened. On small tables, in crates, and in jars before him lay a treasure trove of jewellery, ornate urns, and beautifully sculpted statues. Gold and semi-precious stones flashed at him, patiently laying in wait in blissful ignorance, their only purpose to be taken with their owner to an afterlife of riches, to decorate the gods themselves. Coloured glass sparkled, laid into yet more gold along with stones of turquoise, lapis lazuli, and carnelian. There were anklets, armbands, rings, jewelled ointment boxes, and ivory bracelets, undisturbed or thrown hurriedly to the floor by the apprehended tombs raiders. Noticeable gaps appeared in the rooms bounty, obviously already removed to make someone elses fortune, but there remained enough here to make the most
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professional Egyptologist or museum curator physically salivate. Byron had no idea what to take, his schooling didnt run to the present market value of three thousand year old antiquities, so he picked the shiny things, and although aware of a market for it he avoided the ivory, out of some morality, bizarre given his present situation. His pockets filled quickly as did the satchel. When all chambers of storage on his person were full, he took time to scan the remaining contents of the room. And on catching his eye he carefully picked a gold necklace with ankh pendant and an intricately designed toe ring for Flower, and semi-precious stoned anklet and finger ring with the same ankh symbol for Candy. He smiled to himself and surmised that there would be nothing more suitable than the symbols of life for his beautiful dead.

Byron decided he would not stop at the burial chamber as depicted on the tourist map but instead leave this place through the same shadows that he arrive in. He switched his flashlight off and noticed again the flickering orange light from the torches in the first antechamber. The illume warmth shivered its way along the corridor offering its distorted guidance to him through trembling shadows of fire and darkness. Byron couldnt help but feel that it gloated at him, delightfully reminding him of the sight that it had beheld. He winced again seeing Deaths slightly blue lips on the back of his eyelids, her wide eyes and shivering skin, all at the dog mans touch. Perhaps he should have been a vet, or a great white hunter.

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The dead are more alive than me, for they have nothing to lose

Flower woke naked beside Candy, the space between them empty. There was only the shrouded form of her best friend stretched extravagantly across the bed to crease and hug the sheets beside her. Candys fingertips extended across the gap resting gently on Flowers side, her yellow chipped nails making a reassuring circuit once more complete. Flower carefully leaned over to her friend and kissed her lovingly in the dip of her back. Candy stirred enough to whisper smiles in her sleep. Hes gone hasnt he? She murmured to Flower, her eyes still firmly shut and her mind still dancing on the edges of dream. Yeah. Whispered Flower in return, her voice low and a little disappointed, it wasnt that she didnt know where Byron had gone, but for some strange reason she missed seeing him as she opened her eyes. I bet he took that bloody awful hat as well. Candy added dryly whilst appearing not to move at all. Our little boy adventurer. Flower giggled lightly as she sat up pulling the covers about her arms. Still, I dont like waking up without him though. I know what you mean, hes warm. Candy turned herself over and nestled up to Flower, her eyes only briefly half opening to look at her friend and smile. She wrapped herself around Flower to offer warmth to both of them. The dead give off no heat as such, just the memory of heat, but it was enough. They lay in silence for a while and Candy drifted comfortably back to sleep, but Flower found she couldnt sleep again and clicked the T.V. on by the remote to pass the time until Candy finally woke up.

Half way through the cartoon networks early morning, soon-to-be-repeatedthroughout-the-day, scheduling the deceased girls received a visitor. There was a
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rapid knock on the bedroom door just before it was swung open and the beaming face of a female stranger strode into the room, though her face was instantly recognisable her smile was not. Ooh, I love this show, She exclaimed without a hello or salutation as the glowing T.V. in the corner of the room caught her eye and she launched herself to a seat on the bed next to Candy. Bloody Hell. Candy cried as she was bounced from her warmth into waking. She peered un-threatened by the radiating compassion of the recognisable stranger through half-open eyes. Who let Tigger in? Life grinned widely back at her and Candy buried her head into Flowers side trying futilely to grasp at the tails of sleep, retreating into the darkness between Flowers body and the pillows. Bugger. She cursed and forced herself to sit up next to Flower and enquire with decorum the purpose of this most welcome visit. What? She stated plainly. Flower nudged her sharply, warning her silently to mind her manners. I know youre not the Lady Death are you? I can see life like a colour in, and around you, and your eyes, they look like sunrise. Flower interrupted timidly, her anxiety mixed with a deep-seated fear that she had come to take them back. Shes Life. Candy settled I am that children, I am Life, Deaths sister. She flicked her green tipped blue hair over her shoulder, her smile had not faded since she strode through the door and it put Flower slightly at ease. Candy however, had always had defiance coursing through her veins. Are you here to take us back? She demanded. Nope. Life answered simply. Im here to take you shopping. I know Byrons not here and wont be back most the day, so I thought Id keep you company. Or to stop Lady Death taking out her dislike for us. Retorted Candy sourly. For a moment Lifes smile waned, maybe out of annoyance, or maybe out of concern that
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some truth hid inside Candys statement. She looked away and deferred her answer, straightening her short linen skirt and playing for a moment with the straps of her roman sandals. Why do you say that my dead angel? She asked finally as Flower nudged Candy harshly in a bid to make her silent. Candy tempered her answer. When we first met Byron he was with her, they were kissing. Jealousy flashed in her tone, a quieter jealousy shared by Flower, but she pacified herself at Flowers gentle caress of her arm. She looked to her friend and back at Life, her tone now a little soothed. He asked for us and she didnt like it. From the small amount Byron has actually spoke of that day, I believe she had the opportunity to take him for herself, but didnt. We could both feel that his request did not sit well with Death. No, it was unexpected. I admit that I do not know what plans she had or has, but believe me when I say she did feel responsible for him. And that I have my sisters word that what is done is done, and you can stay here in this world for as long as you please, whatever happens. Lifes sunrise eyes looked from Flower to Candy, looking for an acceptance and an end to this subject. He loves us you know. Candy concluded, putting in a footnote, Whatever reasons lay behind his request, fate had no option but to bring the three of us together. Lifes smile widened at both the courage and naivety of Candys declaration. You know, you two have more life in you than most of the living. Were dead, we have nothing to lose. Retorted Flower.

After showering and dressing the beautiful dead conceded to the offered day of shopping with Life. They left the apartment building and were excitedly ushered to Lifes mortal transport. An old distressed camper van stood on the kerb waiting for them, smiling through its pain, it looked to be directly torn from the seventies and probably would have been old then. The split safari windows winked at them in the hot summers day. The vans paint-work could only have been sprayed on by tree
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loving hippies in a state of mind expansion. Daisies and mismatched rainbows covered every inch of the bodywork and bizarre quotes and song lyrics had been sporadically inscribed with marker pen. Flower recognised only I am a passenger and Jingle jangle morning, Ill be following you. The writing seemed to have been penned by a six-year-old with small red symbolic lines replacing any recognisable letters of the English language. Dont you love it? Life asked excitedly That was an odd summer, there was this freedom in life once more. I sometimes think conformity killed most of my children. Flower and Candy looked at each other in concerned bemusement. Perhaps to an observer the two girls looked to be slightly embarrassed at what would be assumed to be their hippie student sister. The observer, however, smiled, and I remember thinking how beautiful they all were. We have to be back before Byron comes home, I want to see him to make sure hes alright. Flower demanded as she stepped into the back of the camper and sat with Candy on one of the velvet cushioned bench seats. Of course we will be. Life negated to tell them that Byron may be more than a day coming home, but that would be for later, there would be no value in starting the day with sadness. Life climbed in after them, shutting the door behind her as she sat on the opposite seat, as she looked to them the dead girls looked back a little confused. Arent you driving? Flower asked. Thats what drivers are for. Life answered pointing to the drivers seat. A man that looked like he had dragged himself from a permanent beach life to be there looked over his shoulder at them and grinned widely behind his sunglasses. His unusual pure white hair fell past his neck to his shoulder blades, and the worn out summer vest he wore offered suggestions of images, long since bleached by the sea. The vest showed off a tan that looked too healthy, without a trace of leathered skin to contradict his sandcastle appearance. If they could have seen his legs they would bet he was wearing shorts and flip-flops. Morning salutations ocean beauties, my name is Stork and Ill be your driver for
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today. His voice sounded like the sea and both the dead girls flashed him smiles of diamonds, not a little unimpressed at his appearance and his presence. A lack of flirting with my guests would be very much appreciated Stork my darling. Life glanced at her acquaintance with a dry cautionary smile, for his mind could always be read on his face, and in his shorts. Perhaps she should have left him a bird, but she had wanted company of the human kind, one night alone a few hundred years back. He still bitched to her that he missed his wings. Maybe she would give them back to him one of these days. Now if you would be so kind, drive us to the part of town that you require gold bars to purchase shoes. We will give life to the humdrum day of the too good to be called shop assistants and their condescending toleration. Pushing those noses from the air and being generally, thoroughly, inappropriate. Life giggled at her companions, her energy was fast becoming infectious, even managing to penetrate Candys sullen distrust. The van leapt from the kerb into the traffic, most unlike a van of that kind, and the white haired Stork cheerfully exchanged hand signals with a number of other cheerful drivers on the road before heading to streets literally lined with gold.

Their conversation was light and carefully avoided all references to siblings or spouses. Life had been correct, they did superbly upset many of the shop assistants they saw that morning. Even more so when they each bought a pair of shoes from a shop at five hundred pounds a pair, where the assistants had been gratifyingly outstandingly rude, though money did indeed break the boundaries of their self imposed ostentation and made sucking up to the deceased a little easier. Life had insisted on paying, and had even insisted on buying the dead girls underwear after feigning mock shock at the revelation that they no longer wore any. Although Flower did pass comment that eight hundred pounds on a few garments that all fitted in one small paper bag might have been on the extravagant side. Both of the deceased found it increasingly difficult to stop the woman Life buying them things. They were intentionally in a heady spin of opulence and intoxicating revelry, life after all should
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be rich in one sense of the word. But Life herself was the intoxication, she exhaled passion with every breath, and Flower and Candy found little time to think, let alone brood about Byron. Behind her peach sunglasses Life afforded herself a smile, they would be all right on their own she speculated, although she wished against fate that they would never have to be.

The three took lunch at the most fashionable restaurant in London town, and Flower and Candy brushed excited shoulders with the rich and famous, unperturbed by the expos that most of them were shorter in life than they were on the telly. Without their pedestals. Life allowed them to dance from table to table collecting autographs on expensive but still paper napkins. Their wide eyed in awe pleading eluded most of the assorted stars anger at being bothered in their haven of pseudo anonymity. After all, most anonymity is better with a side of adoration. One particular Hollywood gem of the day even requested, in near salivation, the two lightly clothed girls phone number, for his hotel room would be empty tonight and naivety, from his experience, was a great bed companion. And he wouldnt have to pay them. To this abuse of power Flower gently sat herself on the celluloid heros lap heating the mans eyes with sweet aflame smiles. Candy took the lead from her friend and leaned into him, her face close enough to feel his breath on her cheeks, close enough for his eyes to descend her loose top to her uncovered chest. The tables flanking the same wall became aware of the proceedings, and todays gem became a little uncomfortable at his new admirers public display of worship, their ages known to him were becoming equally known by others causing him some embarrassment. When she was aware that she had some of the other tables attention Flower with truly audible clarity announced, My girlfriend and I will gladly have sex with you, but can you pick us up from school, because our friends will be so jealous, and the headmistress likes us in our beds by ten oclock. But when we become sixteen in a few years well be able to stay up till eleven. Is that ok? Flowers voice dripped with honey and sweetness, her
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performance applauded by a dozen whispers around them of Thats disgusting and Hes a movie star, dirty little pervert. Chorused by a sting of tutts and disapproving glances from influential producers. Candy affirming whisper was kept from others earshot, Your movies are shit and you cant act for toffee. Both girls turned gracefully and left, leaving the star alone and angry at his table. They returned to their seats hand in hand, leaving behind them the scribbled signature of someone who used to be famous. Yesterday. Life was simulating applause as they returned to the table, her words peppered with laughter. Most entertaining, hell be tending his ego for a month. She managed. Through their own smiles the deceased could not help but feel a little disappointed and a little cheated, but they were to come to understand that an ideal has no option other than to induce disappointment. For ideals are slippery creatures, often kept in cages and sold by cynics. The sour taste of disillusionment cooled the easy cheer from Lifes dining companions. Do we make Byron look like that? Asked Flower her confusion tainted with her concern. I hope not. Replied Candy her own concern rising to Flowers question. Life clutched their hands over the tabletop catching their eyes with empathy. You told me earlier that he loves you, and you told me that you love him, does opinion matter to that? She could have gone on but the question needed no complication. Life found that people had always tried to complicate her meaning, it still amazed her now the amount of philosophical man-hours that went into that one simple question. If they wanted to know the meaning of life why didnt they just ask her? The deceased were appeased but remained unsettled, they did care what opinion was judged on Byron, it was love after all, and its easy to say I dont care what people say until they upset the one thing you have no control over, your lovers feelings. I might as well let you know that well be going out his evening, Byron wont be
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back until tomorrow. The deceased looked to Life, their small features open and hurt - that she would know such a fact and they would not. But why would he stay away the night? What does he have to do? Candys voice rose in pitch her hostility growing once more. Why wouldnt he back tonight, is he alright? Flowers own concern became infused with objection to having heard this news from someone other than Byron, he was theirs, no one elses. Hes fine, but he is not used to the power he has and thinks he has to be fatigued after his journey. He has decided to stop in another time eight years ago, to sell the artefacts he has acquired. Then come back to surprise you with the house being ready. Life added the last part specifically to calm them, she didnt add that he had seen her sister three thousand years ago, and she didnt add what happened eight years ago. The house, Candy turned and smiled at her dead friend, once more excited at the reason for his trip in the first place. Flower allowed herself a smile also, that he had wanted to have everything already set up for them, their ideal of him was intact. No sex tonight then, Answered Flower with a sly grin, the statement was a release from worry: that wherever he was, Byron was thinking if them.

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Everything living dies, except memory, and memory lies

Byron kept his manifested shadows; he took them around him into the heated blue air of the outside. As he stepped from the tombs entrance he waited for his eyes to again become accustomed to the bright glare of sky and sand, a transition made easier by the cloud-like darkness that clung to him. His shadows fought for their life against their return to the earth by the sun. His ears, however, were snapped to attention long before his eyes could focus and he heard a wall of presence surrounding him. It came from the top of the descending steps that he was standing at the foot of. He heard the sound of a crowds group inhalation, sharp breaths of wonder and awe, and a little fear. Words must have spread from hidden observers that had seen and exaggerated his dismissal of the Necropolis Administrator. For as Byrons eyes cleared and he peered through the filtering darkness of the clinging shadows he saw a group of twenty or more Egyptian slaves or thieves, they must have been slaves or thieves for they were not dressed in the splendour that the Pharaoh documentaries catalogued. The group retreated as he climbed the steps retaining his shadow aura about him, he stood again on the shifting sand and looked with suspicious defiance at the unknown gathering before him. In turn each of the crowd knelt to him uttering whispered praises in his honour. From what he could decipher they were indeed families of thieves, stealing the treasures to make money and keep them from the good pharaohs slavery. The Necropolis Administration had apparently been over zealous in their policing of late, for rape and murder surely did not come under good security measures. They were praising Byron for his dispatch of one of the killers. And for opening the tombs for late night shopping Byron assumed, but the faces of these people were not those of jubilant looters, they seemed barely to be living on what they had managed to steal. They were outsiders to the Pharaohs grace, refusing maybe to die in slavery. One of the children stood from the crowds homage and
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offered Byron water from a worn skin flask, he took the gift much to the happiness of the crowd, sniffing the water to be safe before he drank.

Above the gratuitous praise of Egyptian tongue the sound of horses rudely suspend the jubilation, carried toward them by the caustic sand breeze it broke Byrons unanticipated flock into a running screaming mass of disappearing bodies. A little disgruntled, Byron remained standing where he was and waited for the plume of dust that followed the six strong force of Administrators to come closer. The six heavily armed guards leap quickly from their horses and surrounded Byron in an impressive militarised manner, their agitation closely checked by blind obedience to orders. There was little point in interpreting the meaning of their blue tinted pictures, the continual stabbing the air action of their sword play gave away their intentions. Byron released the shadows from around him and stared cleanly eye to eye with each soldier, his face was unreadable, his fear strangely non-existent. He held more annoyance at their untimely entrance than anything else, a feeling as much a surprise to Byron as to the angered Administration. In amongst their shouting he had lit another cigarette and now inhaled the chemical infused smoke with a look of calm boredom upon his face. This attitude did nothing to endear him to the man in charge of the official murderers, so Byron took a step forward, the guards took a step back. A wry smile creased Byrons jaw and he took another step forward. The Guards took another back. His next step forward was the catalyst for action and the soldiers lunged on order, in one smooth movement. Byron waved his hand over them and stopped them in mid lunge, the man in charge yelled at his men, his voice losing some of its authority in a furiously high pitch. Again Byron waved his hand and replaced his position with the head Administrators position, he then released the guards, who with highly trained skill found themselves unable stop their attack and within moments the head Administrator found himself in small carved pieces on the floor. Byron knew Death would be arriving soon and could not take the perverse enjoyment he found he felt any further with the other members of the Administration. Byron had
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never killed anyone, and from within his head he still did not take responsibility for this mans death, he had no sword in his hand, he threw no blow, and there was no blood on his hands. Because of this reasoning he did not take any retribution on the remaining five men who now stood over the bloody chunks of their once commanding officer. Each soldier stared at dissected pieces, his features locked in bemused horror. Byron did not want to explain his existence there to an unbelieving audience, to see Death again flushed from her liaison with the dog man, knowing that she would not know him, could only cause his brow to sink lower. Instead he decided to leave the scene to his Lady Death and quickly and ran down the stone steps to the comforting darkness of the tomb. Within the darkness he sought he saw his way home. As he descended the steps he saw, from the corner of his eye, the stealthy approach of the hidden crowd as they wove their silent way to the stunned guards, he saw the first blow from the reanimated crowd. Byron closed his eyes against the first drop of blood as he heard the guard fall to the ground. Still he was not responsible, he told himself.

The light Byron created at the end of his tunnel led him, not back to the warmth of Flower and Candy that he craved, but to a time eight years before. He had told himself he wanted to get everything ready for his return, having the antiquities sold and the house bought ready for his Flowers and Candy to simply move in. To his renewed relief he found that within his own life time there was no need to pick a death to travel to, but hidden in his relief was a deeper reason for his choice of destination, and it was eight years too late for an apology. On his many trips into town over the last months he found he remembered a number of places he thought would be interested in the purchase of recently rediscovered, three thousand-year-old jewellery. However, to his disillusionment it was never as easy it was shown to be in the movies to fence stolen items. There were more questions than were comfortable involved, that he later figured would have proven too time consuming for the writers to write and the actors to act. Yet he continued to wait for the background music to
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fade up and the long shots of him walking in and out of prestigious antique shops resulting in a growing amount of money in his pocket. The only piece of luck his dark shadow had lit had been the Egyptology department of the national museum, he had been told on his first apprehensive visit to return at closing time and the curator would see him again then. It could have been a trap, Scotland Yards finest may have been in waiting for him, but with only a few thousand pounds in his pocket from the sale of only one gold armband he had to stretch what was left of his four leaf clover, til the sap bled. He had discarded the hat, lest it make him somewhat of a clown before the lions, and walked through the main doors five minutes before closing. His pockets and satchel were now very heavy with the disappointment of gold and semiprecious stones three millennia old. The neatly pressed guard informed him that they would be closing soon to which Byron uttered in hope that he was here to meet one man, the guards scepticism was abased at the curators timely arrival. Mr Diaeh, Im extremely pleased you could make it. Would you like to follow me please and well discuss our business in my office. The curator threw a placating glance at the over efficient security guard, the guard nodded in mindless obedience to his superior. For this guard, rank negated suspicion. To him the affluent were above petty crime and were to be respected in their stature. Unknown to him the end of that sentence was they deal only in superior crime and should be respected for their corruption. The reference to the abuse of power and position was not lost on Byron, and he managed a growl behind the curators back. The tall slight man led Byron among the maze of rooms with definitive precision, the back of his tailored suit glowed at Byron with the sheen of money. The curator must have been in his late fifties or early sixties, a man of obvious intelligence and exemplary breeding, he spoke in the assured manner that only the aristocracy can manage when their family has been above the law for historic centuries. Byron assigned him his stereotype and was willing to take bets that he liked young eastern boys. The curator however, was in some confusion over Byrons pigeonhole, he looked to be no thief or archaeologist with financial problems, maybe of dubious education, and why did he seem as if he
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did not possess his eyes? He was led into and through the Egyptian display and into a short maze of back rooms stacked high with polished wooden storage racks and trays, each highly manicured draw hiding another priceless example. Finally the man stopped his pace in a dimly lit corner of such a room and opened a previously unseen door to his small but spotless office. The room could have been no more than twelve foot by twelve foot; each wall flanked with yet more shelves and worktops where the order to the disorder of the categorised antiquities was startlingly clear. There was no window only the bright illumination of several specifically designed non glare lights which shared the ceiling with a dust free extractor and large wooden propeller fan that hummed its way through slow eternal circles. All this made the room perfectly cool, odourless, and eerily desolate at the same time. Please sit down Mr Dieah. The curator indicated Byron to sit on one of the leather upholstered chairs on the other side of his desk, Byron sat and the curator perched himself jauntily on the edge of the desk next to him, the thrill in his voice could not be masked. I must admit to being a tad bit anxious to whether you would come back or not. From what I saw of your collection I was extremely impressed, yet I am enough of an expert in my field to not ask you where they came from. The curator paused a little shy with his next statement. Though I will admit to checking the stolen artefact list of the computer when you left, but none of these appeared. The curators words were an apprehensive but excited barrage of perfect Queens English. But his voice dropped suddenly altered to a sombre tone, the white-haired gentleman leant into Byron peering over his wireframed glasses. At this close distance Byron could read the word Armani stamped onto one of the arms. The curator almost whispered. I do hope they are not fakes. I have made a number of telephone calls since our brief meeting this afternoon, and I would not be happy if they were to turn out to be fakes, neither would the collectors. It was an odd experience to be threatened by an aged stick of elevated stature adorned in a pristine suit. His perfect annunciation may
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have been the most disconcerting part of it, that and his solemnity. But as quickly as his warning was spoken the summer day came back to his voice and he leant back on his perch, smiling widely once more at Byron. Byron shifted in his seat and remained expressionless. They are not fakes, I can guarantee that. The curator looked in consideration of Byrons statement and quietly replied. Yes. Yes I believe you could. He beamed once more. Now if you would be an angel and make an old man happy, may I see them again? Byron stood up and emptied the contents of his pockets and satchel on to the neatly pressed velvet cloth the curator had quickly laid on his desk with childlike excitement. For the first time Byron saw his full horde in daylight, manufactured daylight though it was, the coloured glass sparkled brighter, the gold seemed purer, along with stones of turquoise, lapis lazuli, and carnelian, they physically took his breath away. He heard the gratifying sigh from the curator who was staring wide-eyed at the everincreasing bounty before him. The anklets, armbands, rings, jewelled ointment boxes, and ivory bracelets, were finally all laid on the table spilling over the velvet cloth like water. Byron closed his hand around the remaining presents in his pocket, reassuring himself that they were still there, and smiling at the faces of those who were to receive them. Almost rhetorically the curator asked, Is there any more? His eyes were firmly glued to the table and his smile firmly glued to his face. Byron pulled his empty hand from his pocket. No, there isnt any more. I couldnt carry any more. His statement was not lost on the curator, surprise registered, but his sense of business overwhelmed his sense of curiosity, and deep within his head he felt that he really did not want an explanation anyway. I am most impressed, most impressed indeed. I have not seen many examples in this pristine condition, they are as fresh as the day they were entombed with whomsoever the delusioned pharaoh was that once owned them. He looked up at Byron.
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Do you know from which tomb they hale? Not that it matters, research will provide the answer if you do not have it. I dont know Im afraid, I didnt Byron stopped, realising that he was going to say he hadnt asked the tomb guards. Whoops. No I dont. He stated again. The curator beamed back. Not to worry. If you dont object Ill just look a little closer. Without waiting for an answer the old man collected magnifying glasses and various sized toothpicks galore from one of his many shelves. He proceeded in handling the jewellery eagerly, making appreciative noises in rapid succession as he turned them carefully over and over in his hands. Byron stood back and let the man continue, time was something he had plenty of. He fished in his pocket and lit another cigarette, watching the curator trying to resist the urge to hop from foot to foot. The old man smelled the smoke. If you dont mind could you stand under the extractor fan if youre going to smoke in here. Worried that his voice was a little brusque he quickly went on, The quality of the craftsmanship, undoubtedly authentic, the colour of the gold, the semi-precious stones and faience, all perfect. Not that I doubted it, but on inspection they are better than I could have hoped. The museum, myself, and the collectors all thank you for bringing them to our attention. Avoiding any answer Byron could offer the older man turned immediately back to his inspection, and Byron shifted slightly to stand beneath the extractor fan.

Over the following hour the curator made a number of short and enthusiastic telephone calls and finally a price was offered. Byron resisted the urge to jump from his seat in a choking fit, he had never been party to a conversation that directly involved himself and the word million, especially the word million with another number before it. As calmly as he could he responded. I want you to know that I realise that that figure is a small fraction of what they are actually worth. However, given my unusual acquisition of them, and the lack of providence, I admit I would be willing to accept your offer should you increase it by
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another five hundred thousand. The sentence made his mouth salivate. Done sir. The curator shot his hand out to shake on the deal before Byron could change his mind. I do however have somewhere to be and would like to discuss the technicalities of payment. It transpired to Byron that there were certain banks in certain countries that were more than happy to create a bank account for you over the phone, keep it formal, keep it tax free, and asked no more questions than were absolutely necessary. Byron answered the questions to the best of his ability, aware of the sickening irony that his current self would not know about his fortune in a foreign bank account for another eight years. However, the gilded phrase of eight years interest accumulation was enough to keep him more than buoyant about the sentence he had endured. Only when the transfer of funds was confirmed an incredibly short forty minutes later by the Banks manager, did Byron afford himself a smile. Mr Diaeh, it has been a pleasure conducting business with you. I trust that if you ever find yourself with further examples of this quality you will keep my name in mind. Byron was about to explain the future likelihood of this was close to nil when the curator went on, a look of supplication on his face. Please, take my card. Byron took the card and accepted the curators vigorously enthusiastic handshake. He was escorted to a side exit of the museum, the bitesize history of ancient Egypt accompanying him in the form of the curators exhilarated chatter. The curator shook his hand again at the door, reluctant to release his grip this time, unwilling to let Byron slip into the obscurity he had come from. The old man had lived a long life, the one constant within it had been his passion with Egyptology, and then this strange and untidy, eyeless man walked into his life and bought him the finest treasure he had ever seen. Byron backed out the door, removing his hand and collecting his cigarettes from his pocket as an excuse to do so, as he did his hand touched on a small, previously undiscovered, engraved gold ring wedged in the very corner of his coat pocket. He pulled it out and looked at it for a moment, it wasnt one of the girls presents, he huffed in a casual manner and handed the ring to the
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curator. A present, for you. Call it a souvenir from sunny Egypt. As he dropped the ring into the speechless curators hand grains of three thousand-year-old sand sprinkled with it into his palm. Questions were abundant in the old mans head but his mouth remained in open silence, his expression of wordless gratitude. Ill call you if I ever go back, you might be able to tell me when the Necropolis Administration ceased to function, I dont fancy seeing them again. With that Byron walked away smiling to himself, the curator, staring baffled at Byrons retreating silhouette.

It was around eight oclock and Byron had just enough time to get to his next destination. Five minutes later he walked into a bar over two hundred miles away from the museum. Guilt had bought him here, that and a sense of incompletion. It is said that you can never go back to change the past and dwelling on it will only lead to a waste of the future. But then what if you could? Byron slipped through the door, through the heave of people, and became easily anonymous in the crowd. He achieved his ultimate aim with relative ease and managed to conceal himself from his own ignorant eyes that stared obliviously eight years earlier, oblivious and contentedly into the eyes of his old girlfriend as they sat together at one the tables circling the room.

The bar was one of the new increasingly popular places, it was huge, laid out on two floors with large open grazing plains on both the lower floor and the smaller balcony area, overlooking the downstairs bar, which at this time on a Friday night was always full. Predatory tables and booths lined the balcony and sporadically interrupted the ground floor space, as they crept away from their circumscribe of the alcoholic assembly. The whole place was a bewildering mix of strawberries and stylised rustic en-vogue. He loved this pub. It was situated away from any built up areas and had to be driven to, therefore as soon as anybody passed their driving test in this area this
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was the first place they came, it meant you had arrived, you were grown up. Someone should have told Byron that eight years ago, he may have attempted to grow up a bit before he walked through the door. It was eight years ago that he sat with his first established girlfriend at one of the tables away from the strawberry crush of young hormonal feasting. He was seventeen or eighteen, the same age as her. His girlfriends name was Emily. She was a perfectly constructed, petite girl, with bright blue eyes and an infectious smile. She currently flicked her long dark hair over her shoulder and looked into the darkness of Byrons eye space. Byron watched himself smile, something he remembered he did a lot when Emily was around, but as history was to prove his smile would not last the night. He had forgotten what the argument was about, but it happened in about an hour from now, perhaps it was selective memory on his behalf, he was willing to take the blame for what happened but preferred not to remember the catalyst. They had been together a while now, they had not known each other intimately, but were on terms as close as you could be without taking the last moon step, an achievement to commend Emily for. Too many moved too quickly, she said, and Emilys self control was admirable. He couldnt remember if he had had the same opinion eight years ago however, shallow being an adolescent boys inspiration.

Whatever the reason, Emilys smile would soon disappear. He would soon have drunk too much to have any control over his hideous personality, he was to become less and less coherent and begin ranting, unpleasantly, and Emily would finally leave. There are sentences in everyones life when no matter what retraction you give them, in the sour light of the next days sobriety they can never be removed. It was an endearing feature for such a delicate elfin figure that Emily drank tequila like a champion, but tonight she had driven them there and Byron had made the uninformed decision to aspire to her quantity crown. The night was good to this point he was merry and actually tolerably funny, although the older Byron could watch himself with no more than violent cringes. So far he had managed to keep himself as a
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spectator and remained at the bar, resisting the urge to cut in on himself heavily and apologise before the event. He barely resisted the equally compelling urge to walk over and run his fingers though Emilys luxurious hair and kiss her glistening red lips as deeply as he used to. Memory seems to purposely blur images, the further they lay in the past. To have Emilys exquisitely pretty face alive in his eyes once more sharpened every image he had ever held of her, to him the beauty of her appearance was equalled only by the soul she displayed in her smile. The older, wiser, Byron was running out of time. He had only a fraction of the tolerance Emily had to the tequila and he knew his wit would soon run dry and turn a nasty shade of malicious. He needed a plan, did he change the past? Intercede somehow, letting his younger self sleep off merely small embarrassment at the present time? But how would he explain the sudden stubble he had acquired, the longer matted hair he now lazily supported? An idea reluctantly reared its head in his and he called over the barman, trying hard to shout quietly over the noise of the music. Excuse me, there is a boy over there, looks a little like me wearing a green T-shirt, sitting with that very attractive girl. The barman looked through the crowds quizzically and nodded in reserved acknowledgement. Hes drinking tequila. He shouldnt drink anymore. Byron handed the barman five neatly folded twenty pound notes. Unsurprisingly the barman took them eagerly. No problem. He grinned and slipped away to tell the other staff. Byron watched himself come to the bar to order another couple of shots, he pulled away into the crowd avoiding his younger yet more unfocused vision. Although he could not hear what the barman said to him strange memories filtered in to his head that had not been there a moment ago. He remembered the barman had told him he had had enough to drink and that he would only serve him cokes for the rest of the night, he remembered his dazed confusion, and unfortunate inebriated anger flare up. He had sworn at the barman, a lot, and loudly. Emily quickly came over to the rescue and pulled him back from nearly mounting the bar trying to persuade the barman a little harder.
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Hey you, I think well call me the queen of tequila from now on. I think its time I got you home. Her voice was tranquillity itself washing over his stupefied state and he let himself be pulled away from the bar and exit the pub with only one further imprecation aimed at the barmans questionable sexual habits with a horse. The barman looked over to Byron and shrugged at the unforeseen completion of their monetary transaction, Byron gave an appeasing nod, it was altogether for the best.

Outside the strawberry haven a drunken Byron supported his uncooperative legs by leaning on the composed mirth of Emily as he swayed himself to the car. A sober Byron watched from the doorway and lit himself a shamed but celebratory cigarette. Emily looked over toward the clink and spark of his zippo lighter. Excuse me, She called over to him. Byron froze in mid inhalation. Excuse me, I hope you dont mind but could you hold him up while I open the car, Im afraid he might have had a little too much. He hated to hear her apologise for him. Unconscious will pushed his legs and before he could stop himself he took the short walk to her car, deep seated obedience had lay waiting in his subconscious which her voice had awoken, and all that he felt was his need to respond to her. Emily gave him a big apologetic smile, and shifted his shameful weight into his sober arms. Thanks a lot. She said, mercifully without dwelling eye contact. He looked at her bending shape as she opened the door, the line of her back through her strapped short dress, he could not help but secretly inhale the smell of her perfume once more. No thought of those pesky possible temporal time dimensional explosions from body contact with his past self, all the sci-fi films he had ever watched seemed to be wrong, he just found himself to be a dead weight in his arms. He searched his new memory for recollection of this moment of a stranger that held him up whilst Emily opened the car but found none. Emily brushed close to him to relieve him of himself and put him unceremoniously into the passenger seat of her small car. He felt tingles of connection between the two of them, as her hand brushed his arm in thanks. She
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looked up to his eyes, Thanks again. A brief look of confusion, of vague recognition crossed her face, it was dark but he looked helplessly with the aide of memory at each flicker of light reflecting from her eyes. Have we met? She began. Byron pulled away quickly turning his side to her and muttering a response. Im sorry, I dont think so. Youd better get your boyfriend back home he doesnt look well. Yeah, Emily said still pondering at his shadowed face. We were supposed to go on to see a film but I dont think well get there now. Byron silently thanked whichever gods were listening and watched Emily walk around to the other side of the car and waved goodbye again. He could see she was not completely sure of his answer and he raised a quick hand back and turned, walking away as he did so. Only when he heard the car start up and pull off behind him did he finally let out a sigh. He walked around to the back of the pub to the deserted picnic tables set-up and sat down heavily, lighting a second cigarette from the first.

After a while in the dark, Byron tentatively looked back to his new memory, scrutinising events of tonight and following nights. Emily had dropped him home and no unretractable statements were spoken, she remained his girlfriend the following day. He allowed himself a beaming smile, for hindsight was no more such a punishing weapon. He filtered through his memory like looking through a photograph album, his spirits lifted by new memories of days out together, of another ten months of happiness, of his minds eye halted suddenly. Of.. her body with his, his body inside her, of glistening sweet tears mixed with sweat. Byrons heart thumped loudly, his eyes newly full of her previously unknown rhythmical movements and his ears chorused by her honey drenched butterfly squeaks. He readily allowed himself to enclose his senses in the memory of her touch, Emily had finally consented to him after five months he previously didnt have, consented like
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rabbits for the five months to follow. Resolutely his mind rebelled and forced a topple of further memories to saturate and cover the sanctity of the naked ones. They had inevitably broken up, and this break up was still as painful as the first she never had. Byron invoked the distance of time to dull the anguish he felt back then, they were after all memories of the past, of the ten months he never had. His heart thumped loudly in his chest. Irrational rationalities, fuelled by a cacophony of hormones, screamed throughout his body. A test he contrived, weakly and rapidly, after all his powers were not being used to their full range or potential, and it was no longer a consummation that never happened, no advantage would therefore be taken. His memory was memory and he craved the touch of her hand in the present, he craved it now. Delusion was not seen, for his mind was still full of Emily.

Byrons figure walked quickly in the dark, one street accelerated to become another in a succession of brief and blurred colour changes. He walked to the centre of the road, his direction obtained from memory and led by the once stuttered white lines that had converged into one with his speed. It was a trail of pheromone breadcrumbs, he created her perfume from memory to lead him blindly to her door, and the streets he passed were filled with it as he swept through them. Too fast to be seen, his presence was indicated only by her scented breeze. The nictitate snapshots of places he remembered as he passed them came to a sudden halt as he stopped inches from her front door. The momentum of desire corrupted any hesitation he might have held, and as quickly as he had arrived there, he opened and shut the door to the house.

Inside the house the stairs led off the entrance hall before him, the door along the hallway was open and from within its frame, flickering lights and sounds of the television cascaded into the darkened passage. Emilys parents were still up and he heard their mumbled voices above the dull blare of the television. Her father was getting up to check where the sudden gust of breeze in the house had come from, Emily was already home and he wondered if she had shut the door behind her. He
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despaired of the child sometimes, if she couldnt even shut a door properly. Byron froze in his place and watched the doorway with self-destructive morbidity. Instinctively more than intentionally, he found himself hidden to the mans eyes as Emilys father walked straight past him to the front door and rattled it with vigour to check its seal. Byron felt the mans breath on his face as he walked past him again, oblivious to Byrons presence, muttering to himself about the value of old fashioned draft excluders as opposed to new fangled double glazing. The man returned to the front room still muttering and sat down next to his wife, once more. Byron followed him with curious silence and stood before him and his wife staring with anxious wonder at their lack of sight for what was right in front of them. He cautiously moved himself in front of the television, walking back and forth, slowly to start with, then with vigour, waving his arms around in a bizarre conspicuous dance. They could not see him, their eyes remained fixed in the soul draining glamour of the sparkling box furnishing them moving pictures and stereo sound from its strong hold in the corner of the room. Byron smiled and retained his new found form, or lack of form. Unconsciously he remained silent and took his leave from Emilys parents to ascend the blue carpeted stairs in the hallway, and walk the short distance from the top of those stairs to Emilys bedroom door.

The blue of the carpet swept him with a tide in to the room both his girlfriend and his ex-girlfriend slept in. The door was ajar and Byron slipped easily through the small gap. His heart regained its hormonal fuelled speed as he heard the manufactured rainfall of the shower coming from Emilys small en-suite bathroom, he froze and stood stock still. Right in front of him was the stretch of the double bed, its strawberry bed sheets harmonised by the deep summer colour scheme of the room. A desk stood against the wall before you reached the bed and a large window faced him like a huge mirror on the opposing wall. The en-suite was off to the left of the room from where he stood. Mustering strength of character he didnt know he had, Byron resisted the urge to enter the small bathroom and instead sat himself in the chair next
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to the desk, next to the bed. The waterfall died suddenly and was followed by the squeak of wet skin against glass and the pad of bare feet on carpet. He watched her movements by sound, unconsciously holding his breath as she walked into the room. Her hair was tied up to keep it dry, her face was framed only by the scented soaps on her body. Obliviously she walked past him and closed the door to her room, shutting them both inside. The unseen boyfriend and ex-boyfriend was paralysed by her passing figure, the towel wrapped around her body hid all but the curve of her neck, shoulders, and calves, but what was beneath was as beautiful as what was seen. Emily padded to the end of her bed giving Byron her profile, as she let down her hair and brushed it in the mirror of the dressing table opposite her. She sat down and Byron felt all the pent-up animal fury leave him suddenly as his head dissipated soothing adoration through his veins to replace the unabated teenage lust he had felt before. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, he wanted hours of consenting touch, hours of sweat and sex, but she was not his Emily anymore. He was eight years older and his desire held emotions that carried consequences more complicated than eight years previous. His body relaxed into the chair he was no longer going to leap from. He settled himself to just look at her, paint her once more onto the fading canvas of memory in every detail. His mind wandered as he imagined placing his hand on her skin once more, he would sit at her feet and kiss from her toes to her eyelids, the desire he felt may have altered in state but it remained desire. As he ascended her body in his mind he began to notice she was breathing a little deeper, her eyes flickered from open to shut, his concentration deepened as he began to watch his images take motion in her body. Without instruction her watched her hand brush casually across her uncovered skin, raising her towel and uncovering her thighs in one gentle action. Byrons heart thumped in his ears once more as he listened with vehemence to her soft undulating breath. The heart almost stopped when Emily unfastened the towel and lay herself delicately back on the bed. Skin as soft as cream lay open and uncovered, it rose and fell in poetic phrases and Byron with saucershaped eyes followed her form: across her thighs, her navel, to her neck and face. He
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watched her flick a moist tongue across her drying lips, felt her breathe deeper still as her hands crept tenderly to her small breasts and awakened her long sensitive nipples to erection. Byrons lap physically ached as Emily stroked her fingertips past her navel and effortlessly through her shaped downy hair catching her caressing hand between her thighs and squeezing it tightly in place. The unseen man watched with breathless wonder. Emily continued to embrace herself evoking more and more waves of pleasure, her hands slipping smoothly across her body with slowly swelling urgency, touching her fingertips against a soft skin demanding her attention. With one hand grasping at her breasts and her hips rising to meet the other between her legs, Emily was finally rewarded with the violent shudders of ecstasy both she and Byron craved. Emily came down slowly, caressing herself gently for long moments afterwards, regaining control over her breathing, and questioning absently her sudden need to do what she had just done. Byrons mouth remained open, the intensity of Emilys body burned into his eyes, his mind had reached its peak as she did, and although his lap still throbbed wantonly he had been satisfied wholly and totally. A strange tranquillity fell over the room, eventually Emily rose from the bed and returned to the bathroom. She hummed to herself as she brushed her teeth, unaware of Byron standing behind her looking with her at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. He followed Emily back to the room and retook his seat and waited as she pulled on a pair of flannel shorts and vest top and climbed into bed. He could have left at that point but he didnt, he stayed and watched her fall asleep, curling her body into the bedclothes, deeply comfortable her presence soothed him. That night Emily dreamt of him, a curiously older version of him that sat beside her bed and watched her, she felt oddly protected, safe even. The older Byron smiled at her in her dream as she slept, and in turn she smiled back. From where he sat Byron warmed as he saw her sleeping lips curve upwards. He stayed the full night leaving just before dawn, sleeping himself for only a few hours, and in that time he woke repeatedly to find himself staring into Emilys closed eyes. Each time he woke he had forgotten where he was and felt immediately the empty space around him, each time his memory
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reminded him of his surroundings and each time he missed the warmth of Flower and Candy cuddled around him. He had to go home.

Eight years in the future the deceased Flower and Candy huddled close to each, their bed contained three hot water bottles and four extra blankets. Both girls slept clothed in Byrons shorts and jumpers, the absence of a heat generating body in their bed had made it colder than they would have liked, the absence of Byron in their bed had made it more empty than they would have liked. The small amount of warmth they gave each other was the furnace Byron craved in the past. The lady Life had offered to stay the night but the girls had declined, sure that Byron would still make it home. And besides, they told her, they still had each other there. Life had smiled and kissed them both. She thought fleetingly of offering them Storks more than willing body for the night, but decided better of it. There would be plenty of time for that, answered the future.

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Every experience has a story and every story has a moral, even the stories that are never told

Some would say that time is an inflexible line of unrelenting continuity. It has to be, for mathematics is involved, and mathematicians get upset if their numbers cannot shape our existence. Much in the same way as psychiatrists get upset if your childhood was trauma free. To Byron however, time was becoming more and more like a fictitious labyrinth, the blueprints to which had been laid out for him at each junction. For people the time labyrinth constrains movement. Where Byron would see a hundred paths, humanity would see just one, its path being generally perceived as just a single track to the horizon. What is deja vu but random meanders through time of the dream mind? The dictionary says illusionary, Byron would say arse.

He arrived at his destination from the door of Emilys bedroom to the door of the large house on the river. His negotiations with the present owners were short, the money involved spoke a language beyond sentiment and beyond the inconvenience of being moved out by the end of the week. For a society based around the unrelenting accumulation of wealth, when money talks its like listening to God. The idea of a single person commanding such an abundance of money is enough to fuel someone elses ambition to acquire the same amount of money. People listen when money talks for they no longer want to be silent. Money bought Byron the house by the same afternoon. Once negotiations had ended Byron left the purchase in hands of their solicitors, acting for both of them for a rush fee, Byron told them he would be back that afternoon to sign what was required. The path leading from the house led to an alley, which in turn led to the street his apartment building resided on. Before he leapt the steps to his building he checked his pockets for the girls presents, and grinned from ear to ear as he closed them between his fingers. The well-worn steps gave way to the soles of his shoes and launched him in to the building, he smiled like
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a school boy having just received his first kiss, his excitement for being home a feeling he hadnt tasted for as long as he could remember. Clumsily apprehensive he stopped in front of his door and brushed himself down, sand still worked into the seems of his coat and trousers fell with their silent story to the discoloured carpet at his feet, he realised he probably should have freshened up before he came home. Byrons hand hung over the door, waiting to knock as he tried to beat the inane grin back from his jaw. With a deep breath he went to tap the badly manufactured wood effect that barred his way from the inspiration of his smiles. Before his hand met the counterfeit wood, the door swung open and presented him with the beaming smile of Flower, a shrill yell of glee accompanied her leap as she wrapped herself around him, followed quickly by an airborne Candy. Byron stumbled back into the corridor, the opposing wall the only thing keeping him upright as the combined weight of Flower and Candys embrace threw him backward. He laughed out loud and swung his arms around them both, catching them and embracing them at the same time, small lips showered him with kisses and he tilted his face toward the onslaught seeking to meet their lips with his. Your back. Was the obvious statement from Candy, followed quickly by; Where have you been? Ive been making sandcastles into houses my deceased angels, and each minute there was a minute too long without you both. Now can I come in? I have gifts. He replied as vaguely as he could. Still they would not let him put them down and he struggled through the door with them both wrapped around him, kicking it shut awkwardly behind. As he lurched toward the lounge Flower and Candy surmised other ideas and leaned themselves over in his arms, steering him away from the sofa and into the bathroom, Candy leaned back from him and turned the shower on, their ideas becoming increasingly clearer. They released him and dropped their bare feet on to the tiled floor with delicate pads of sound. Together they pulled at his clothes, breaking buttons and removing sand encrusted cloth hurriedly, until within short moments he found himself standing naked before them. With laughter instead of
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words they pulled their own clothes off in seconds and pushed him into the shower following close behind. Wet hands soaped him quickly and energy spilled from the their beings as if time had become their enemy, mouths were sought in rapid succession for deep and passionate kisses. The cascading water reduced friction between skin and skin, touch demanded touch, squeeze reciprocated clutch, until the event culminated into the carnal with the consumption of one anothers souls, their craving fuelled by absence and the desire never to let go. The three of them held each other tightly for long moments afterwards, until all breaths worked as one. It took them time to leave the bathroom, each of them unconsciously wanting to shut the world out of this little room and keep each moment for an eternity. Drying each other became an art form until finally Byron led his deceased to the bedroom and sat them on the bed. Wait there. He said holding his figure up and he disappeared back to the bathroom and rooted in his clothes for the presents. He returned to the room quickly with a large grin upon his face, and his hands clasped firmly behind his back. Flower and Candy bounced on the mattress in undisguised excitement and held their hands toward him in impatient plea, the fresh towels they had wrapped around them only just managing to remain fastened. He watched them with a smile as wide as a canyon somewhere across the Atlantic Ocean, he tried to remain focused and waited for them to stop bouncing. The young women finally halted their bounce and edged themselves to the end of the bed, kneeling up towards him as he produced his closed fists from behind him. The left he held toward Flower, the right toward Candy. Gathering his concentration he opened his hands together, watching intently the eyes of his life shine with surprise. In the left hand he held out the gold necklace with ankh pendant and the intricately designed toe ring for Flower, who stared at them wide eyed for long moments before gently lifting them from his palm. Her eyes flickered between his and the gifts, eyes that shone so much brighter than the tiny stone in the toe ring. In his right he held out the semi-precious stoned anklet and finger ring with the same ankh symbol for Candy, who after the oohs and ahhs
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collected them swiftly from his open hand, the emeralds in her eyes glistening with encroaching tears as she tilted their gleam toward Byron. These are from the tomb arent they? Candy asked pulling the ring on and off her fingers until it found one it fitted, which happened to be the engagement finger on her left hand, she smiled at Byron. Well what do you know? She said holding her ring fingered hand toward him, her face was lit with playful sincerity. In response to her friend Flower fitted the toe ring smoothly in place and lay the adorned foot against Byrons chest, she pushed him gently with painted toes, Not the same, but our answers yes. Flower trailed her foot down his body and squeezed his lap with her toes. Byron grinned and caught her foot, bringing it to his mouth he kissed it gently. As is mine. He whispered in return. Candy pushed her foot next to Flowers, the anklet hanging loosely in place, in reply he kissed her painted toes also and looked from ice blue to emerald, his mind skipping over last nights events for that was then, this was now. From her smile Flower caught hold of the pendent and looked at it quizzically. This reminds me my love, the lady Life called here yesterday. She said absently. Byron could not hold back the startled look before it streaked across his face. He knelt on the floor in front of them quickly turning his head to the floor as he knelt, hiding the remainder of shock and regaining his composure. He continued to hold each foot in his hand and stroked them gently, he looked back to the deceased. Really? What did she want? He asked in a bad impression of nonchalance. Byron knew Life held the same almost omnipotent power as Death, she would know all that happened last night and why he didnt come back straight away, she would know of his history for she would have been there. His male guilt ran deeper than its normal aesthetic surface, it ran to true guilt. He hadnt touched Emily, but Emily had touched herself, and for him, because of him. Unluckily a spade was a spade whether you kill someone with it or not. The two girls had glimpsed his look of brief shock,
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but had not caught the following wince of guilt, incorrectly they assumed something else entirely. Look Byron, we know that you had this thing for the lady Death, but why must you act like that when you hear her or her sister mentioned. It was a long time ago that we agreed to come with you, and for whatever the original reasoning behind your request matters very little now. We are together, the three of us. Flower looked him open eyed and a little disgruntled. And we are happy arent we? So the past is dead, even for someone like you that can move through it. It still remains done. Over. Death is in the past, we are in the future. Finished Candy confirming her statement with an earnest Flower nodding her agreement. Candy grinned widely surmising past is past, Byron did not argue, his face remained still and sullen. An alteration in the mood was needed. Besides, what can one woman do that two can not do better. She spoke again pulling her towel away from her playfully, unveiling to Byron her perfectly naked form. Capturing him with her wide stare, she trailed her toes around his lap once more. Her meaning was obvious and Byron had never been inclined to disagree with her. Flower unwrapped herself beside Candy, their skin brushed against each other silently, skin as smooth as milk, she parted her legs slightly caressing her thigh against Candys, giggling at Byrons seemingly unending supply of enraptured facial expressions. She pushed and fought playfully with Candys foot across Byrons lap, acting as one against Byrons rapidly beating heart. Silently Flower stood up and walked with lithesome grace behind the newly and familiarly immobile Byron, gently brushing as much of her body against him as she took a position behind him. She lightly gathered his arms and directed him to advance, moving his limbs carefully and slowly, placing him at the edge of bed, still kneeling, between Candys beckoning legs. Flower touched his fingers against Candys skin, guiding his attentions to all parts of her body, constantly skimming the surface of her own body against his as she moved him from place to place. Byrons own towel was ritualistically removed and both girls lavished their attention on the newly bared skin, their delicate small hands
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torturing his arousal in long slow strokes. Their caress was endless, each hand touching each body a hundred times over; even time obeyed and slowed as they devoured each long second with each other. But time has its own agenda, it will always be an immutable nemesis and the culmination of the hours pushed each of them to their summit until nothing was left but sleep. The conversation could continue after sleep, there is always the priority of the siesta embrace.

At dinner that night, the three sat as they usually did if they were staying in, around the low coffee table in the deceptively small lounge. The deceased had taken to eating small amounts for they knew their dead tongues could still taste, and although they did not hunger, eating was a familiar and comfortable action, and chocolate is heaven alive or dead. It had taken them a while but it wouldnt have been too hard now to remind a body how to digest food. In their case however they preferred to remind the food that the dead cannot eat so the food can not exist, and food being a moronic commodity realised that it too couldnt then exist. It saved on trips to the bathroom. Byron sat with the largest plate in front of him, assorted remains of things that used to have faces set indiscriminately on its dulled patterned surface. He pushed the s meat around his plate under the watchful gaze of Flower and Candy until finally, What is it Byron? If silence be a golden thing, then shower me with silver. Your face, it seems to be trying to hide something your mouth wants to spill. Asked Flower. Byron looked away from them lest his guilt beat his features to submission. Nothing. He uttered. Not good enough my love. Stated Candy. I didnt like leaving you for that long, thats all, you might, you know, realise that Im not good for you anymore. He paused, Or something. It was in fact a partly true statement, he did worry each day that someone would remind them who he was and they would realise he was no one. They had been the light in a thousand fires, attention followed them like a love struck cupid, he had been no one, and one day he knew he would return to being no one, it was fated, cyclical, and unavoidable.
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Silence met his explanation, curiosity burned his eyes and he had to look up again, trying to read their expressions. Shakespeare scribbled one: Fish not with your melancholy bait or something like that, I think he meant self-pity sucks arse on you. Reproached Candy, Or fish with worms because youll catch shit with vacuous self-dejection like that. If youre looking for undying conformation of our feelings, you are not going to receive it with comments like that. Flower butted in, the annoyance in their tones sharpening. You might however get a kick between the eyes. Candy answered his silence. Byron looked at the floor once more, his embarrassment heating his face. The girls sighed, Alright, you are our future Lord Byron. And although a future is immeasurable, we love you now. And for as far as we can see. And Im beginning to realise its not for your eternal optimism. Our bizarre triangle has something some people spend a lifetime looking for only to realise they were born blind. We are happy, you are happy, we have a new house and great sex, what more could two deceased sixteen year old girls wish for? The jest about their age was not exactly what Byron needed from Flower, but with sugar comes spice and the subtle reprimand was to reproach his gratuitous wallow into self-pity. But it bought a smile, his guilt slipped its hold and he leant across the small coffee table a kissed his loves gently once more. In the face of forgiveness it is better to be forgiven for something you havent done than the truth. Could you get me juice now then Byron darling Candy asked sweetly, Byron was all too eager to comply and almost leapt to his feet in humble service to his mistress voice. As he stood in the kitchen collecting the glass and orange juice, Candy looked over her shoulder confirming his distance away from them. She turned to Flower when she was sure he was as far as the little apartment would let him be. Flower, you know hes lying dont you. She whispered. Her friend nodded slowly collecting her words before she answered.
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Do you want to know? He feels guilty for something, but knowing him it was probably just a stray thought about a dress being too high. I think he would feel the same guilt whether it had been a kiss or something more. I think I will believe the kiss story Ive just made up. She pondered. Can I borrow it, or Ill cry and kill him and I would rather give in to neither. Of course Candy. She paused. Do you believe it would have been anything else? Honestly? Flower nodded. Well no, I dont think it would have been. Candy smiled at her own revelation, trust was not a commodity she used to possess, death had changed many things. No nor do I. The same revelation occurred to Flower, her smile was interrupted. What are you two smiling about? Asked Byron, returning with two glasses of iced orange juice, placing them on the table and himself between the girls on the sofa. At you Byron dear, at you. Both the deceased curled themselves onto his chest, and listened smiling at each other at the beating of his heart. They had missed that sound. Byron grinned and encircled them in his arms. So what colour will our bedroom be? He asked through his smile. It began a long talk of satin drapes and extra large king-size beds that continued into the early hours of the next day, and soon all three of them had forgotten he had ever been away.

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The land of the belly button Dragon .

There is a land of the belly button dragon, Without rock or stony pebble but dimpled smooth. To the south lays soft grass before the heaven, And to the north rounded hills as yet unmoved. Travel further, past the crests to bow shaped bliss, There is a boy who stands bare at the lips of kiss. A girl stands unveiled beside his stance, whispering ifs and onlys and willing chance, The boy echos her whisper with if only and time. The girl smiles sadly In another place she was mine.

It took four months for the three of them to move in and sit at last within walls that had finally been claimed theirs. Every room had been changed on a scale that went from subtle to drastic to cataclysmic, there were even rooms that although were there on purchase, were now strangely conspicuous by their absence. The master bedroom had been knocked into the bedroom beside it offering an expanse of space engorged on extravagant. Despite its size, or because of it, it remained on inspection a simple and uncluttered space of farmland proportion. A huge custom-made bed dominated the vast wooden floor. It sat in jest on crafted iron legs, its head looking out through the huge balcony windows, draped in cascades of floor-length cloth that shimmered like water. The best view in the house was offered overlooking the rear grounds to the river, seen through the semi-permeable texture. On two small deep pools of rug two dressing tables faced away from each other. The left side Flowers, the right side was Candys. On either side of the bed were two heavy oak bedside cabinets and at the foot of the bed an entertainment system of next century technology. The
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remaining acreage of space brings all eyes to the bed itself, making it the centre of its own small world. The walls and ceiling of the room were painted in sky blues that had been blended to create a depth and illusion of an unending cloudless sky. The two girls had said it felt safe, a world in a room, a world of sun filled skies and river breezes. The abundance of the other rooms that were available now stored what Byron remembered as clutter in the old apartment. The illusion of open spaces was continued throughout the home, next to the bedroom was another large room where full length mirrors and two chairs were the only furniture, and the walls had been fitted with shelves and rails to create a true walk-in wardrobe. Even Byron had a wall space allocated to him here, and his lamentable single suitcase of clothes. To the other side of the bedroom through a connecting door was the bathroom, or health spa depending on your view of things. A sunken bath in the middle of the floor had again been custom made in size to fit three, a separate glass panelled shower had been built the same. As they watched the place take shape Flower and Candy had found that the abundance of money seemed to equate to a lack of curiosity from the people happily constructing these designs. It didnt matter what hints or conversations they purposely had within earshot, they could not bait the workers, it was almost disappointing. Even the housekeeper failed to raise any more than a pleasant greeting to them, although Flower had caught her eyes narrow as Byron passed on a few occasions, but could not reconcile to herself whether it had been disdain or fear.

Finally it was their first night in their completed home, the three lovers sat out in the waning evening sun beside the pool. The pool itself had been re-tiled to resemble a summer clouded sky, which Byron had found to be quite disconcerting when he first dove in, it felt to him like diving upside down and falling to the sky. The dinner had been laid out for them on the garden table before the housekeeper had left for the evening. Byron sat, half dressed in shorts he had owned for years, that had began in trousers he had owned for years before that. He pulled on his cigarette and sipped at something with alcohol in it, as he watched with an unfaded smile his Flower and his
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Candy kick water at each other as they dipped their feet into the pool. Clothes being a habit, Flower wore a small vest top with her bikini bottoms. Being less of a habit for some, Candy made do with just the bikini bottoms. He had not stopped wanting them since the day he had bought them home. The deceased turned to look over their shoulders and caught Byrons warm smile, on cue as silent as a heart beat they joined him at the table pulling their chairs closer to his. Flower discarded the idea quickly and sat herself in his lap, her legs draped over the wooden arm. The air had turned slightly toward chill and the evenings shorter, causing Candy to pull Byrons shirt over her cooling body. Flower stole Byrons cigarette from his mouth and giggled at him. So my love, are we happy? She asked We are peachy Flower. He answered. So whats next? Questioned Candy pulling her chair closer still and resting her bare legs on what was left of Byrons knees. Why whats next Candy darlin? Does there have to be a next? We have longer than any to do as we please, its not as if times against us. Byron paused, his smile without ebb. The burning energy in Candy had been given another chance of life in death and her desire was to live it to the fullest, Byron would always be in awe of this, her unending spirit was her brilliance with which she shined. And her beautiful small breasts. Because Byron darlin there has to be a next, because there always is, because until I live an eternity I will not believe I will exist past tomorrow. And if you think about it, time is supposed to have no meaning to us, but it still has meaning to everything else. Ironic when you remember where the hell you got your power from: Death, the stopwatch to all things. Things always end my love, but Ill be damned if Im going to wait for it. Existence might be free but wasting it will cost you your soul. Her conviction was inspiring. Her annoyance at the misapplication of indolence was mounting. My point, my angel Byron replied evenly, grinning at her contrary expression is
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that neither of you two have a stop watch, or hour glass or whatever metaphor you wish to use. You have, as the song goes, all the time in the world. Precisely why we should use it to its fullest. Completed Flower, looking to her best friend and winking she dared Byron to answer back. He would lose, he always did. Byron sighed lightly, giving in to their determination to prove him wrong. Equally as much with their philosophy as their playfulness. So what would you like to do next my fugitive angels? With power Byron darling, comes money it would seem. And with money comes. An enthused Candy paused briefly. With money comes.. Flower repeated. More money. Answered Byron sarcastically. Its true that money shags like rabbits but money doesnt buy happiness, corrected Flower indignantly, then continued; Just every ingredient ever invented to make it. I think that youre a happy person or your not a happy person, I mean look at the money wallowing film stars that harp on about loneliness from their golden lined clouds Thats it, Interrupted Candy suddenly a smile wide on her face. Well make a film, with money comes envy and thus fame. She beamed from ear to ear and waited for a response from the blank audience. Byron smiled like a wolf. What sort of film? He oozed, his eyes wide with thoughts of Flower and Candy wrapped about him. In some home shot extravaganza of something that was no where as pretty as movie sex. Both the girls slapped him in unison, their expressions somewhere between amusement and distaste. Dirty old man. Scathed Flower. Byron opened his arms motioning his submission and dry apology to both girls, indicating that that insult was a given. He laughed at their barrage of tuts. Besides, weve done that. Candys scowl dispersed into a sly grin, there was a video upstairs that starred them all already. A badly shot static tripod kind of film,
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where bare bums are real and not so elegantly lit as on plastic breasted celluloid. A proper film, acted so marvellously that its premiere will cause an onslaught of Oscar and Bafta nominations galore. A blockbuster of a scale never known before in cinematic history, driven by story rather than explosions. Enthused Candy. A story about a man and his two lovers? Suggested Flower. Before you get carried away, Byron interrupted. You have to know by now that I couldnt possibly star in a film, Ive been ignored all my life, unnoticed and unknown, and Ive grown to like it. How the hell am I suppose to then lay myself bare in front of a million of people in this blockbuster of yours? Why would you be the star darling? Asked Flower and Candy in unison. Whats unbelievable about Flower or I staring in this movie, Narcissistic much? Added Flower. Byron looked away at the pool, feeling like he had just been caught kissing himself in the mirror. Kidding! Flower laughed catching Byrons cheek in her hand You know we love you shy boy. She persisted, kissing him wetly on the face. Itll be fun. Pursued Candy pushing him in the thigh with her toes. I dont act, have never acted, wouldnt and couldnt even get an audition. Said Byron. Will you never let go? We didnt say that we would do this fairly, thats why were dead, and youre deathish. The power of influence is there my dear, you must know that. Flower persevered. Byrons head flew into the past and Emilys impromptu exhibition of a feeling he desired. A brief flicker of guilt re-emerged, heavily and quickly banished. Past is past. If youd put that influence on screen youd be making your own best actor awards, it cannot fail. Produce some of it even, make some more of what causes envy. I mean do you think that now, people still dont see you, walking hand in hand with us about town, public shows of affection, owning this house. Ill tell you, we are the gossip of the decade in this village. Power, money, fame, its inevitable. She looked at her friend, Flower responded, almost quietly.
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Its destiny my love. Unavoidable, unquenchable, in your face, end in bright teary flames, destiny. Her thoughts automatically avoided thinking any further of destinys plans, she felt as Candy did, that they were on borrowed time. Borrowed from where she didnt know, but she knew that this much love had a habit of causing explosions. The question remained unaskedwould they survive it? Hang on a moment, how are you going to be stars of a world changing film when youve been deceased for nearly a year. Do you not think that your fame may ask of you questions that cannot be answered? Byron asked, unconscious of Flowers briefly slipped smile. No more than the other famous! Candy quickly retorted. Besides, we dont want big parts, little cameos like the really famous do will do. Just so we can dress up, watch a film be made, and grin proudly at our man. I just think itll be fun. Ive never done it before and it beats the shit out of singing a ridiculously catchy and annoying tune, rocket to fame over night only to slip back to oblivion two weeks later. The other, cliff edged, path to fame. She looked to Flower for agreement. Who nodded enthusiastically back. Weve heard you sing and trust us film is the best way to. Candys right, we dont want staring roles, just some fun. You know you want to. Byron sighed, his mind torn between the hideous embarrassment at the thought of his acting debut, and a subtle yet nagging feeling of boyhood dream excitement. Destiny it is then my loves. The excitement of a myriad of possibilities rose in his consciousness, eclipsing his previously cherished comfort in anonymity. His core would wait quietly in the dark, wait for him to return, fame or failure hed want his irrelevance back.

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The draw of plastic Hollywood

There is a drawer in a chest of drawers that cannot be opened without a key. Its an old chest. Old, that is, to modern standards. Built at the start of the twentieth century it has inspired the downfall of a countless number of fame seekers. The draw is called Hollywood, and those that find the key are allowed to gorge themselves on the content of celebrity. But those that lose the key once found, are doomed to an existence lived in the past, their youth forever preserved for them in tortuous circles of empty resemblance and forgotten names. So why does humanity search for the key? Fame is the grail of modern times, a drink from it promises eternal life, and Hollywood is the new religion with more congregations than any other. The flock wait patient and wide-eyed before a million thirty-foot screens, to pay homage to the profits of the new world. To be a movie star is to be loved and everybody wants to be loved. There are pitfalls of course, gaping chasms of self-doubt, of false love, and of the type of alone that can only come in a crowd of friends, friends who can only be described as moths to a light. But it is fame; awe inspiring, fulfilment promising, never-quite-as-good-when-you-get-there, fame. And this was Byrons fate, a hidden desire or a willing participant in Candy and Flowers dream it didnt matter. Fate was fate, and destiny didnt like to be argued with.

Admittedly Byrons road to the key holder was considerably shorter than the other roads that led there. Candy had decided they would come up with the story, to then pitch to the producer of their choice. Writing the story would take too long, and their enthusiasm was on a crest of an intractable wave. It would not wait, and theirs would not be the first film in history to begin shooting without a finished script. The storm of ideas was to begin the next morning, and by late afternoon a synopsis had been devised. Candy flopped back on the bed and sighed in mock relief, not having changed from waking this morning. One of Byrons shirts was all that hung loosely and unbuttoned around her, her skin almost too delicate to touch mused Byrons
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bruised eyes. The glint of the bright nail polish on her toes drew Byrons stare from the chair he sat in next to the bed. Flower lay on her stomach next to Candy, facing Byrons lounging form, he had been up and dressed, fetching them breakfast, lunch, and drinks, to command all day. She smiled with open love at his grin, catching his eye he looked to her half dressed shape on the bed, his boxer shorts the only thing she wore. He wondered again that with all the clothes that they had, why did they spend most of their time in his? Flower rocked her legs behind her, the movement spellbinding him further with a slow and languid rhythm. He would never tire of just looking at them, of questioning himself again and again what it was he had done to be this happy. Finished. Sighed the collapsed Candy to the world in general. Its a good story. Replied Byron, having heard the idea form from places, to plots, to subplots, and further. Not bad is it. Agreed Flower pleased with their finished work. A love story, a disaster movie, and a tragedy the like that hasnt been seen since Romeo and Juliet. She continued. And you Byron honeyflower, Said Candy lifting her head to see him, Are to be the leading man. She smiled at him, the underlying desire to give him a gift as great as he had given them was quietly present in her eyes. They could not give him his life back for he had not lost it. But they could try to give him a life of boundless elation, of experience after experience, and unwasted seconds. However, Im thinking we possibly shouldnt have had so many kissing moments, perhaps well revisit that later. She gave him a wry smile, jumping to her feet and launching herself from the bed to the chair where he sat, landing with practised ease astride his lap. She placed her arms around his neck peering into his dark eyes, We dont want you getting carried away with your leading lady, whomever she may be. Candy kissed him quickly. Well just have to get an aesthetically impeded actress for the part. Her eyes glittered with mischievous intentions, as she showered him with a rain of kisses between fits of giggles. Flower leapt with the same
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precision, landing behind Candy on Byrons struggling lap, each of them took a side and turned the rain in to a storm across his face. Cant have you leaving us honeyflower. Flower whispered, verifying Candys assertion. Not till weve worn you out anyway. She added. A prisoner with every will in his body Byron took no shelter from the storm, he only tried not to squeeze them too hard in his embrace. Ice-cream whipped nipples brushed his cheeks as Candy rose up and pulled him toward her, her softness brushed his skin. You cant leave us. Byron could not see her face, but her tone had an almost indiscernible lull of sadness. Was she telling him, or herself? Familiar hands, familiar lips, crept over him in playful circles and he warmed from the inside until his hair stood on end.

The technicalities of such an adventure were easier than one might think. Normally impossible to get a meeting with a producer with no notice whatsoever, but then it was also impossible to get to the film studio in America from your back door in England. Flower and Candy had taken care to dress for the occasion, in fact that care had taken most of the morning, but being sixteen generally means you are not taken seriously. Their clothes, hair, and make-up had all been composed to add ten years to them, subtle shape alterations from the right clothes and height extending shoes, even Candys red tips had been folded into the back of her hair. Business-women they had aspired for, business-women they had achieved. Very hot business-women thought Byron to himself, but young business-women nevertheless. Byrons suit restricted him nicely as he pulled at the sleeves, the shirt, and the trousers in constant discomfort. Even Candys biting remark, that he wasnt that big, didnt stop him from pulling at the tightness of the trousers crotch. No amount of pleading could make him wear a tie, but in mourning black he looked at least respectable. Candy and Flower each held their typed synopsis in leather bound folders tight to their chests, their nerves not eased by the guaranteed outcome of the meeting. Being taken
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seriously was a big deal.

The sun was hotter in America as they arrived within the studio complex, sheltered from view by one of the house stages, it was higher in the sky and looked metaphorically bigger in the land of opportunity and corruption. Byron walked between Flower and Candy, their hands linked over his arms, a display far from uncommon with the abundance of egocentricity in this town. Looks were passed between them and the studio employees as they ambled past in their short walk to the office building of their chosen producer, one wondering who the other was. Yet no questions were asked, only well practised smiles exchanged, forged in man made plastic. Their slow walk had been purposely engineered to give the impression that they belonged. For they had surmised that if you can look like you belonged wasnt that half the battle? The entered the building and walked up to the reception desk, it was Flower that spoke; We have an appointment, with the producer. She said with nervous confidence, the receptionist looked them up and down and with practised ease after harsh judgement smiled sweetly and replied. Name please. Flower looked to Byron and back to the girl. Flower and Candy Diaeh. Flower caught Byrons look of hidden surprise, and felt easier after he registered a small smile on his face. Byron looked to the appointment book, the receptionists look of flawless supremacy disappeared briefly when she realised against her judgement that they did indeed have the appointment they claimed. People didnt get appointments with her boss, it didnt happen, he was too important. Were they that important? Before she looked up again she regained her composure. Please take a seat Ill let him know youre here. She indicated to the leather factory behind them and waited until they were out of earshot before ringing through to her employer. I like it, Whispered Byron. Flower and Candy Diaeh. I like it. Both girls
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squeezed his hands in hidden affection, resisting any further temptation to insult him after a complement as they usually did, remaining quiet and waiting for the receptionist to take them through. From his seat Byron searched briefly for the mind of the man they were to see, amongst the din of voices and minds across the complex he managed to pin point him with relative ease, his close proximity making the task that little bit easier. He caught the mans voice muttering harshly to the girl that he had no such appointment. However, seconds later after she had finished saying that she hadnt thought so, reconfirming to herself her position in life compared to others, noting once more that her judgement was always correct, the producer corrected himself. No, my mistake, Ive been expecting them Rachael. If you would show them in and fetch us some coffee, I would be most appreciative. Rachaels judgmental pursuits were once again hit from behind. Byron smiled quietly to himself from the leather sofa and waited for the girl to come over.

The office they were shown to, looked more like a board-room in appearance. One huge table dominated most of the space, with chairs set evenly around its edges. To the side of the room two relaxed armchairs and a couch trimmed a smaller, lower, table that looked out of the large corner window into the studio lot. The young women were shown to the couch by the expensive man, they were not the first or the last young girls that had been led to that couch. The expensive man was in his late forties, and had seen the studio come back from the brink of bankruptcy a number of times; he had lived the popular proverb that you were only as good as your last picture. But he was one of the few that had finally made it. He had the power they talked about when they whispered about those in charge. It had cost him three wives, four therapists, and a minor heart attack two years ago, but he was happy now. His girlfriend was twenty-three and had dedicated her life to looking pretty for him. He knew it wouldnt last, but here happiness came in easy bite size pieces and he had trained his appetite. He would of course always have his first love: money. The
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producer ran his hand through his thick black hair and took in the picturesque view of the two girls sitting before him. He barely noticed Byron sat on the arm of the couch. He surmised the girls were collage graduates, with an idea that would astound him, they had to have or they would not have got in to see him. His own importance took precedence over his memory of making this appointment. The introductions were made, the producer taking time to feel the touch of the young womens hands as they shook his, there was something about them, a freshness he dreamt about, and their aristocratic English accent just killed him. He hadnt stopped smiling throughout the preliminary small talk and Candy was beginning to become annoyed at the whiteness of the mans teeth. Rachael bought the coffee in, passing only a cursory glance toward Byron, taking a further opportunity to reassess the young women before her. There was something about them, a freshness she had dreamt about, and how come they were so damn pert. So then ladies, it is time for the pitch, the window of minutes that we all live for. Inspire me. The producer sat forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees rubbing his hands in anticipation. Still his smile did not dull. Candy looked to Flower to start, in unison they opened their folders and reached for the words inside. OK. So its a tragedy of two lovers the power and eloquence of which hasnt been seen since Shakespeares Romeo and Juliet, and I speak about the original play, not the film. Well you had to start big thought Flower to herself. She took a deep breath before continuing, and purposefully did not try to gauge the producers reaction, for his smile was a permanent feature by now. The story spans thousands of years, Historic. Added Candy quickly. It revolves around two lovers. Tragedy and timeless romance. Candy interpreted. The man eight years older than the girl, she will be eighteen each time they meet in each reincarnation. A love to transcend conservative conformity. Candy thought she saw the producers
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smile widen briefly. The story begins in the time of myth and legend, the man was set to marry the daughter of a Greek Goddess, a rare and unsurpassed honour. But he meets another girl, he falls so completely in love, the type of love only seen in movies and the insane, the type that burns your eyes when they do not look upon the object of your desire. The two try to hide their relationship for a time but as the marriage looms they are found together making love by a stream. The goddess is understandably furious. Really pissed off. Added Candy succinctly. She opens the stream bank and entombs them beneath the water still entwined in each other, cursing them to an endless succession of lives searching in despair for something they cannot remember, to meet in each incarnation only to find death together before their hearts can remember. There is no get out clause, no loophole, just the judgement of a Goddess. And each time afterwards they do indeed meet each other and planets collide, unspecific recognition and fated attraction pull them together. And this is where you can change the circumstances and conclusions, he will be married in one life time, possibly the first, she will work in his house, and they will have to deny their fated feelings. But alas they cannot, overpowering them they inevitably come together. In a later incarnation, she will be pregnant. The teenage father a drop out who disappeared on notice of his impending fatherhood. He will become closer and closer to her throughout the pregnancy, avoiding declaring his true feelings until after the baby is born. But true to the curse, before any consummation, any happy ending, they are always both killed, always together, always at the cusp of the revelation. You will have the audience shouting at the screen, begging that they be given more time together. Their death always an indirect result of hiding their feelings, the girls boyfriend comes back to claim his fatherhood, finds them holding each other. The gun in his pocket too much of a temptation to ignore. Flowers voice rose with the story, her anxiety rising, she had never listened in debate class and in hindsight began to wish she had. Candy noticed the paleness of her lover and best
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friend and took over. He shoots them, takes the baby, and they live again only to find each other and go through it all again. The supporting cast are constants in each time period, the characters around them taking on different roles, disappearing from some lifetimes only to reappear again. The mans wife becomes his sister, then a nurse at the hospital. The girls boyfriend, a sergeant in the civil war responsible for killing them half a dozen lifetimes before, or the mans best friend in another life, encouraging him to throw caution to the wind and tell the girl of his feelings. The audience never being given the security of a permanent good guy, or permanent bad guy, the only constant is their fated demise at the most inopportune times. Candy paused and grinned. Until the last life time. Said Flower taking a deep breath: trying to maintain the producers attention by giving him the pitch in stereo. Candy went on, the producers eyes feasting on the young girls before him, the pitch was secondary. The Hollywood finale of an independent looking film, the best of both worlds. Candy could do no more to bait this man short of drawing dollar signs on her breasts. Which she did consider doing for a moment. They meet on a boat, neither of them are attached, neither of them are travelling with anyone else. They had both decided to get away from their lives at the same time to travel the world in search of something, not knowing what, and for the first time they were born in different countries, he left England, she left America. By fate and script they end up on the same ship off the coast of New Zealand, or South Africa, or India, the Mediterranean even. Somewhere with a dramatic coastline. On board the ship he meets his wife of the previous life, she meets her boyfriend, they all connect and begin to begin something, and just when you think they are going to do it again, they see each other in the middle of a storm. Candy gave what she hoped was a dramatic pause. Byron smiled with pride and amusement from the arm of the chair for both girls. Flower took over again. Instant recognition, but this time there are no words, whether it is the chaotic
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weather or just their time, there is no mustering of nerves, they see each other, almost run to each other, though not actually run thatll be a bit too Hollywood. The man stares into her blue eyes and she stares in to his, and finally, after several life times, they kiss, a long deep passionate kiss, the audience cheers. As they run to one of their small cabins together they pass the wife, the boyfriend, but they hurry past pulling each others clothes off as they crash into the cabin. Both Candy and Flower could not resist the urge to glance at Byron as Flower spoke that sentence, maintaining professionalism they resisted smiling, but the association was made between words and wants. They speak few words but rain smiles and kisses on each other, sharing memories in single sentences between kisses of their previous lives in a bizarre recollection of a situation that would seem impossible between anyone else but each other. However, the climax, due to the freak weather, the storm, the boat grounds on a reef or shallow rocks, the ship crashes, and after the screams and panic from all passengers, before they again manage to steal enough time together, the nearly lovers end up in the water together. Surrounded by fifty or so other passengers, the majestic vertical cliffs within sight. The survivors cling to the shear rock faces, ledges too far above them to reach, but still glad of solid land of any sort and too exhausted to swim any more. The weather is rain, the scene dramatic, but the lovers remain holding each other, clinging to the rock ledges, if they can hold on they might be rescued. But they are not rescued. A mudslide from the cliffs, a huge wave, something they can see before it happens. The girl looks at him and smiles kissing him one last time she pushes her head in the mans chest, hiding from the inevitable, he grips her with insurmountable strength, and in their eyes there is no fear for this was the point, the answer to everything, each other. You can see their embrace is unbreakable. Unworried about causing damage they hold tighter to each other than should be possible. The camera fills with the wave and they slip beneath the surface, still no fear on their faces, the camera looks through their eyes as their vision fades, and the last thing to leave is the sense of the embrace, the sounds filter out but the last to leave is the sound of their
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grip tightening. She stopped. Flower leant back with some relief in to the couch behind her. Candy remained leaning forward, trying again to measure a reaction and before the producer could say anything she finished. Whether it is because they are holding each again, as they were thousands of years ago, whether it is their recollection of all that has gone before, but from the long black silence a rising whisper becomes a roar, sound filters back and its the sound of rushing water. As they break the surface you can her the man shouting No, light blazes back, and she is propelled from the water, his love still holding him. They are hurled to height impossible to reach and he grabs the waiting ledge with one hand and lifts her to the safety of the rock. She, however, is unmoving. He is exhausted and only just manages to fall next to her, both facing the sky. You dont know whos dead, if either is dead, they lay motionless. The film closes and the camera pulls away, and the audience is allowed to just make out her hand reaching for his and then falling exhausted by her side their fingers entwined. Candy stopped and fell back against the sofa next to her Flower. They both waited. Annoyingly the producers smile became contemplative and he stood up and began to pace. After a long moment too long, Flower felt the need to put words in the aggravating silence. Of course, done well, it will leave audiences stunned. Done badly and theyll walk out thinking why the hell did the two characters bother. The acting, the framing of the scenes are the key. Candy nudged her and frowned, the word badly was not in the practised pitch, Flower shrugged indicating her exasperation at the silence of the producer. Finally he looked at them and managing to utter something. Is that the end, what happens next, is that it for the two of them? What? He looked to them for an answer, the girls were unsure how to continue, they didnt know whether he was unhappy or he wanted confirmation of the end. Candy answered hesitantly. That would be the end of the film yes. If you wanted a neat parcel of uplift at the end it would take away the point of the unconfirmed tragedy. She studied his unchanged face, concern married with thoughtfulness. His silence caused her
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discomfort this time and Candy heard her mouth continue. Perhaps at the very end of the credits, or the part before the sound track comes up you could have five seconds of camcorder footage of their life together should they have survived, wordless footage of them obviously together, not dead or dying. Is that necessary? She asked a little perturbed. A good thought young lady, it would have to be tried at preview screenings, people like a happy ending you know. Still the producer failed to confirm his opinion, he remained thoughtful in face. The deceased looked towards Byron, waiting for his intervention, Byron held his hand up to them to indicate patience. And was rewarded with a loud bellow of a laugh. Hah! The producer managed to exclaim. Hah! He bellowed again. Candy turned to Flower, hah? She whispered in question. Quite outstanding ladies, you truly have merited my time and attention, it is a good story. Perfect angst ridden tragedy, the current market in fashion, its up there in the money bringing statistics. Where may I ask is the script? We must begin to arrange approval, negotiate terms, etcetera etcetera. He waved his arms about waiting for the well-organised women to hand him the script. He looked bemused at their sudden shyness. Well actually Flower began slowly. Its in your folders. Byron spoke for the first time, startling the producer, reminding him somewhat upsettingly that he was there at all. Flower and Candy looked questioningly at him. He nodded toward their folders, urging them to open them. Still perplexed but trying not to underestimate him they reached for the folders and opened them. And accompanied by large smiles they pulled out two completed scripts, written as they spoke from the pictures in their minds, and written well. Byron grinned, he had almost out done himself this time. Here. They said passing him one of the two scripts, they looked back at Byron both faces mirroring questions, was he responsible for its acceptance or were they? In the
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months to come Byron was questioned again and again on this subject, only to reply again and again simply; Its a good story, nothing more, nothing less. The girls turned back to the producer unashamedly grinning at the image of cash in his hand. However, began Candy. there are a couple of conditions of sale. The producers smile slipped briefly only to be regained in a well-practised and professional manner. Yes, yes, details, all of which can be sorted out in the negotiations. He said hurriedly. No. Flower interrupted him, relieving him of his smile for longer. The conditions are simple, we would like casting approval, creative input, and set privileges. Flower stared the producer in eyes, her face still as expressionless. For these we would take a smaller of percentage of box office takings. But the conditions are non-negotiable. She paused again allowing Candy to finish. The leading man is here with us, The producer began to make mouth movements of protest but Candy spoke louder. These terms are non-negotiable, Byron will take the lead. Annoyance in a bright shade of crimson clouded the producers face. He threw the Script on the table in front of them. Who is he? A nobody. Do you want me to make career suicide? Independent films are fine, but you have independent famous actors to take the roles. Can he even act for gods sake, hes not even much to look at. The producer calmed slightly, feeling his point had been made. Still he felt the need to clarify. Look, this is why we have negotiations, let me run a few actors past you when we have looked at the script. His face had paled from red, though his eyes still flickered in some contempt toward Byron who the whole time had remained seated and expressionless. Byron stood slowly, his face remaining blank and emotionless, which had the strange effect of conveying deep uninterested malice. He stepped toward the producer, drawing him to the side of the room. The producers face held mild concern and a great deal of annoyance, Byron leant in to his ear and whispered. The producer paled, his eyes widened as the other man whispered on, sweat beaded
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instantly on the expensive mans clammy temple, and blood began to trickle thickly from his ears. Byron pulled away, his face expressionless, then suddenly as if someone had yelled action from the side lines animation hit them both. Byron face heartened quickly and he smiled at the producers suddenly regained humour; he shook his hand warmly. Thank you, I appreciate your confidence in me. Smiled Byron, like a wolf to a rabbit. No, Thank you Byron, I can tell you have all the qualities to give an unforgettable performance, star material, were lucky to have you aboard. Both Candy and Flower looked to each other, their faces reflecting concern over the producers ears and the blood that had reached his jaw line running in a single lines of deep red. Deaths power was the dark to the light of life, tricks were tricks that Byron had shown them in the past, admittedly the extravagance and scale of some still inspired wonder, but they had been given as gifts. Byrons whisper hinted in the weight of the air about them, at something far darker than they ever imagined. There was no fear in the deceased eyes, not for themselves, only the subtle flinch of concern for Byrons once dispirited mind. The producer wiped absently at his ears, his beaming smile remained fixed, as if his life depended on it. The red departed his skin without leaving stain or signal that it was ever there at all. Thank you Byron. He said again.

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Stop to wave at fish

The negotiations were short, both Flower and Candy were conceded all conditions they had requested, and Byron starred in the movie of the year. Despite the intended influence to guarantee the films success, the excitement in the eyes of Byrons deceased protectors did not jade throughout the months leading up to the first day of shooting. Both Flower and Candy had managed to obtain background parts in each scripted life time of the lead characters, whether it be in the girls friends or passers by, they had secured their places beside Byron each and every day of filming. The only cause for any disharmony amongst the three of them was the selection of the leading lady.

Byron admitted that he was in a no win situation, he could no more say that he liked his lovers choice than say he disliked it. Present at all meetings with their selection of wish list leading ladies, both Flower and Candy remained more pragmatic than they thought they would be able to, their hearts within the success of the film, their jovial and quiet jealousy composed and ignored in favour of rationality. Byron, on the other hand, helped no one with his fixed face of paranoid apathy. His ego bruised once or twice by actresses asking constantly what he had been in before, remaining silent when he admitted again and again this was his first role. That and was he wearing contact lenses for they couldnt see his eyes. All of which was to the humour of both the dead. Finally their leading lady had been cast, reported in a magazine to be the coolest, cutest, cleverest, and classiest actress in Hollywood, she was the correct age and her filmography was impressive to say the least. Avoiding the big sell blockbusters for the equally big sell quirky cult making films. Well-made cult making films. She was beautiful, that was undeniable, her smile was free and
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unconsciously honest, and her blue eyes swam with dolphins. She stood before him in an old pair of jeans, half a t-shirt and sunflower decorated flipflops, she shook his hand in greeting and tip toed to kiss his cheek. Byron liked her. It was hard not to, he still suffered from being star struck on a daily basis since this project had started, but he found her to be instantly more than a culmination of her previous roles. She read with him, and didnt ask what he had been in before. All the readings were filmed to record what degree of screen chemistry the actors had together, during this process Candy mentioned more than once that it might have been a bad idea to script a film about love. The exercise also acted to ease Byron into what should ideally represent functioning normally in front of a camera. It made him summon selfcontrol he hadnt realised he possessed. Being used to not existing in others eyes for so many years, and then suddenly being the focus of a cameras unforgiving gaze, was uncomfortable for him, to say the least. The actress seemed to ease Byrons nerves instantly and the resulting chemistry danced across the celluloid for all to see. This was the only choice Flower and Candy could make, and with maturity past their years they agreed to ask her to sign. The actress herself had admitted to liking the script when she arrived at the studio to meet them, and on reading with Byron she agreed she would like to take the role. Byrons paranoid apathy slipped briefly and he smiled. There was of course a question of timetables, most films being unavoidably and annoyingly detained in the planning stage for over a year before filming. However, the intervention of a higher power than Hollywood, speeded decisions with the money-providers, quickened assembly of a crew, and put the fear of Death into the rapid organisation of making this film.

Finally it was here and Byron woke slowly, the first day of his film career, soft skin touched him in waves of warm pleasure. He drifted on the edge of dream and it felt like swimming a warm enclosing sea. The heat covered him in liquid movements as he floated in its water, the throb of blood familiarly aching around his lap. As he drifted he felt the beginnings of warm rain splash gently upon his face and he smiled
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into his sleep, he felt secure, warm, aroused. He woke upon this last thought, opening his eyes slowly feeling Candy make love to him before he saw her. Flower kissed his eyes tenderly in small endless declarations of love, her body pressed as close to him as Candys, her legs entwined tightly about him and her best friends slowly undulating rhythm. His hands reached for them both, his fingertips gently teasing the contrasting yield between soft breasts and attentive nipples, his back pressed into the sheets beneath him in the necessity of connection, their bodies pushing against his. His ears were filled with the heart disabling sighs of love. In response he reached for the warmth between Flowers thighs and together with Candy coaxed the whimpers of pleasure from her mouth. Without hurry or escalation they remained covered beneath the sheets, searching in the heat of the bed until the aspirations of all three were appeased. Sleep drifted back and peace washed over them like the sea. Byron continued to smile in his sleep. The next Byron knew was the impact of a pillow being flung in his face and a showered and dressed Flower and Candy stood at the side of the bed. You need to be an actual movie star before they allow you to turn up late for shooting. Grinned Flower. Come on, time to get up. Byron grinned insults at them to leave him in bed. For if he knew being a movie star was going to upset his sleeping, he wouldnt have agreed to sign up. He attempted to turn away from them and wrap himself in a cocoon of linen. He then braced himself for the impact, and surely enough two light figures threw themselves on his shrouded form. Come on, up. Shouted Candy between vigorous shakes of his body. The deceased leap from the bed and pulled the sheets clear of his unvarnished form. The protests were futile and he allowed himself to be dragged from the warmth and hurled into the shower alone. The bar of soap, impacting sharply with his head, was his only company.

The relationship between the sequence of filming and the storyline was the first
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disillusionment Byron was to discover in the chaotic organisation of making 120 minutes of movie. Why you start at the end of a story and progress to the start with the final days of the middle at the end, or some elaborate combination of the three, Byron could not fathom, how do you make a story without a structure, and make it believable? Youre in love with the girl but in fact you had only spent two days of filming with the attractive stranger. And how much celluloid did it actually take for 120 minutes of movie? Was somebody tarring an airfield with it? Both Candy and Flower revelled in the experience, describing it as like swimming with killer whales whilst dressed in a seal costume during the wrong time of the lunar cycle, hallucinogenics, all round bar keep and the horse will have a beer. To which Byron stared blankly, feeling an ever-smaller part of an attendance not required big picture. His head swam with scripted words that made him into somebody else. But this was the first day, it was a scene from the civil war lifetime, to be placed somewhere in the first half of the film. A soldier is chased into a township by the pursuing army, turning his capture and death into something of a sport, with money riding on his head. Stealing clothes he takes refuge in a house of ill repute. And whilst hiding in one the perfumed bedrooms, she comes in, begins to wash herself at a small vanity table. He is scripted to be mesmerised, identifying himself and turning his back in politeness before her pale skin becomes too exposed. His manners are maintained and they talk briefly, she taunting him with comfortable jokes at his courtesy. Outside the soldiers stand before the building, the sergeant making some declaration of a profanity to the God fearing gentleness of the town folk before he orders the house to be burnt to ground, all occupants inside, before the cheers of the gentle townspeople. Inside the girl sits beside him, her hand holding his, contemplations of touching lips should appear on their faces, but before they can kiss the house is alight and a flaming bottle crashes through the window burning them to death.

The location of the first scene was somewhere in the south of America. It had been cheaper, and less time consuming, to use a previously constructed set. Byron would
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recognise the set from the movie immediately, but slightly disappointed said later, that it had looked a lot smaller than when he saw it on film. The travel time to the set was non-existent for them and the route from their home in England to work in America was cunningly disguised as their back door. There were a hundred and something people on the set, running and preparing whatever it was that should have been ran or prepared. No one noticed their arrival and they walked about the set for nearly twenty minutes before someone connected with the director found them. His face red from the stress his doctor had told him to avoid he huffed and puffed them into the make up and costume caravans. An hour of preening and decorating later they were shown to their trailer and asked to wait until called. Candy and Flower were scripted as background extras: girls of loose morals, much to Byrons amusement. On the way to the trailer Byron dropped back from Flower and Candy, indicating that they should go on as he took the opportunity to say hello to his leading lady through the door of her own almost identical trailer retreat, stood only a few dozen yards from his. In between her personal assistants flurry of protectoral organising, obtaining everything from bottled water to promotional dates and diaries. She noticed him hanging in the doorway and leaning in to the trailer, hoping to be seen yet, too polite to interrupt. Byron, come in, come in. She beckoned smiling with natural ease at his somewhat surprised face. She busied herself at the trailers kitchen counter and poured him a glass of a substance that had once been orange juice. She too was in costume, or half dressed which may have been her costume. The whale-boned corset over the white cotton undershirt, frilled panties and tied up black stockings, classic cowboy movie whore. He grinned as he looked her up and down. With some embarrassment he raised an eyebrow, his mind racing on its own. It is isnt it? The actress laughed back. Shit, Byron thought, had he said that aloud? He began to make excuses, apologising bashfully but only succeeded in making the actress laugh harder. Undeniably breathtaking, her smile lit her face with honeyed beauty and Byron felt his ribcage thud as his heartbeat quickened. He felt
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embarrassed and a little startled at his bodys reaction to her, he changed the subject. Do we need to run through some lines or something? He asked, aware of the naivety of his question. We can, but I dont think well get to the scene together today, I think Ill be waiting around for most the day whilst you do some of the running, chasing, and hiding scenes. I dont know what you expected, but this isnt a quick process, movie magic is only magic when on a thirty-foot screen. Before that, its waiting around and stuttered flashes of inspirational acting. Byron missed the intentional sarcasm, the actress laughed again. He hadnt expected her to be so real.

The coolest, cutest, cleverest, and classiest actress in Hollywood had turned out to be correct. Most of the long day was taken up with him not speaking, but diving about in the sandy, or dusty, or dirty ground. But finally in the last scene of the day, he was to sit crouched behind the newly manufactured old bed and she had to walk in. The scene was to be filmed in a dusky light, almost dream sequence surreal. It was to be lit to quicken the heart beat and offer a prelude to something that would only happen at the end of the film. Byron was called to the set, a room within the house of ill repute, though actually a large purposely constructed building that belied the magic it was supposed to contain. To his naive surprise only three walls of the room existed, the fourth stood on coasters behind the second wall. The attention to detail, if you closed you ears and placed your back to the cameras, was inspiring. It was decorated in the period, using chipboard and plastic. The remainder of the large building currently housed a dozen onlookers, cameras, and sound people of varying size and shape, it was supposed to increase the intimacy. The director took him to one side and took him thorough the scene briefly before instructing him where to position himself and then calling for silence on the set. The set went quiet on demand, and the man with a vision (worth 5 million dollars in paycheque) called action and the actress took her cue. She walked slowly into the room shutting the door firmly behind her, shutting the world away, she appeared tired and used and Byron felt drawn to her, he
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knew there was a camera on him to record his expression, though acting didnt seem required. His face expressed sympathy, and a desire, also embarrassment as she went to shed her clothes before the mirror. She dropped the shoulders of her cotton vest smoothing a well-used sponge across her neck and cascading droplets of water across her collar bones, to slip gently where gravity demanded it go, her face was saddened and vulnerable. She wiped at the back of her neck easing the fictitious tension held there. Improvisation to Byrons missed cue urged her to place a foot on the porcelain wash stand and began to let the tie from one of her stockings, rolling it gently and slowly down her smooth cream pale leg. Byron sat mesmerised from the corner of the room, he was aware of someone in the background nodding furiously for his cue. Bought out of his stupefaction he almost bounded into action, he stood quickly and immediately turned his back. Im sorry Miss. His accent was perfect. He surprised himself, but had merely drawn on a dead soldier of the time for his elocution lessons. Her face expressed shock and she went to yell out, but was scripted not to. She fell silent her face falling toward compassion and some obvious connection between the two of them. No its alright. She exclaimed, her accent also perfect, she was a good actress. Byron was aware of Flower and Candy watching the scene from behind the cameras, it clarified his mind and the words fell from his mouth as they should have done. There are soldiers looking for me. My name is Captain Jonathan Barnes, I bare you no threat Miss. Please believe me. He gave his best imploring look. An odd look of reality sparked the actresses face, confusion almost, it seemed Byron was a better actor than anyone had given him any credit for, he looked genuinely sincere in a way she had always wanted to see but had given up hope in accordance to her chosen profession. She stuttered slightly but the cameras continued to roll, finding herself once more she continued, Teresa. She said slowly in introduction, holding her hand out delicately to be taken by his. She felt as he did, some form of shock race through her body, the acting was in the eyes and the director had a habit of using multiple cameras for multiple shots at
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the same time. It was his belief that if you were lucky there would always be one good take, but if you failed to get all your angles it would have to be cut and pasted to inferior takes, and he was renowned for re-taking until he got it right. However long that took. Please sit down, She said quietly, her eyes fixed to his. Byron had no idea whether she was acting, he could no longer tell. He felt her eyes search inside him, his ego rejected true feeling and pushed admiration of her acting ability forward as the only rational option. He realised they still held hands as they sat on the edge of the bed, his eyes followed her one bare leg from her toes to her shoulder to her face again. He heard his heart thump in his chest for a second time, and hoped again that she couldnt hear it. Have we met before Captain? She said, pushing the scene ever forward. Byron stared in to her crystal blue eyes, his pause longer than scripted he failed to find his voice for long moments. I dont believe so Miss, Teresa. She interrupted. Teresa. He repeated. Suddenly I feel embarrassed at how you find me Captain. Teresa indicated to her attire and more deeply to her profession, she pulled the shoulders of her cotton vest back to where decency should have them. Byron managed to stutter his lines, his feeling of bashful attraction more honest than Candy or Flower would have liked. No Miss, it is me that should feel embarrassed, I shouldnt have barged in here, I should go. Byron went to stand. No. The actress said more firmly than Candy or Flower would have liked. She kept hold of his hand pulling him back to the bed. Please stay, at least until the soldiers have gone away. The background noise would be edited in later, but at this present time the Captain of the other soldiers would be shouting at his men to light the touches. Somebody on set yelled out the lines, Byron again as scripted, looked up only briefly and toward the window. He
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looked back to the actresses eyes. He indicated to say something but she pressed her finger to his lips, her hand brushing his face, the lead up to the kiss. The cameras rolled and the kiss looked inevitable, the Captain leaned in and Teresa reciprocated, Byron forgot his captaincy, the actress forgot Teresa, and their lips crept slowly toward each other. Byron saw the actress wet her lips quickly with her tongue realising he had done the same, there was not supposed to be a kiss.

The Director, being a good director, either noticed something was up, or got carried away with it all, and scream suddenly at the top of his voice: CUT! Cut! That was perfect, Byron, Kirsten. We will shoot that one again tomorrow, in case I dont have enough shots, and that would be the only reason, that was great, we will have to shot again but that chemistry, you cant capture that again. Guys, girls, Oscars call you. The Director had jumped excitedly to his feet and walked toward them both with is arms outstretched. He embraced them sharply. Good days filming eh? Would you like to see that run back? He asked. No. Both Byron and the actress answered at once. Explicitly negative, neither of them wanted to relive that without thinking on their actions first. The actress glanced briefly at Byron, he returned the look and so was taken by surprised when both Candy and Flower pounced on him from a distance and sent him stumbling backwards, he embraced them both in reaction. That was outstanding Byron honeyface, if we hadnt have seen it scripted it would lead us to think you both meant it. Flower laughed sweetly, throwing a glace toward the actress. Candy took hold of Byrons face and kissed it quickly, stamping their ownership before the slightly bemused Teresa. She looked away and walked off set, not looking back once. The crew murmured about them. Why Byron appeared to be dating both girls would be the gossip and conversation throughout the making of the film. Flower stole his face from Candy and kissed him also. Without noticing Byron began the gossip and back stabbing off the set. Had he noticed, still he wouldnt have cared. He continued to think about the actress, and the acting.
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The three of them retired back to the lavish comfort of the trailer, Byron sat on one of the couches, a strong drink in his hand as the girls dashed to the bathroom to remove their make up and slip into something less. When they returned to him, Byron remained unmoved, and sat motionless staring to a place on the wall that would bear no secrets. His drink had been drained long ago and he held it tightly twirling the glass in his fingers. Flower and Candy stood for long moments before him, dressed in supplied robes emblazoned with the name of the film on the pockets. They looked a little concerned at his lack of acknowledgement, Byrons eyes flicked from the wall to their bare feet, noticing their toes, clenching in apprehension. The bright blue and green delicate nails were enough to break him from his thoughts. His sudden guilt at not acknowledging them flushed him with shame. They were his reason. Should he shut them out now? Come here my deceased angels. He smiled warmly and opened his arms in embrace. Their unconscious expressions of relief cut him deeply for he had never wished to see anything but their smiles light in their faces. The deceased jumped on each of his thighs and buried their faces in his shoulder, ignoring the dust and sand that still encrusted his shirt and neck from the days filming. He squeezed them both tightly. After a long pause, the purposeful imprinting of a feeling in his head, Byron relaxed his embrace slightly. Flower took a deep breath, her words following a small sigh. I dont want to say this but the dead have no more reasons left to lie, you see we never wanted to compete for your love Byron. The lady Death was opposition enough for both of us. We can only offer ourselves She began. The actress may be able to offer you more. Finished Candy hesitantly. Byrons mouth worked before his brain, on this occasion it was attached to his heart. What? You cant mean what I think you mean if you do then its my fault Im sorry. Flower, Candy, you are the only reason I havent gone out of my mind yet. There is no comparison, no competition, there is only you, my loves, my life. I am
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lost in blue and emerald every day and I can think of no other colours Id rather be. If you close your eyes I want to be in there. I He paused, he had said it before and would say it again, and every time he would have this trouble. For his life had been empty of the emotion for so long, the words cut his tongue with a strangers knife each time he spoke them. I love you. The deceased girls smiled. Byron was not a man brimming with words for every occasion, but each word he had spoken, they had found to be true. Candy leant up from his shoulder and reached to the counter beside them, she grabbed the make up remover and a bundle of cotton wool. She broke the tension like only she could. We not going to have sex with you with that stuff on your face, the dirt in your pores, yeuuck not worth thinking about. She grinned back at him. So, He said dryly. Youre going to have sex with me? Dirty sex. Whispered Flower as she grabbed a handful of cotton wool from candy and they both proceeded in covering his face in pink baby lotion, scrubbing and fighting against his protesting arms. By the time the actress got to his trailer door the sounds of giggling and laughter were loud enough to hear from outside. On hearing them the actress hesitantly stopped her hand from knocking, her expression falling slightly at the sounds coming from inside. She had wanted to talk to him, she knew that the three of them had a relationship. On her various meetings with the production team, all had included the girls called Flower and Candy. But they couldnt be old enough for this sort of job, co- producing a film? She had been acting since a child and she had never met them or heard of them. The actress had to admit to herself that she liked them, they were hard not to like, but Byron? On first meeting him she was taken by his shyness, he was not the jumped up egomaniac that she had conditioned herself to expect from everybody else in this town of tinsel. That way you could never be disappointed. She had been disappointed before, at an age when it stuck in your heart like a knife of betrayal formed from kind words. It would not happen to her again. But Byron seemed different, should she ignore the connection
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between them? Of course she should, acting was lying and lying well, maybe he was just better at it than people had given him credit for. But his eyesthose strange, almost unseeable, eyes. Grey, she thought, or dark green. Anyway, she just wanted to tell him she would see him tomorrow, and just satisfy herself than the connection was on celluloid only. But the sounds from inside the trailer her curiosity took control of her conduct and she crept around the side of the trailer and to one of the windows, away from the prying eyes of the rest of set. Which one of them is he seeing? She whispered to herself. She tiptoed in sandal covered feet, slipping her sunglasses to the top of her head, a small smile playing on her lips. There was a big enough gap between the blinds and the sill of the trailer, the actress was just tall enough to be able to peek in on tip toes, her hands balancing her against the fibreglass shell. The actress smile disappeared suddenly. The teenagers eyes widened, her full expressive mouth fell open. She dropped to the balls of her feet. Looking away, her expression indicated a feeling of slight disbelief. She returned to tip toe, just to be sure and looked through the small gap once more, staying there for long, long moments.

Naked and unaware of an audience Candy remained on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at Byron. Also unaware of the voyeur Byron remained behind her, and Flower remained sitting on Candys back melodiously wriggling and kissing Byron with a passion beyond her years. Or representational of her years, unjaded.

The actress dropped back to the soles of her feet and walked slowly away, not noticing if anyone saw her emerge from behind the trailer, and with her preoccupied and racing mind, really not caring. She felt shocked, but not appalled. Bemused and, despite herself, a little more attracted to the stranger Byron than before. The only emotion left was a smile, and the actress walked to the makeshift parking lot laughing out loud.

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The trouble with sunflowers

The closing weeks of filming were at a location somewhere in New Zealand. They were filming the first and last scenes there. Required of Byron was a sex scene, a drowning, and possibly the most bold use of his gift to date. The last scene was first, obviously. The sinking ship. The ship itself would be added in postproduction using the latest computer graphics. Byron would ensure later that its addition would be completed well before schedule. Byron had already taken the special effects team to one side, they had been instructed to go along with whatever he said, and they would be compensated and be given the credit for the end result, and there would be credit. He was again marvelled by the scale of this small production, again awed at the illusions of film. The end product was usually spectacular, but the actual creation of film was something else. The end scene required rain, and a machine on floated scaffolding that looked like a precarious insect of multi limbed instability was bought in to rain on cue. The sheer scale of this savage looking beast was a triumph of engineering and the many faceted use of duck tape. Further harness equipment was bought in and placed at the top of the cliff. The concept of which was to pull both Byron and the young actress from the ocean, at controlled speed, to grip the cliff ledge and give the finale its stature in one smooth shot. The wires to be used were called invisible, they were not however worthy of such a description. Byron, by now very much a part of the filming, gave the technical effects department an ultimatum. They were not to use any wires, Byron would take care of the leap himself, not much of an ultimatum, more a demand. After some small persuasion the bemused effects team unanimously decided they would be more than happy to accept. They were to get the credit after all. The harness was fitted to the actress, attaching her by clips
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and hooks to Byron and binding them uncomfortably close together. With some small charade the non-existent wires were fitted to Byron also, the rescue divers were in place and the scene slowly commenced.

The clever young actress looked to Byron, the connection by the failsafe harness bonded them together tightly at the pelvis. It was an attachment that had briefly indicated to the actress Byrons true feelings toward her. As he unfortunately, and most uncontrollably, nudged at her pelvic bone with a face more crimson than blood. She had dined with Byron, Flower, and Candy a number of times throughout the filming over the last few months, and had caught them by determination and fore planning through the window of the trailers a few times more. She had become close to the two girls, or as close as she believed they would allow, for they always seemed to have this special little secret between them. One that she knew she would never learn, and it wasnt that they were both the Byrons lovers. It annoyed her to be excluded. Herself and the girls were around the same age, so she understood. It had made a pleasant change having people her own age on set and not being scripted kissing older men or playing a chaste young virgin, surrounded by her peers in every direction. But Byron, this strange looking man boy intrigued her. He was always quiet at their dinners, in some sort of contemplation almost. She had caught him sometimes looking at her as if she was something he had never seen before, something different from him. A complementary opinion she hoped to assume, but it drew her to him by keeping her away. She would have to be half-naked before this man-boy in the next few weeks, and the prospect excited and terrified her. And the appalling scar on his arm, where had it come from? Did it have anything to do with his demeanour now? Her thoughts were interrupted by the familiar bellow of action and her mind became full of trepidation as she took a deep breath was pulled beneath the water with Byron for the forth time that morning. There had been three drenching practises as they were bobbed from just beneath the surface to above it, and this was the first take. She was freezing and the thin wet suit she wore beneath her clothes
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was beginning to lose its warmth. She clung harder, as scripted, to the surprisingly not insubstantial form of Byron. She hated this part, the force of the wrench from the water, someone would be sued if she couldnt bare children she joked to herself. It was the first full take of the leap from the bay to the cliff ledge and she hoped to god this new invisible wire was as good as the effects team claimed. She closed her eyes squeezing the skin toned peg tighter to her nose, and all of a sudden she was yanked from the ocean beneath her. The scream from Byron No was supposed to be dubbed later but as the water cascaded from her terrified body the sheer volume of it in her ears was phenomenal, she believed it might be heard for miles. Unseen around her each member of the film crew was equally shocked, more so considering their distance. Each of them jumped and tensed, feeling a crawl of uncomfortable fright on the backs of their necks. Even Flower and Candy watching from one of the rescue boats in the bay tensed slightly. More in surprise at the volume from their quiet Byron however, than the unnerving pain in his voice. The soaking wet, but still beautiful actress kept her eyes tightly closed and she wondered briefly why she hadnt agreed with the lawyers on this one, and let the stunt doubles take over. Perhaps she had been looking forward to being this close to Byron a little too much, perhaps she was a little too competitive when Byron said he would do the stunt himself - she felt she must also. The power of the winch above her propelled them exactly to the cliff ledge twenty-five feet above them with perfect precision. And then they stopped suddenly, through the small squint of her closed eyes she saw Byrons arm reach upwards and grab the ledge. His other arm was wrapped around her in such a protective way that if she had had the nerve to look down it wouldnt have upset her quite as much as it should. She heard the distant mutterings from the winch crew above them, in hushed whispers they were exclaiming expletives as if they were going out of fashion, but she could not hear clearly why. The director yelled above the rain machine CUT. The harness attaching them stopped them filming the crawl on to the ledge, this had been done on a film stage earlier. She felt the harness pull again and lift them to the safety of solid ground at the top of the cliff. The chattering
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of the actress teeth stopped her asking why the winch crew didnt run toward them and help pull them to safety, the blue of her lips didnt question why they actually seemed apprehensive to approach the two of them. Byron carefully bent the laws of physics back to where he found them and placed them gently on the cliff top, ten feet from the edge. To him, he had simply persuaded gravity that it should not include them temporarily, and who was gravity to argue with such power? Byrons reality was more pliable than most other peoples. Flower nudged Candys arm on the boat they had been watching from, and nodded toward the small shape of Byron on the cliff top. Cool. She stated, smiling widely. Do you think he could teach us to do that? Candy grinned back. Ever made love on the ceiling? She whispered between giggles.

The shot was filmed only twice more, for the sake of the producers failing heart, and the ever paling faces of the insurance company representatives. The actress was surprised at the creeping feeling of disappointment when they were finally deattached from each other, and just before the crew came to unfasten them in their slow wary way, she took her chance. Byron, Ive enjoyed working with you, in case I dont get a chance again I just wanted you to know this. Ive had a blast, and as shy as you are, I wonder what it would have been like had you not been attached, you know, to the girls. Byron remained quiet but his face gave away the shock he felt at her correct conclusion of his relationship status. Because of his reaction the beautiful actress could not resist the playful urge to push her own hips into his, brushing them purposefully against him. She was rewarded with a blush and a familiar pressure at her navel. She could not help but blush herself, and quickly turned her head to face the crew as they finally reached them, and cautiously unattached them. Byron continued to stare at her, his mind a place of mounting lascivious thoughts.

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True to their word the special effects team would never speak of what happened that day, they didnt understand how, nor did they want to know.

The following, day before shooting started, Byron followed the Actress back to her trailer after make-up. It was early, too early for Flower and Candy that morning. He had left them in bed at the expensively rented hotel rooms provided for the film cast and higher paid crew. They had taken to staying near set to avoid unanswerable questions regarding their travel to and from work. They would come along later, they were not in any scenes that day, but had not missed a days shooting yet. They had arrived late a number of times however, and therefore it was no surprise to anyone they had not accompanied Byron to the set today. It did however surprise Byron as he sat across from the actress in her trailer with no other person around, the door to the trailer shut, only a few crew outside, busying themselves with setting up for the early start. So Started Byron in the way of uncomfortable small talk, Are you looking forward to todays shooting? Suddenly he closed his eyes and slapped his head in deep embarrassment. Today was part of the sex scene by the stream. The actress would be half-naked before him, and they would kiss, deeply, and Byron realised how egocentric he could sound. Luckily he heard the actress laugh from behind his tightly closed eyelids. What ever can you mean Mr Diaeh? She laughed again, not succeeding in putting him at his ease. Byron slowly opened his eyes. Its nothing to worry about, honestly. Ill let you in to a secret: I have to wear these to stop the camera from filming bits of my chest that it shouldnt. The actress innocently pulled up her t-shirt to reveal a naked chest except for two round stickyplaster devices placed discretely over her nipples. Ive had to wear them before, and that was a crowd scene. I was in front of over twenty extras they had recruited for the scene, and there was me apparently showing my puppies to all and sundry. It doesnt cover much obviously, but youd be
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surprised whats in a nipple. Byron could not help his jaw, it had fallen open and was not going to shut easily. The actress realised she still had her t-shirt raised to her neck and bought it down quickly. She attempted to make amends. Well youll be prepared for later anyway. And thats good, you dont want to look like that on film, not in front of the crew, it might prove to be a little embarrassing for you. And not for you? Byron managed to stutter, glad to be able to move his mouth again. Ive told you Ive done it before. This is one profession that it doesnt pay to be too shy with your body. Youre a product in this business, and its an early lesson that you must begin to draw your own lines or risk being exploited. For instance I wouldnt turn to the camera butt naked and say this is me take a look. But when a script calls for what I think is tasteful and its part of the character Im playing then yeah Ill do it. These plaster things stop the camera seeing what it shouldnt anyway, itll ruin the shot to see two light grey discs swinging from my chest, and therefore they will do everything they can not to shot it. She paused. It seems to me Byron that you have a lot to learn about this business. You can say that again, Byron answered. Is there a guide book or instruction manual to it? He asked flippantly. To being an actor? No. But to being famous, or relatively so in the great celluloid scheme of things, yes there is. She answered with mock sincerity. One of the rules is never to enter into personal correspondence with your fans, should you want to or not. Assume psychosis and you wont be disappointed is how my agent put it. Which is pretty ironic really, considering the movie-going fans are the ones that put you where you are. Another is trust no one that says youre the next Merryl Streep or the next Tom Cruise, theyre being paid to tell you that, should your film crash out, or for actresses your weight fluctuate more than it should, there will always be another next Merryl Streep or Tom Cruise. The actress answered a little more bitterly than perhaps she would have liked.
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But youll find this out Byron, your going to be famous my boy, and Im not being paid to say that. She smiled dryly. Sounds great. Byron managed to answer sarcastically. Fame is a fickle thing anyway, its worth remembering that what is in demand today is but buy one get one free tomorrow. The actress looked the to floor and wondered again if the highs eclipsed the lows in the way she had wished them to, before fame made her privacy public. The actress went behind the counter to fix them some drinks, she flicked on the small stereo on the counter and the C.D. spun into action, with a soft voice singing something about games that were foolish. Byron was not sure what the trigger was, it could have been the vulnerability the Actress had showed to him in her answers, his need to protect ever present in his mind. It might have been they way she smiled at him from the counter with an openness that had been absent in his life, and that he had only ever seen in Flower and Candy. Or it might simply have been the actresss impromptu flash and the smoothness of her skin in Byrons eyes. Whatever it was he avoided the part of the brain that held consequences and thinking and sought out her thoughts. He waited for her to look up at him, making the connection. Silently she came from around the counter to where Byron now stood and without pause or hesitation in the one movement she kissed him. Her lips were soft, her tongue forceful as it sought his, she tasted of fresh fruit to him and the sensation overwhelmed all his other senses, it had started and it could not stop. They embraced each other tightly, aware of nothing but the sensation of touch. Self-servingly forgotten and at the back of Byrons mind was his continual incitement of her actions, he had not pushed that hard, her feelings were already there but restrained by consequence and reason. They kissed for an age, hands and finger tips exploring the shape of their bodies through their clothes, lips pushing harder against each other, with abandon and urgency. The actress pulled away her eyes locked on Byron, for a moment he thought the connection was lost, but as she pulled her T-shirt free of her body in one fluid motion he knew otherwise. She made a small playful act of removing the plasters and they came off in two sharp movements,
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briefly the actress showed elaborated pain on her face forcing Byron to smile. Indeed he was keeping the momentum of desire between them but her actions were her own. Mostly. She pulled Byron from his top and squeezed her naked chest against his, as she sought out his lips once more. A dam had been breached from which appetite cascaded. He felt her lips leave his once more but his sigh turned to gasp as he felt them edge down his body kissing his chest, navel, and on release of his trousers, below his navel. The actress pulled him to the floor his back resting against the counter. She turned her kneeling body toward him and took his hand, placing it gently between her thighs, moving him to search beneath the material of her open shorts, she moved his hand in rhythmic symmetry to her own unique motion. To Byron Heaven was at the corner of Hell and Hades. The eventual ascension of their caresses and their temporary disregard for morality came to them with spasms of equal bliss for both. Unfortunately not thinking ahead and certainly not of consequences, Byron had miscalculated the energy required to incite the actress present, but well guarded, feelings. Not thinking of the consequences that the relaxation of such control would inspire.

The actress froze suddenly.

Without moving from her position, desperate not to make eye contact with him, she whispered quietly, to herself maybe, but Byron began to drown in guilt. Shit. What have I done, why have I Where the hell did that come from? The actress moved quickly scrambling away from Byron grabbing her T-shirt as she disappeared around the edge of the counter. Byron sat motionless, staring at the blank space she once occupied. Then, in actions as quick as the actress, he pulled up his trousers and grabbed his long sleeved T-shirt from the sofa it had been flung to: Dressing quicker than he had done in his life. He continued to hear her curse herself from behind the counter. Standing slowly, his eyes wide open in apprehension; he leant carefully over the top of the counter to see her. She was fussing with the
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buttons to her shorts, her frustration turning to anger, her anger fuelling frustration. All Byron could offer was: Im sorry, I didnt mean to No, no, its not you, The actress quickly interrupted. It must have been me, I lost it. Granted you should have turned me down, but Flower, Candy, what have I done? Were suppose to film this morning, shit, shit. Not once did the beautiful actress turn and face Byron. Why didnt you stop me? No, dont answer that. I dont know what came over me I had control over what I felt. Things like that shouldnt have happened. Shouldnt have happened. She began to ramble, making apologises to the absent Flower and Candy, questioning again why it had happened. Byron could only remain silent, his remorse had come a little too late. Yet he knew truthfully his regret if it had not happened would have been as great. The actresss ramble was becoming hysterical, the conflicting emotions in her head and the confusion of the unanswered why. Between his concern and guilt Byron began to race to his own assumptions, it must have been his manipulation of her actions, tapping into the feelings that she was unwilling to display. It had caused her sharp mind to race futilely for solutions that it could never grasp, he had tampered with her soul, and this was causing the quickly ascending stress in her voice. He thought on, Emily had believed she was alone, her actions had not been against her character. The actress however, knew her mind, knew something was not right, but would never figure out what. Mounting guilt led Byron to a conclusion that he regretted before he acted on it, and not entirely because it meant interfering with her thoughts once more. He had to persuade her racing mind that the kiss and all that followed had been a dream only, a dream she had actually had the night before. It meant he didnt have to mess with her memory to the extent of erasing, just rearrange for it where their liaison had happened, dreams were safe, you can dream without consequence. However, part of the regret that he felt was the regret that he tried to banish, that had been pushed and hidden in the deep recesses of his mind. Yet still it announced loudly and without burden that simply, he wanted her
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to remember. He selfishly wanted the moment they shared to be remembered by them both, now it would only be his. For the actress it would cause but a wry smile as she dwelled upon what she dreamt of last night.

Byron altered it before he could change his own mind. The actress became quiet, and picked herself up from the floor, animation was absent from her face, as if directed she stood up placing her hands around the Jug of fresh orange juice and an iced glass. Byron whispered action beneath his breath, his voice and his heart heavy. Sorry, lost it there for a moment She beamed at him, Just remembering a dream I had last night, one of those vivid technicolor dreams where every sense is touched. It just stays fresh in your mind for the whole day. The actress blushed briefly and began to pour the orange juice; her eyes focused on the task as she waited for her cheeks to freshen to natural colour. What was it about? Byron asked with neither tone nor malice. I cant tell you. You were there though. Flirtatiously she smiled wryly, but then gave in to the rising giggle in her throat. She drank down the glass of orange, quickly washing taste to meet memory in last nights dream. Byron smiled back, his eyes stinging with threatening tears.

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The Jewel, the kiss, and the naked girl

The sex scene, despite the obvious reference to sex, turned out to be as far from erotic to film as possible. Less crew on location meant slower completion time, and Byron unfortunately was not as dedicated as he should have been to the filming that morning. They were scripted to kiss deeply, a scene the actress had secretly been looking forward to, especially after last nights dream. But it seemed much to the actress hurt that Byrons mind was not on the scene. Flower and Candy had turned up by then, and watched from behind the camera, they looked to each other in some small confusion and believed it was their presence that was causing Byrons mind to wander away from his job. The scene was set in ancient Greece, the part of Greece that looks like New Zealand. Byrons odd skirt type apparel and period leather tied sandals were not altogether to his liking, and he had had to fight hard to keep some kind of underwear on beneath it. Even the actresss quiet whisper to his ear that she was not actually wearing any beneath her white cotton robe failed to pull Byrons attention to the scene. He had shared something with her that she would never share back and his melancholy was threatening the filming. Candy took matters in to her own hands, and in the recess between take twenty three and take twenty four she strode toward Byron, failing to notice his visible flinch as he assumed, in guilt, that she would hit him. Whats up? She asked quietly pulling him to one side and up out of shot on the grassy bank of the stream. Is it because Flower and I are here? Its ok. Its just acting, you can enjoy it you know. But you also know that Flower and I will kill you if you enjoy it too much. Byron went pale, Candy laughed at him. I was only joking my darling. My you are a little tense this morning. Look I have an idea, what youre trying to do is this. Candy quickly stood on tiptoes and cupped
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the sides of his face in her hands enabling her to pull him forcefully toward her. She kissed him passionately, true passion, searching for his tongue she felt his arms wrap obediently around her holding her tighter and tighter, recovering quickly from his initial shook he gladly kissed her back. After long moments she pushed his lips abruptly away from hers and answered simply; There thats what youre trying to do. Shes a pretty girl, we like her and we are never going to ask you to do this again. But if you dont kiss her what we did just then wont be happening for a long while. So kiss her damn you. Candy smiled sweetly and turned away from him in one swift action, walking toward a muchamused Flower waiting for her behind the camera. Beside them the crew looked knowingly to each other; so it was the one called Candy that he was seeing, it had been a matter of gossip and speculation since the beginning of filming, and some of them would now win money on the answer. Byron turned to the actress who had found the whole show quite entertaining. Ok, He said turning to the director, Action. He walked toward the actress with purpose. He could do this, if he could just get over himself and do it. This was, after all, a memory they could both legitimately share. The cameras began to roll as they got into position. They walked toward the stream, sharing a scripted lovers joke as they did so. They sat as before at the streams edge and the actress dipped her toes, again, into the cool water. The kissThe smiles subsided and their eyes opened wider, their lips were anxiously wetted in synchronicity. Slowly they leant into each other, consuming the moment as intensely as they could. Softly they kissed at first, but then with growing passion. Byron felt her mouth against his and relished in the freedom of truth wrapped in the lie of film. He was taken aback briefly by the force the actress was returning his kiss, she too had been keeping something back from the previous takes, and it seemed as if the background disappeared and only the two of them remained. The camera callously and noisily pulled closer to them bringing them prematurely back to the scene in hand, on cue Byron unattached the actresss white cotton robe at the shoulder clasps, baring the curve of her spine to the whirling lens.
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The shot pulled around, filming them from the side as they continued to kiss. They moved gently in accordance to precise instruction and lay together against the cool grass. The beautiful actress paused briefly, pulling the kiss away from him slightly to alter her position. She smiled widely at him as she climbed against his chest, her half nakedness pressing tightly to his skin, he could feel the plasters. Byron could not help but smile back. He moved his arms about her, feeling the smoothness of her bared skin as they returned to the kiss. They were interrupted in their caress with infallible timing and perfectly on accursed cue: The goddess and her son kicked them into the stream to drown. The cold water was a blessing.

After shooting a further take with equal passion the director thought it wise to wrap it up for lunch. The actress dressed quickly, and despite herself was surprised when Flower and Candy came over to invite her to join them for lunch. She accepted with pleasure but excused herself for the moment, needing to dry up first. As she walked away the deceased smiles evaporated with disquieting speed and both Flower and Candy approached Byron with faces of stone. They stopped just a few inches away from him, each of them choosing an arm to slap. Just remember my love, it is only acting. Flower muttered under her breath. Byron opened his mouth like a goldfish and they could not keep the pretence up. Both deceased girls broke in to streams of laughter. Ahh, my darling, dont worry, youre just a better actor than you thought. Flower could not help her laughter at him, it would always amuse her that the older man seemed at times the younger child in their bizarre but perfect relationship. She took his face the same way Candy had and kissed him just as deeply. As she pulled away from him she grinned: That is the difference to real life and acting poppet. Just remember which is which. She grabbed his hand and led him back to the trailer in the next field. Candy caught hold of his other hand, trying to stifle further giggles at Byrons silent and pale face. Behind them some of the crew just looked at each other.
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Bastard. One of them uttered to his friend.

Ten days later the filming was over and Byron would only shoot two further takes of the kiss the day after. His unhappiness at the lack of time given to further takes of the kiss, a pivotal moment in the film in his opinion, would be kept discreet. As discreet as the pleasure the Actress had felt, when his arms had been around her, and when his tongue had been in her mouth.

At the after film party Byron was asked by Flower and Candy how he thought it had all gone. He looked at their delicate features, at their honey-coated bodies barely, but beautifully, wrapped in the dresses they wore, and he answered them as truthfully as his mind would allow. Im glad its over.

At the same party, in the last moments they would share alone together, the clever Actress asked Byron the same question. He looked upon her angelic face, seeing not for the first time her soul bared open in her liquid blue eyes. Engraving this memory in his mind he held her body in his eyes noticing not for the first time the apprehension in the curl of her small painted toes. He answered as truthfully as his mind would allow. I liked kissing you. She smiled and said softly; I liked kissing you too. He knew she was thinking of that dream as she said it, he saw her thoughts fall from her mind through her smile. She laughed and Byron managed to grin back at her, his unrequited desire for her gnawed at his bones with the frustration he felt at his power. Why have it at all, if he was cursed with what could only be called a conscience? He undeservingly returned to his reasons for breathing. Flower and Candy received him with open arms, their rule for being careful with shows of affection on set, being thrown away with consequenceless
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abandon, each of them hung from him like eager children. They were happy, they had just made a film, a feat most girls their age could only dream of. And they were both sleeping with the leading man. They were proud of their idea, they were proud that they had seen it through, they were proud of the agonisingly shy Byron. Perhaps they had been the most mature in attitude on the set, the film was still business, but the child in them was continually awed by the whole process. They had made a film. And if they knew anything else, they had decided not to speak of it.

Byrons first autograph was given in the first week the film had come out, it said To Mary, thank you for watching the film, Byron. He would always remember it, it was the snow flake that became the avalanche. The film was an immediate box office success in the country of Byrons birth and the country of the Actress birth. It was party to critical acclaim from both the audience and the industry itself. Byron began to get offers for other films in daily doses. It seemed that when you were in favour, you really were in favour. As a late entry into the Oscars, the film was nominated three times, best actress in a leading role, best special effects, and of course best actor in a leading role. Noticeable by its absence was best picture but Byron had decided a while ago only to meddle in his own affairs. The accompanying notoriety was not all to Byrons taste, he found himself the wipe rag for the chip wrapping newspapers, his personal life was investigated, from the first story regarding the scar, reputedly from some cult worship so diverse it became almost amusing. Almost. His disruptive childhood was investigated, and when that failed, made up. After this story he had decided to speak quietly to the journalists involved. He suggested politely to them that they might want to pursue other, more deserving, stories. Unsurprisingly not another word that was not a direct quote was ever printed again and his life, from that moment on, was merely described as private.

Games of the foolish are often the most self-destructive games to play. With these words as far from his mind as they could possibly be, he attended the World Famous
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Oscar night: On invitation with Flower and Candy, and an unprofessional smile the size of Kansas.

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The road to Hollywood is paved with morality of the masses, the sidewalks are paved with their depravity.

The saying its no fun being dead certainly did not apply to either of the angelic deceased. Flower and Candy had anticipated the big day with ascending fanfares of excited squeaks. They had had the day marked on the calendar with huge circles of various shades of red lipstick since the nominations had been announced. That the nominations, or at least one of them, was a predetermined conclusion did not stop them leaping in glee when the announcement was made. The other two surprise nominations had not been tampered with, and it provided the deceased with a bottomless reservoir of pride. An outside confirmation of self-worth, although reputedly unnecessary, is always nice to receive. A further unforeseen consequence, but a cause of much delight, was that clothing designers had been calling over the last few weeks. Caught up in the whirlwind of hype and publicity, generated promises of the most accumulated airtime. They offered a barrage of one-off outfits for their approval, for free, and these were not your high street designers. Much to Byrons disgust he was picked a suit by his young lovers and was threatened with bodily harm should he not wear it on the night. He was not even allowed to wear his broken-in boots, and specifically ignored the comments that they had been broken-in several years earlier and that now they were just broke. Despite this Byrons happiness was a reflection of Flowers and Candys, he resonated their smiles within himself as if it was the warmth of life blood itself.

Are you excited? beamed Flower as she untied her robe and stood naked before him the morning of the big day. Her hair and make up had been done professionally, by an outrageously expensive and exclusive stylist. Also supplied for free. Byron disliked having to stay over in LA. He did not see why they could not just have travelled from home. The ever-realistic deceased had told him again and again about raising unneeded suspicion. They maintained that as professionally plastic as this
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town was the excitement in the air on Oscar day was a life smiling experience in itself. They wanted to be near the industry people. Translate that into the famous and you had some of your answer. But who would blame them, they were not watching from the side lines any more, they were there, they had invites. These had been surreptitiously produced and checked at least twenty times already that morning, just to make sure. Youre at the Oscars my darling, its our day. Candy suggested with a smile, reading only Byrons expressionless expression of melancholy, as she disrobed with Flower. The two deceased girls stood naked before him. He had seen them this way a hundred and more times before, but never had they looked to him as they did now. Their beauty was undeniable, but it wasnt that, they looked as if they didnt need him as much as he needed them any more. It bothered him, and filled him with pride. He sat up from the bed easing himself slowly to the edge, the girls smiled slyly as they each watched his progress from the corner of their eyes. He stood up quietly letting the bed sheets fall silently from his waist and sneaked up behind them both, his hands reached for them caressing the shapes of their backs before easing his fingers nonchalantly around their bodies to cup their youth inspired and gravity denying breasts. And weve just spent two hours getting our hair and make up done for you to drag us over the bed backwards? Candy protested, pulling away. We dont think so. Laughed Flower, retreating to the same safe distance as Candy. They turned to face his obvious frustration, and made sounds of pity as it twitched expectantly before them. Flower and Candy could not resist laughing at the poor dejected soul before them, his smile playing on his lips as he feigned a hurt expression of rejection. Slowly turning toward each other but keeping their eyes on him at all times, they kissed each other seductively. Winding Byron up was a passtime of infinite pleasure. Right thats it! Byron declared, as he gave chase around the not inexpensive hotel room. Outside the members of the films special effect crew walked past the door
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and, on hearing the excited chase behind the door, could only manage to utter: Bastard.

Sex was refused: He was not even allowed to kiss them in case he smudged their lipstick. But they were alright to kiss each other? Protested Byron strongly. Yet still his grin, as he left the hotel room, was of a mouse that had his own key to the cheese cupboard.

Their limousine waited outside for them, it stood in a long snake sleek line of a dozen other limousines that had been provided for a number of the other guests at the Hotel by their respective film companies. The sun was warm and high above them as Flower pulled energetically at Candys arm, pointing with indiscreet discretion at the famous couple beside them that waited for the limousine behind theirs. The Worldknown actor nodded in salutation toward them, Byron responded with an unconcerned nod in reply and waited for the car to pull round. A nod so expressionless you knew it had been practised a hundred times, for even the most melancholy of person was prone to the sneaky type of excitement, that manifests itself without warning as a high pitched and hideously embarrassing squeak in the back of ones throat. Candy and Flower saw no need for such collected disposition, and maintained that excitement such as this didnt jump up a slap you about the face every day of your life, and therefore why the hell should you ignore it? Life, and death, was about freedom. Cage that freedom behind the dictated standards of others and you would never be as free a spirit as you strived to be. To this Byron could only smile, and wonder with some pride filled envy what it felt like to be Flower and Candy.

They were not the first, nor the last guests to arrive, the last places had strategically been taken by the biggest stars, or the biggest egos depending on which way you chose to look at it. The black car pulled up to their destination with creeping grace,
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leaving Byron to stare at the daunting red carpet that loomed before his firmly closed limousine door. He thanked the manufacturer of tinted windows and sweated quietly to himself. He was unaccustomed to feeling as scrutinised and as watched as he felt right now. Fame to Byron was an unsettling and highly reactionary mixture of anonymous adoration and utter hatred balanced precariously on the tip of knife-edge. The knife was held in the criticising hand of your public, your last movie, or last arrest, whichever the more recently acquired. However you perceived it, people were there to cheer you or they were waiting with eager sadism for you to fall on your arse, or on something sharp and rusty, depending on the public concerned. For a young man used to, and happy with, being ignored for the most part of his life, this expensive circus waiting for him (with the patience of a rabid dog) seemed as far from the boyhood dream as it was possible to be. But the problem was that it was also infectious: If you are cheered loud enough you can walk barefoot over broken glass, and it wouldnt even occur to you to question who exactly it was that was kindly laying the glass before your feet. The ambiguous cheering from outside the car mutated inside Byrons head into one big cheer for him, suitably deluded he finally stepped from the car accompanied, and guarded against bolting, by the beautiful Flower and Candy. The limousine drove quietly and quickly away and removed any chance of salvation for Byrons deluded resolve. His briefly obtained fearlessness quickly dissolved. As a result the red carpet stroll that should have lasted long enough to talk to at least half the hundred or so beckoning T.V. crews lining the barriers, lasted a lot shorter than that. Byron would have had his lovers running if it hadnt had been for the shoes they were wearing. The flash bulbs, that twinkled aggressively before his eyes like a bad acid trip, had Byron wishing for the darkness at the end of the light. Righteously annoyed at their forceful shepherd, Candy and Flower promptly debarked from Byrons advancing body and walked defiantly toward the T.V. crews. They were known as the young scriptwriting, cameo role playing, aesthetically appealing, and multi-talented producers, able to get a film moving in record time. Hollywood loved them. And they were damned if they were
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not going to show off their outfits. The infamous red carpet had thankfully filled up sufficiently to let Byron hide between the slow procession of industry folk, someone touched his hand as he protectively peered between the numerous faces and directly at his partners. Hello Byron. It was the actress, her smile easy and unflustered as she beamed at Byron and half a dozen flashing bulbs. Its a zoo isnt it? She asked. Those that are known and those that are unknown except to those that are known. A big mess of ego, money, and slush puppies. The actress kept hold of his hand and covertly caressed the palm of his hand with her thumb, soothing his anxiousness. Im just not really used to this sort of thing. Maybe I suffer a little from shyness. He admitted. No shit. Replied the actress sarcastically, smiling in jest. Come on. She said spying the two girls talking a little sharply to the third film crew who had asked about the name of their dresses and not the film. Candy had just finished explaining that her tits and legs were not what the film was about and therefore why did the male portion of the T.V. crew insist on examining them with such ardouror something along those linesminus the colourful English witticisms, and swearing. The actress pulled Byron by the hand as she deftly swam through the crowds, interrupting and rescuing Flower and Candy with two big kisses and a gentle, but firm, back-turn to the camera crew and a slightly upstaged presenter. Silly fuckers, Cursed Candy, growling with further colourful displays of old English witticisms, before she turned and beamed at the actress. Are you excited then? The actress asked of Flower and Candy, her hand still laid firmly in Byrons. Unlike sour puss there, were loving it. Answered Flower, ribbing Byron at the same time. Her excitement re-emerged, glad for the new set of ears to excite to. You were right its a fever that hits the town and to be involved, its just I know, its great isnt it. This I would have to say, beneath the studio politics and
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all the plastic, is the day that makes all the work worth it. People get awards and tears are shed, and the smiles from most are no longer fake. Candy and Flower turned to Byron and in unison poked their tongues out to say I told you so. Byron bowed in defeat, finally letting a smile pull his mouth upward. Were sitting together because of the film, do you want to go in together? Asked the actress. She had come alone and the deceased were more than happy to have someone they knew with them, someone who didnt mind expressing animation. There you are Byron darling, you can be escorted by three beautiful women surely that must put a smile on your face? Poked Candy. Byron just stuck his tongue out in reply and grinned at them, despite himself. Flower neatly grabbed his spare hand and held it tightly with her small fingers, and as the actress had still not let go of Byrons other hand Candy took hold of hers swinging it playfully. The obliging actress beamed widely. The pictures in a certain paper the next day had the caption beneath the picture: Bastard.

Miss J Peterson had settled down in her rooms at the School, her rug placed neatly over her knees, a teas-maid and a plate of biscuits sat beside her on the small table next to her armchair. At 58, never married and, through a self-dependency bordering on the severe, was not about to meet someone at this stage of life. It was the one of her vices that she took very seriously. Ever since the golden age of cinema she had watched the Oscar ceremonies, and whereas now she didnt necessarily agree with some of the trash the film studios were producing she still could not help getting wrapped up in the pure glamour of it all. The television twinkled into life before her and she smiled warmly at its escapist glow. Cable television was one of the few technological advances she agreed with. The ceremony was live this early in the morning, and wonderfully uncut. She had hours of star filled glamour laid out in front of her and would relish each one. About an hour in to the show all of that changed. No, she thought to herself, it cant be. A few years ago two of her students were knocked down and killed on an unsanctioned absence from their dormitories.
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Not their first after-hours trip, according to facts emerging during the enquiry. Miss Peterson had always been what one might call a strong character, but the incident had pushed her to near breakdown. There followed accusations, calls for her dismissal from the parents of the children involved. The first interest the parents had shown the children in a long time if you asked Miss Peterson. But the School board had stood firmly behind her and she had remained in post, security for the school was of course soon upgraded for the board had to show action of some sort, even if a little late. The incident had left Miss Peterson very upset, she was the one they called to identify the bodies in the first instance. The parents somewhere out of the country, on business or pleasure, she was never sure. But now she saw her two girls, impossibly, on the television screen in front of her. They had been a little unruly at school and her opinion of their academic capability had not been the highest, but they had been her girls, and she had affection for all her girls. Although it took her a while to admit, the school was a little quieter without them there. Not in a good way, she pondered. The sight of the girls small broken and bloodied bodies at the hospital morgue was an image that haunted her to this day. Yet here they were in front of her, impossibly. A young actress Miss Peterson vaguely recognised whisked the girls away from the TV crew as they cursed small but generous expletives. The Schoolmistress stared at the screen for two solid hours without moving, her attention far from the flickering pictures before her. And then she screamed. Two weeks later Miss Peterson was retired. The following short years left of her life were spent alone, only venturing out to attend church, three times a week.

The winners were announced, and surprisingly Byron lost. On the announcement he smiled quietly to himself and clapped the winner loudly, Candy and Flower just looked at him, not disappointed, just surprised. The winner mentioned Byron in his acceptance speech a number of times, Byron simply nodded and smiled in the right places, uncomfortably seeing himself in the large screens to either side of the stage each time his name was mentioned. His yearning for fame had become somewhat
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jaded. Yet, ironically, his fame grew because of his loss and amusing rumours circulated the industry and the papers about vote fixing against the newcomer. Byron disliked forgone conclusions and his power was growing restless within him. Fame had not mattered as much as he thought. Its surprisingly different from how you imagine it.

The actress, however, did pick up her statue, much to the glee of both Flower and Candy, who commenced in standing on their seats and cheering loudly as she walked up to the podium. Again Byrons name was mentioned, with of course both Flower and Candys who ..had provided the support and inspiration for the project, and the most fun she had had on any set. Had Miss Peterson been conscious her suspicions would have been confirmed. Hollywood fell a little deeper in love. The special effects team did not win either, but in the scheme of things they had not really minded, for they knew they were never to be short of work for the rest of their lives. Those that knew the technicality of these effects remained in awe of them. No matter how you filtered and viewed the images, there were no wires to the seen.

The night drew on. They were invited to several parties, and attended every one. Candy had insisted on continuing the search from venue to venue until she found somewhere that at least served a decent pint. After half a dozen they finally found one. A household name from England had flown a supply in, thanks to the advantages of wealth. The actress had opted to stay with them throughout the night. Partly because of Byron, and partly because of the infectious joy, in the face of just about everything, Flower and Candy carried. She indulged somewhat suspiciously in her first pseudo English pint. There is something forever endearing about a girl drinking from a pint glass, the glass rim covering her entire face as she sips in complex and delicate gulps. Candy drank her pint in one, much to the wide-eyed appreciation of the young actress. Flower followed, drinking just half and making her eyes water. Byron solemnly sat to the side of them, he watched them distractedly, his
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chest turning over with a strange yell. He wanted to be here, but he wanted more. Nohe wanted less. His thoughts turned to Death once more, he often thought about her, her smile, her rejection. But more recently as the manufactured infamy took its hold he wondered who he was once more, and why he was. He looked to the eyes of his life as they giggled together, forcibly and politely yanking a passing waiter by the sleeve and asking for a further round, this time with chasers. Their smaller table was to the back of the majestic hotel function suite, decorated for one evening only in brash and fashionably tasteless gold statues. The waiters and waitresses moved like ants through the crowds, supplying the free and abundant inhibition removing nectar to the rich. Ironic that with money, more things become free. All around him voices and faces of the famous, the rich, and the purposely not famous but very rich. It was a surreal setting that did nothing for his humour, it painted his face with a shrouded frown, which whilst expressionless, spoke volumes of his discomfort. He thought of Deaths lips, touching his, her tongue brushing his own. Feeding his heart and rekindling the husk he believed he had into an engorged, brimful, and painful organ. He thought of her hand in his, the sensation of his fingers entwined around hers as if they were their full bodies, heated and entwined in post-climatic sex. His mind ran on, his eyes seeing nothing but his memories and wants, he ignored the rapidly filling ashtray on the table and absently flicked his cigarette butt away from him deep in his own thoughts. The first he realised that the discarded butt had struck someone was the heavy-handed clout to the side of his head. A suited bodyguard, a little over zealous in his duties, now stood beside Byron with a look of malice that came from love of the job a little too much. The small ego inflated film star, the bodyguard was paid to look after, stood behind his eclipsing bulk and sneered at Byron with the smugness of safety. He rubbed his head exaggeratedly. In the seconds that followed Flower and Candy probably yelled, firstly in shock and worry for Byron, and then in a torrid 101 of famous English curses at the guard and his advancing friends, it does not do to have just one bodyguard these days. If there had been time it was debatable whether his deceased lovers would have thrown themselves over the table and begun
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introducing the guards to the undeniable quality of the toes of Italian shoes, especially when placed hard in the bollocks, but there was not time. Byron flinched only slightly at the impact, snapping his head to the side and glaring at the guard through his dark sunglasses. Byrons eyes were darker still than the reflective glass he scowled into. The bodyguard hesitated, not used to his punches being received with quite so little effect. Had the bodyguard not been wearing sunglasses he might have seen the start of a tempestuous storm in Byrons eyes. Closer still and he would have seen something that resembled lightning. But if he had, he wouldnt have seen it for long. With the impact of a train the Bodyguard flew backwards. Knocking some of his companions to the floor on his journey that ended with a thud as he hit the back wall of the room. A comical indentation of a bemused man was left, as he slid down the wall, falling to a slump. As the other guards, the actress, and some other bystanders watched in confused stupor, Flower looked to Candy. They saw the storm and both reached out to grab Byron by the arm, knowing he was not yet finished. Byron did not acknowledge them, nor did he turn to them as they yelped, pulling their hands away sharply as if they had reached for a burning stick. The Actress confusion grew as she saw her friends hands hot and red as they pulled away. No one had seen Byron hit the man, in fact he probably hadnt. Not in the conventional sense. And nobody could explain why the man now clutched his heart in pain, no breath in his lungs to yell, and why the corners of his shielded eyes seemed to be weeping blood. Byron. Flower tried to yell, but he still paid no attention, his eyes were fixed and burning through the other mans heart. The confusion around them increased in volume, to Byrons ears there was silence, broken only by one voice. So Byron babe, can I get you a drink? Everything stopped, Byrons hate, his heart, the silence around them, the unfortunate Bodyguards life. He turned his head slowly, and to the side of their raised table area, leaning nonchalantly against the railing directly beside them, stood Death. Her deep black dress fell over her body, caressing her rather than worn by her. The smooth folds of dark silk hung from delicate straps over her shoulders, the back of the dress plummeted to the base of her
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spine. The cloth fell around her feet gently laying across strapped sandals, painted toes as dark as her dress. Once more sound filtered out of Byrons ears, vision from his eyes, for all but the breathtaking beauty of the lady Death. His eyes stung, glazed with tears, his mouth open and mute, his heart in his eyes obvious to all, the actress, and painfully, the deceased. Death smiled back at him, her lips the meaning of existence. She saw the immediate subservience in his eyes, knew that she could ask anything of him. Tart. She laughed, pulling him away from his iconic worship. Would you like a drink? She asked again, ignoring Flower and Candy who sat with muted anger to Byrons side. Making the insult seem somewhat deeper, Death held her hand out to him, and he took it. Flower and Candy went to say something but slumped back to their seats, not giving her the satisfaction. The actress had a hundred questions but asked none: afraid she would upset her friends and afraid more that her voice might carry some of the jealousy she strangely felt. The whole thing made her uncomfortable, like she was way, way out of a loop she didnt want to be in. There was still something of a commotion going on behind them. She saw the strange woman, who had taken Byron, glance behind her in their direction. The atmosphere changed subtly, perceptible only to herself, and maybe Flower and Candy but they were too busy muttering under their breath to care. The commotion was still a commotion but instead of anger generated toward the disappearing Byron, it altered to confusion and distraction, no one seemed to remember what had actually happened, they still stood around the newly departed, but were uttering sentences of compassion and confusion rather than the previous blame. All this did nothing to the Actress sensibility so she took firm hold of the shot glass in front of her and downed it in one. Had she looked to the side of her, she would have seen that Flower and Candy matched her movements in perfect harmony. Fuck. All three of them whispered in unison.

The beginning of the inevitable end (or) Im too depressed to play in

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the traffic just stick the knife in my hearts dead anyway.

Two lovers sat beside each other on bar stools at a party neither of them should have been at, but then neither of them should really exist at all. Death angel, my love, youve not returned my phone calls. Byron uttered with a jovial sarcasm, the type of sarcasm which is unfortunately too vicious to be taken jovially. He immediately regretted it, negating the point of opening his mouth in the first place. He hated the complications of being alive, speech being one of his top five. Death merely looked at him, reading his regret and passing no judgement. Instead she smiled sweetly and said. Ive missed you. Byrons head, filled with the near omnipotent power of a fraction of Deaths, failed miserably to gauge whether this was meant as truth or retort. I have babe, believe me or not it wont change it. Her eyes looked into his and he saw again the glimpse of his happiness in her arms. Should there be one soul mate, as some people believe, Death (without a soul but collector of infinite) would be his. He knew this, maybe it was the filming hed done, the story of a hundred lives with one journey, maybe he lived in a fictional world where the idea of happy endings was common place and life didnt suck quite so realistically. No offence to the Lady Life of course. He knew only that a kiss would explain the reason, the point, to remind his lungs to keep breathing. She made his eyes sting and he turned away briefly. Death looked at him with the compassion of a lover. No, not a lover, the lover. She leant toward him, pulling his face gently toward her, and kissed him gently: A short, brief kiss of strawberries and euphoria. Byron touched his hand to her face softly, returned the kiss with another pulling away only to smooth her hair over ear tenderly. His eyes leaked a little freely, his smile, a stranger to his face, pulled easily at the corners of his mouth, as something resembling peace swept over his tired heart. Ive missed you too So how have you been, Mr movie star? She interrupted for the sake of conversation. He grinned uncomfortably.
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Yeah well ok. Not using your gift to its life changing potential I guess. I dont know. She said nodding toward the scene behind them. I didnt mean to actually kill. Yes you did, She cut him short. It was his time anyway. It was this way or in a pissing contest between two rival firms later. Dont worry, and dont apologise, there is nothing you can do that cant be undone. Or isnt supposed to happen anyway. She paused Although I admit the two dead groupies were a surprise to me. Byron felt immediately protective, and a little pleased at her badly veiled hints of jealousy. They have kept me alive, or made me alive for the first time, I dont know, but they are my reason since you left me. Death went to interrupt again but Byron continued forcefully. Ok, not left me, just didnt come with me when I asked. And dont say its not the right time again, I dont get that and I dont think I ever will, but I realise Ive waited, been waiting for you. Ive filled my head with distractions but like taxes youre the only definite thing in life, and impossible to forget. You see I have done things, thought things that have made me wonder who the hell I am, what Im capable of. Even that man over there: his name Brant Chanting (also known as the heavy dead guy). I dont actually care hes dead, or that I killed him. I am actually a little disappointed he didnt suffer more. What does that make me, angel? Was I like this before I met you and I just have more power now? Why did you do this to me? Death looked at him quietly, her face showing concern and surprise at his little outburst, had she read him wrong? Why was she so upset for upsetting him? Of course she cared for him, liked him, loved him? Well, he was unlike anyone she had ever met, and the duration of their meetings certainly surpassed anything she was used to. Her sister followed lives, she was there from the beginning, at conception of each life, there at each birth, there through out everyone's brief existence, and she loved each and every one of them, well almost every one. But Deathshe was finality. No one really wanted to see her. She held with her the realisation that she would be there at the end of everything, to turn the light off, close the door, put the
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key under the mat. That kind of realisation is a burden unimaginable, but it was hers. Who would be there at the end of her existence? No one. She knew the way but the company would be nice, and Byron's company, well nicer still. Faltering in her own distractions Byron noticed the glassy touch of tears in her eyes and immediately regretted opening his mouth, though the type of regret that becomes an oxymoron, relieving regret, you shouldn't say, you do say, it had to be said, but it sucks. "I'm sorry.." He started. "No, don't be. I deserved that, the irony of Death getting a reality check. Funny really. Come on, drink your drink." Two glasses, that were not there a second ago, sat in front of them on the bar. Byron sipped his slowly, watching her face with intensity, only fleetingly noticing the drink was quite possibly the best he had ever tasted. Death absently rolled her tongue around the straw in her drink staring into the mirrored bar wall, as she had done a lifetime ago in the place of waiting. Her orange painted lips slightly parted allowing her tongue to flick delicately around the plastic tube. Byron put his drink down, took hers away, pulling her from her thoughts and in the same motion took her in his arms and kissed her deeply. Death responded and after the initial shock, and tingling pleasure, wrapping her arms around him, uncomfortable when static her embrace ran around his frame, searching to kiss deeper and deeper still. The couples arms grabbed at each other, pulling each other closer, pushing each other away just to feel the grab and embrace again, a fire blazed on their tongues as they fell further in to the oblivion of each other. Onlookers became uncomfortable, a commotion of hushed disapproval and jealousy grew in waves, "wheres her hand now? his trousers are unbuttoned is that a nipple? they can't do that here!!" Death's softness was unrivalled as Byron's hand searched wildly for her opening, she parted her thighs slightly and let him in with a soft gasp, running her hand over his, feeling his fingers push deeper inside her, entwined with hers. Death withdrew her fingers and pushed them softly into their kiss, his tongue tasting the sweetest flavour it had ever tasted. She released him from his trousers pulling him to his feet in front of her as she remained seated on the bar stool, wrapping her
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calves around his legs pulling him closer, she touched herself with him, nudging his closeness at her wet opening, his tip feeling the beginning of her warmth as he just parted her lips. And then. the force hit him square in the chest, he was lifted from his feet and thrown back ten feet, the corner railing of a raised dining section breaking his continued aerial display. Aware, after impact, of his unveiled state, he quickly pulled at his trousers, to hide and salvage at least a small part of his dignity. This automatic response delayed his confusion and hurt as to why he was now lying here. He raised his head from the crumpled heap he currently laid in, to see if Death, his love, had suffered the same impact. She sat perfectly arranged and undishevelled upon the bar stool that seconds before she had pulled him to. She looked strange to him, emotionless and still, her eyes that stared at him seemed to be glowing dimly blood red, just perceptible an orange smoke rose gently from them like a fired pistol. The clatter he heard around him, the shock and gasps from onlookers disappeared immediately, obvious by it's sudden silence, and people once more moved around them as if they weren't even there, and as if nothing had happened. Confusion raged around his head, he looked behind him to see where Flower and Candy were, immediately anxious at their reaction to his public show of affection. His unfaithfulness more to the point. He saw them in the distance, they sat unconcerned or unaware of what had just happened and continued with their drinking, looking over every few moments, to check and mutter at the display before them. But on seeing he wasn't there Candy stood up quickly, now an expression of concern and anger showing vividly on her small face. Byron gathered himself up and stood so Candy could see him, perplexed and annoyed she was unsure whether to go to him or not. Not one for being shy she left the table and marched toward him. "So what's going on, what's happened, happening? And what the hell are you doing over here?" Her voice bruised his heart, he touched her face gently, she pulled away, he touched it again, she let him, her face was still angry but concern, despite herself, rose to the surface. "What does she want?" She asked again. Candy caught his hand with hers pulling it
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defiantly from her cheek, but still keeping hold of it, she wanted answers. "To check up on me I think," He lied, or thought he was lying, he didn't actually know why she was there. "What's wrong with you Byron? You look agitated, even a little anxious. You've been distant the last couple of days, you re-arranged the Oscar ceremony so you didn't win, you lose your temper and people are dying. We've always known you're well not you're average human being, Flower and I are dead but not stupid. But you have always retained this compassion, this energy for us. I know you think it's us keeping you going, but believe me, two sixteen year old girls, in a world completely alien to them, they needed you just as much. Need you still." Her voice hushed as she barely whispered, "We love you Byron, you are the biggest pain in our tight little arses, but we do. I love you. Now please can we go now, our actress friend said she'd come home with us. And you never knowshe has got this little thing for you." Candy trailed off looking up toward him with well practised, and very successful, doe eyes. She smiled suggestively, covered in sugar. Byron looked over his shoulder at Death again, still she looked completely devoid of expression, of emotion. She stared back at him a marble cold beauty, her smooth outline seemingly etched out of the background, bringing it forward as if the world was not and was never going to be quite so real as she was. So perfectly lucid. But within his head his cacophony of questions were silenced suddenly by her voice. Strong, but with notes of compassion and apology perfectly audible and perfectly conspicuous within the booming pseudo blankness of her tone. "I'm sorry, this can't happen now, this isn't the right time" Within his own head he immediately returned an answer, a question, a demand. "What the hell do you mean? Is it me? I thought you wanted us as much as I did a few seconds ago. That kiss, it was full of love. Ignited and molten into passion. For each other, not just me, I know that, I felt it. So what the hell do you mean not the right time?" His voice rang in his own head, inwardly deafening as it bounced across his skull. He had spat the question in his reactive fury. Barely perceptible, it still
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pleased him to see Death's face flinch momentarily. Regaining its emotionless stare, she answered his fury with her own. Or rather a half-hearted attempt at displeasure, her inward voice was racked with a feeling of being made to do something against her will. Byron felt it, didn't understand it, but felt it. Still her answer was clear: "You cannot question me, Byron." She advised more as a fact than a demand. "Thisusare not right, not now. We may be soon, even will be soon, but no not now. Don't presume to feel for me Byron, you can love me, I can't stop that, but as to how I feel about you, don't, you couldn't imagine, even with your gift from me, the feelings I am capable of, the knowledge I hold. You are human Byron, I am not. Not now. I will see you soon." Death slid from the stool and walked away. After a few paces she vanished. The image of her, seen leave the building by the rest of the party, didn't look back either. Byron wanted to shout, wanted to cry, wanted to kill something.

He felt the presence of her hand before he remembered her slight frame standing before him waiting for an answer. Byron looked back quickly. Realising, or understanding, at the same time that what had been a conversation for him had only been a few seconds to Candy. Time and the re-clarification of the background slipped back to normal, unnoticed by everyone again except Byron, he had always felt a alone, but never quite as much as he felt it now. "I'll take you home." He said, managing to smile softly at her. With a small eep of glee Candy turned with a bounce and led Byron victoriously back to the table, the smile he had managed fell quickly from his face in to the street below. It returned, with the effort of a god, and stayed easily with the wings of angels, as Candy slid him on the seat between her and Flower and they both held him tightly, taking turns in kissing him as deep as they dared. The actress, smiling through the velvet haze of too many English pints, let the contagious happy relief get the better of her and skipped cautiously from her own chair and on to Byron's lap. Placing herself as carefully as she could she waited for a gap in the cycle and pushed her own lips to his, searching
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with the urgent but delicate resolve of timid nakedness to open his lips with her tongue. Byron's eyes opened wide, he looked quickly at Candy and Flower, not expecting to see them laughing with each other at him and pushing the Actress further into his lap, his mind was successfully distracted. Completely distracted.

"Take us home" he heard in each of his ears from two familiar voices.

"Please" he heard against his lips from the American Actress.

"Bastard!" An envious and disheartened group of men watched and uttered in unison from behind their table.

"Damn" No-one heard as Death scowled in regretful jealousy from the shadowed corner of the room.

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The impatience of madness

Byron woke uneasily in the Hotel room, three small warm bodies curled around him. He raised his head slowly and looked within his outstretched arms, soft skin touched his body, laying across him sweet and heavily, the soft shallow sleep breath of the Actress the only breathing to be heard, it warmed his chest as she exhaled. He should have been happy. He thought back to last night and Death, he paused at what had happened when the four of them had arrived back to the hotel. He felt unfaithful: to Death, to Flower, to Candy. He couldn't even raise a smile at the recollection of their three delicate bodies entwined with his, the smell of sex and perspiration hung sweetly in the air around them, warming it and pinning him down like the limbs of others. He knew he couldn't move and his mind took advantage of it, pushing love, hate, self-loathing down his throat to the pit of his stomach. What was he doing? What could he do now? He felt like a caged animal, incarcerated by his own self imposed ideals, this situation, these three beautiful girls giving him the single most remarkable sexual experience of his life, his smile should be as wide as the moon. Instead he was wracked with a strange compulsion for self-destruction, and the pursuit of Death. When he first moved from the country to the city he had aspirations of finding Death: the beautiful female figure that he knew, in his soul, existed. He had seen her. He had had dreams that were just dreams, that should remain dreams, no real practical aims, or even directions. But in his quiet moments of pure driven fantasy he had still never imagined to be where he lay right now. So why did he feel like this, like a man that had been given everything only to find out he wanted, deserved, nothing? A small body stirred on his left side, Candy blearily opened one eye, and looked up his chest to his face, she kissed his skin without moving her head more than a few inches, Morning love she whispered. She turned her attention across his torso to the naked delicacy of the actress. To look at her you wouldnt think she had it in her, She gave a wry smile,
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figuratively speaking of course. Candy giggled in a whisper turning her mouth against his chest to mask the noise. Her soft shaking woke a sleepy Flower who somehow managed to lie across and between the actress and Byron and still have an arm draped softly on Candys bare navel. Youre making enough noise to wake the dead, She whispered, barely waking. She kissed his chest the same way Candy had moments before with the gesture of familiar and habitual sweetness. Byron smiled down his chest to them, an easy smile bypassing his internal torture to just breathe the moment. Im sorry about last night, He began, about Death Shush, Candy whispered, holding her finger to his lips in one quick movement, she indicated to the sleeping actress, motioning him to remain silent in front of their guest. Who might have trouble enough reconciling herself to her uninhibited alcohol assisted actions of the previous night, let alone finding out that she had also dipped a toe in to the world of necrophilia. Besides, Candy whispered, Nothing happened, we know about your past with her, the feelings you had, but they are just that, past tense, arent they It wasnt a question it was a statement. Candy did not want to admit to it being anything else, it would only emancipate worms. And she carried with her a warmth from last night, a warmth from waking to feel herself naked against his hot skin and the sweet appealing bodies of her lover Flower, and her new, close, friend the actress. Flower bit his skin gently underlining Candys sentiment. She too did not want to dwell on the past, either on their first meeting in the waiting place, or of Byrons hurt as they saw Death refuse him. Everyone has a past, but not everyone leaves it there. Events of history shape events of the future, but they should only provide the clay, the sculpting should be open, self-gratifying, and new. But that's too easily said, idealistic, and not realistic in the mind of a mad man. But who are you if not your past? Who are you if you cannot see your future? You are empty, alone, and tantalisingly near to sweet oblivion. But then wanting death is still a want. To be completely apathetic requires a dedication unsurpassed in its indifference, and if you
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have mastered that, then you are probably already dead. Byron wasn't, this author might be. Byron smiled thinly but easily, hoping it looked at least half way reassuring. Candy and Flower responded by cuddling themselves closer and nuzzling themselves deeper into his chest, aware of the warmth, of the heart beat, and of the finite duration of Byron's mind. They lay there for warm moments of silence, Flower and Candy drifting softly back to sleep, Byron remaining completely awake. When he was sure they were sleeping he slipped himself from the bed so as not to disturb them. Altering the reality around them to have himself standing at the foot of the bed watching over the three girls as they slept lightly on, completely unaware of changes in the camber of the bedscape. He stood naked and unproud his arms heavy by his sides, his slouch deepening under the weight of his heart. His eyes began to sting, and as his pre-taught automatic distraction technique (imparted by a counsellor when someone cared enough about him as a child) kicked in, he stumbled into the en-suite and into the tepid cleansing water of the gilded hotel shower.

The water failed to wash his agitation as well as it washed his skin. It grew within him biting at his eyes, the pit of his stomach, and his stuttering heartbeat. Vigorously in distraction he washed his face. Failing to stop as his skin rubbed off beneath his scouring hands, not breaking as he felt his face begin to gruesomely peel and the blood began to cascade down his forearms. The sudden sting of soap against an open wound finally slowed his obsessive scrubbing and he hung his head to the shower floor. Watching blankly, through salt-teared eyes, the pink mixed water of blood and soap whirl around his feet before exiting to the drain. The sight did nothing to ease the destruction of his mind, no promised tranquillity in the letting of dishonest blood. Byron rubbed his eyes with forefinger and thumb, his hand shielding the regeneration of his skin to its former less disfigured contouring. He was angry, no he was furious: At himself, the world, Death, and the undeserved affection of the three beautiful girls asleep in the bedroom. But mostly he was furious at himself, his attitude, his
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weaknesses, his ridiculous self-imposed and completely unobtainable fictional utopia, and his face. He hated his face. In a movement not unlike a magician he whirled his hand in front of him and somewhere along the movement a knife appeared in his hand, blindly he slashed at his face, his torso, his arms legs and anything else his reach could disfigure. A yell formed in his throat and spat itself across the world, a crescendo of volume ceasing abruptly as with a final stab he ran the blade with force through his chest. He stopped. Breathed heavily. Unsurprised that the twelve-inch blade protruding from his heart had failed to do anything except give him a mild case of heartburn. He wasnt dead, knew he wouldnt be, so the act of attempting to take his life was a fruitless as a potato tree. Through the wet matted hair falling about his sunken face he glimpsed the faces of Flower and Candy, both naked and terrified at the bathroom door, they stood motionless, mouths wide open and tears running freely across their cheeks. He raised his head slowly and peered at them through cascading blood and water, his face empty and unreadable but in that emptiness dwelled a supreme and sickening evil. Flower closed her mouth. Opening it once more to utter unprepared words, questions, and anguish. She managed only a whisper: Byron love? until he vanished before them to a place with no address.

The girls stood there. The only movement obtainable the delicate shiver of their cold and naked skin, barely perceptible as they clung to each others arms for balance. The Actress came up behind them, afraid but no longer heeding the girls warning to stay in the bedroom after they woke from the yell. Her circulating lifeblood failing to warm her and she shivered the same as the deceased did. Small toes curling in anxiousness as she reached a tentative hand to the embracing Flower and Candy. Her nakedness although beautiful was far removed from intoxicated passion that pushed her to pull and grasp them the night before, it was somehow more vulnerable in the sobriety of the morning, more needful of their reassurance than their passion. The warm hand startled them into movement, they looked abruptly at their guest, the warmth of her skin against the coldness of theirs imitated the feeling of Byrons, and
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instinctively they reached for her, holding her tightly between them. What happened? She asked timidly, slowly realising she didnt want an answer for she knew somewhere that the actual truth was more on the fringe of what she thought to be reality than she had ever experienced before. The words were just that, words to break the intensity and disconcerting silence. Byron had to leave. Stuttered Flower in half explanation. That wasnt Byron. Whispered Candy, in correction. A statement as rhetorical as why me?.

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The Maniacal laughter of fuck it apathy

Who wants to go on? Nah

The fires of fury burn my eyes, the melancholy water of being an inevitable disappointment drowns my heart refusing to let it stop

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Byron opened his eyes, expecting to be somewhere and nowhere, wanting to be nowhere but finding himself somewhere. He was dressed, his skin damp and soaking through to the dark and scruffy cotton shirt and trousers his mind had put on. Droplets of water fell from his unkempt hair, and crept down his wet skin to his bare feet and the cold stone floor beneath them. Where was he? He looked around, recognising this unfamiliar place in a contradiction of deep-rooted childhood safety and hatred. The stone floor beneath him was just a stone, an uneven dumped slab of concrete on the stony shore of a wood shrouded reservoir, he was home, or at least in the vicinity. Most of his childhood had been spent here, most of it alone. He heard the familiar breeze rustling the leaves of the familiar trees behind him. The grass filled banks slipped toward the water with an annoying ease, the water itself irritating in its serenity. He fell with an ungraceful thud against the evilly soft grass. He looked blank because he felt blank. Pulling a cigarette packet from his shirt pocket he delivered the reactive motion of placing one of the filter tipped sticks between his lips. It lit itself and he inhaled deeply. Looking slightly disappointed he finally pulled the knife from his chest. Smoke filtered through the closing hole and Byron inhaled once more, briefly satisfied this time. Many hours passed as he refused to move, in case it meant he had to start feeling something or thinking of something again. Home, a shadow of an easier life entwined in fickle memory, a better place a better time, even though it may not have been. Byron absorbed the wind, the smells, and the water at his feet. Only the sensations were allowed in. Drifting from all else he keep his mind shut. Water on his feet: real. Breeze on his face: real. Being the near omnipotent plaything of the personification of Death: not real.

But it was real, and escapism is fleeting at best. He considered wiping his own mind, leaving it to drown in the water in front of him, removing his brain and functioning as a body only, no life, no soul, no heart. But he had been there before, he was more alive in heart and soul and mind than he had ever been, but was coming to the conclusion that it was not worth the pain. The ability to feel intense and pure love
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comes with the price of feeling its absolute opposite, love for others, hate for yourself. A fair trade off it is not. It was these thoughts that bought Byron in to the land of reality once more. Creeping thoughts unlocking his shut mind. Shit He muttered to himself at the realisation. He opened a door on the water before him, stood slowly against stiff limbs, and walked over the water toward it. Where to? He asked himself. The answer was less obvious than he thought. He went to watch Death work.

The war field about him sang with machine gun fire, grenade explosions, cries of surprise rather than pain as bullets ran themselves through the butter-like flesh of the street fighting soldiers. Byron saw Death standing in the middle of the street, directly in the path of a hundred stinging bullets. She looked almost sad. Hello honey. He said coldly as he walked up behind her. Death gave a visible start. As she turned, some of the coldness disappeared from his face, as he saw her eyes full of water. She wiped her eyes quickly to regain composure to face him. Bloody fools. She uttered as she wiped her damp fingertips on her dress. You know they can see you dont you. She said changing the subject. Byron had noted the dull stings on his body but hadnt realise they had been bullets striking him and falling to the floor, looking at his feet the ground was becoming littered with blunted ammunition. He shrugged, his hands still in pockets, and looked back up to her. You can help me if you want. She asked simply. Theres enough for everyone. Ice forming on her humourless words. Without waiting for an answer she lead him to one side of the street and walked along the strewn and dying bodies hidden and slumped pitifully behind upturned cars, wall corners, and any other slight shelter offered from the streets desiccated contents. Life had been sucked dry from these streets. The living stone and experience the streets had once had, died long before the fighting had finished. An eerie sight of destruction and void. The streets were no longer worth fighting for, but the guns refused to believe it. The man that had stood
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boldly in the middle of the street sunk into the peripheral view of the remaining onlookers, and walked with a lazy purpose against the background of perforated brick and metal. The ultimate thing each dying man and boy saw was the face of Death, lit with compassion as she released them to a painless place. But what they also saw was the cold and apathetic face of a stranger, without pity or care or even interest. The sight of Death placated most, they knew their life was leaking from their bodies, and her touch was serene. But not everyone has the capability to accept. Stubborness, stupidity, youth, call it what you will but it was the reason a boy of about fifteen shrieked as he saw them. Screaming he looked at Byron with wild fearful eyes, the noise caused Death to pause momentarily, to turn and stare at Byron. He merely gazed at the boy, his familiar frown scowling without malice, and only faint traces of thought. The boy pushed himself against the wall, trying to push away from the vision before him, blood vomited from the lack of left lower leg and split abdomen as he fought against the lack of strength he had left. He reached for machine gun that was almost the same size as him, using it to pull himself upright. Pointing it wildly at the Evil before him. Shouting in an interpreted slur of devil man. The gun went off, and the remainder of the guns cartridge emptied at point blank range into Byrons chest. The boy struggled against himself to understand why the blunted bullets rebounded back at him like feasting ants as they peppered his leg and thigh. From unorganised chaos came blind catastrophe, the handful of men within ear shout of the boys yells ran to his aid to see this strange man looking over him. As with most human impulses they decided to kill first, find out later. Shit Byron Death muttered distractedly. She waved a hand in the direction of the running cavalry who stopped immediately with the rest of time. What? Byron exclaimed innocently, aggravation lining his tone. Without ceremony she knelt and touched the boys face, immediately it calmed, his interrupted eyes of terror shut themselves gently and his face relaxed to death. There was no light, no spirit, no beautiful defining moment. The boys shell just relaxed. Wheres he gone? Byron asked.
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Same place as you all go, what were you expecting? Harps? You know what happens Byron, you wait. Deaths annoyance was absent from her words, she had calmed. Looking on his face like she hadnt seen it, like high school sweethearts 30 years later where time, uniquely eroding, manipulates and leaves nothing bar the love and beauty that the mind blinkeredly remembers. Byron caught her sweet smile as her recognition lighted her face. Lets get out of here love. She whispered, holding her hand out to Byron to take. What about the rest of them? he indicated, whilst obeying her request and clutching her hand gently. Theres so much you should but dont understand yet isnt there Byron? she whispered. She waved her hand in the direction of the street and a hundred images of herself, dressed in classic black robes, filtered out from a single point. Each one marked with purpose, each one of them Death herself. I am everything, love. She stated, Byron remained unsure whether it was boast or vanity or just a true statement, and in that unsurity he came another step from his idealistic imagery, came closer to the realism of their relationship. No-one should be trusted completely he thought, not without understanding, and the rarity of two soul decipherers finding each other was like finding a nun in a brothel. It happens, but not often. The humanistic entity Death had chosen to become was flawed with exactly that, humanistic qualities. It was good to realise, although the delusion had its benefits. What it didnt do was make him let go of her hand, that would have just been silly!

When Byron looked back to the street a different landscape stood before him, but it didnt bother him much, he liked the abandonment of being lead, the ease of indecision. He had no idea of where he was exactly, but his many hours spent in front of Hollywood films and their backdrops he half recognised it as an apartment building somewhere off the famous Central Park in New York. There was an architects dream of space and green behind him. Designed and crafted, and setting
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the brownstone town houses (now luxury apartments) in a picturesque 50s Hollywood glamour extravaganza. My house. Death stated facing the building in front of them. Byrons face reacted in surprise, Death had an address!? If Death registered his surprise she didnt comment on it, instead she led him gently up the steps, pulling his tourist like meandering toward the door. Your house? Whispered Byron, a million questions and despairing anticipation swam in lilac streamers in his head. Improbable, incomprehensible, and inaccessible, but then that was love. The stairs led to the large double entrance door. With some satisfaction Byron noted the doors opened before them, a paltry parlour trick but one he had done himself. The Lobby was large, airy and cool. Marble floored with a grand, deep wooden staircase leading to the different floors. An ancient elevator, in better working order than the day it was installed fitted perfectly and isolated like a sculpture from the staircase. The first stair shivered as they ascended it, the second stair took them directly to her front door, it opened slowly like a Christmas card advert and Byron the consumer held his breath as if in anticipation of all good hallmark kitten soft moments.

Anticlimactic it had to be, there was no infinite wall of draining hourglasses, no abyss like darkness shrouding the rooms to indicates its other worldliness. In fact the only breathtaking anomaly about the place was its size, it was huge. Huge open plan with what seemed like endless door opportunities but only a couple that actually took residence. The ceilings were high, all contributing to the scale of what could only be an elitist building. He assumed it had been purchased or acquired at the time it was built, as she had all the time of eternity to gain material goods. No sugar, I got it last year. She answered. A Business man bargained an extra week from me in return for his place. It would suggest that the obsessive race for material wealth does actually count for shit when you have it all and still run out of time. He spent that week with my sister, falling in love and walking barefoot in the
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rain, he gave his business to the secretary that had worked for him for twenty years, and rented a boat on the ocean. No family, no life, until he found he couldnt have one. You can argue that had he not offered me the house, then he wouldnt have got the time. So the acquisition of money did help him. It gave him a week. She paused And I was in a good mood. Byron didnt press the matter. Instead swallowing all nerves and disregarding all signs and suggestions, the panic of no moment being the right moment, he moved toward her and embraced her. No rebuff so gingerly but with a little more speed than was charismatic, he moved his lips to hers to try to show they were no different from any other couple despite the damning history and the vast abyss of reality between them. To his scarcely concealed teenage hormonal joy she met his lips with hers. Kissing him deeply, there was no expected reserve, no ego, no distance between them. It was the kind of kiss where her heart beats in your ears. It was a complete kiss with your whole body, opening yourself with unconditional abandon. The sphere of world around them closed in and blanketed all surroundings. The world might have exploded... they wouldnt have known, cept for the dust as it settled around them in the empty abyss of spaceand the loud bang. But this is theatrical license in effect.

All moments, even theatrical ones, end. All fulfilment is necessarily transient or there would be nothing to strive for. And thus the kiss ended. They drew back slowly the physical connection released and replaced with unsure but unwavering eyes..

Stop and ponder the parameters of pointless pontificating packs and choose a path

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If you have made it this far into my bound up pages of decoration and destruction, my thanks to you on your arduous journey. But as we draw an inevitable close to the tale of the life and deaths of Byron non-poet and lordless, there is a choice to be made. A choice not normally given: You would think I would know where this was going by now. It is a choice of endings, of how the lives or deaths of all concerned turn out, end up, resolve themselves or stop, to its stop, its end, its final recorded documentation. Heavy is the responsibility, or not really, as all you have to ask is Do I like happy endings?

Everyone does, even if only fleetingly. Deep down in the most cynical of souls, a babys laugh, a puppys eyes, something somewhere will touch everyone: Make their eyes sting with salted water and turn their heart 90 degrees in that purest feeling of joy and heart attack. The next three chapters are dedicated to those people, closet optimists or not. It is what should happen in a fair world, what should be the conclusion and the realisation that life isnt always unfair. In fact she tends to take great offence in being called so.

If, however, you have been nailed inside the enveloping constriction of selfdestruction and can only seek confirmation that the non-poetic Byronic half-boy manages to destroy all he is and will be, including those connected to his self-loathing egocentric paradise, the last chapters are yours.

The girl with the curl part 1 Starts with a kiss of a chaos butterfly

All moments, even theatrical ones, end. All fulfilment is necessarily transient or there
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would be nothing to strive for. And thus the kiss ended, they drew back slowly the physical connection released and replaced with unsure but unwavering eyes..

. In his mind Byron knew he should have everything he wanted. As Deaths hands drew to her black blouse and began to unbutton it before him, and as she looked up to him, strangely vulnerable, and dropped the black cloth to the floor exposing and giving her breasts to Byrons eyes, he wavered. Assuming he was overwrought by the sight of her perfect breasts she smiled and removed his top for him, unbuttoned his fly and released his unattached brain which leapt to her touch. She giggled in a most unlady death like way and leant herself against the wall of the hall. Far enough away so he could take in her body, drink her form as she playfully touched herself, drawing his eye to each fingertip caressed. Her skirt dropped to the floor with an effortless unfastening and she slipped her shoes from her feet. Her height diminished, her body uncovered, herself offered to the man in front of her. His coy paralysis was still a source of playful amusement to her and she pulled him from where her hand gripped already, and ran is tip between her thighs, Here. She giggled innocently. Byron was silent for a long moment. I cant He whispered. Death looked quizzically for a moment and then immediately assumed he was playing. We dont know each other well enough for here yet, she giggled as she moved him to her anus. Easing him forward, again placed him gently between her lips, Lets start here, She giggled again. Byrons body became rigid. Possible frozen panic causing yet another playful giggle from the lady Death. Yet it wasnt panic. No. He said as boldly as he could and stood back from her, he reached for his trousers and pulled them on avoiding looking at her confused and hurt face. He stood again half-dressed in front of her naked body, Death looked awkwardly wounded, and she unconsciously covered herself with her hands as humiliation crept into her mortal essence for a moment. Then, and with anger, she remembered who she was.
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What?! She exclaimed. Exposing herself again she pushed him hard against the wall behind them and stood with her hands boldly on her hips. Byron crashed hard to the floor and looked up at her from a seated position. I said no. Hurriedly deciding against another defiant statement he offered his explanation. Or rather I cant, I just cant. Im here because you are all Ive wanted since I was 10 years old. I knew you existed and no one believed me, I knew we met for a reason and I knew we would meet again. Call it faith in the feelings I thought were there, or thought could be and would be there. But you turned me down in the waiting place and countless times after that, again and again treating my feelings as inconsequential compared to what you wanted. You gave me all this power without an explanation or guidance and all you could say was not yet. Well your infallible plan of pain and ridicule became unimportant to me without me realisinguntil now. I have treated Flower and Candy so very badly in all of this, as badly as you have treated me, and that can not be excused or ignored just for me to make things worse and get laid. I cant, Death, I wont. You were all I wanted until I wanted something real. I dont know what your plan was. I dont care. I dont really care what happens to me, though I owe Flower and Candy an apology. Strange how the two sixteen year olds have been the most mature human representations in the whole of this farcical escapade. Byron breathed, unsure what to do next, knowing he could hardly bolt for the door, knowing he was in fact half dead already and expecting the second half to come rather soon. His eyes searched Deaths for an emotion, for a reaction or movement. She was undeniably beautiful, standing before him, and the half of the hormones that were alive were kicking him hard for his sudden late entrance of ethics. The only movement she made was that of her clothes, as they flew to her body and covered her again. The lady Death looked at him: Quizzically, then with annoyance, then pity, love, and then with nothing. He waited longer for his sentence, perspiration creeping across his body. Gravity was the only moving thing in the room. It was cold and uncomfortable but he dare not move to brush it away. He
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didnt know why, but he knew unquestionably that it was Death that must make the next move.

Fine. She said without malice, without concern, without much of anything really. Ill see you at the end of your life. With that she left. Left to wherever was between reality and her world. Though was it Byron that could no longer see her as he returned to his real world. He felt different, felt weak, felt human once again and not in a calm triumphant philosophical and ethical victory kind of way. Just in a knackered, broken, and hungry kind of way. He tried to pull the t-shirt out of reach on the floor toward him, but it wouldnt budge. Huffily he moved and pulled it roughly on. He tried the door also but had to use the handle. Crap. He muttered self-indulgently. He had a long walk home.

As he trudged toward the acreage of stairwell past the Beautifully restored elevator he saw the new sign next to the golden leafed down button. Press here for LA floor He looked around him and managed a tired grin. He knew she was near. Thank you. He whispered and opened the elevator to the Hotel he had left a lifetime ago.

From just beside his deflated stature Death watched him go. She felt a little less infallible than she had an hour ago but she knew, in time, that feeling would pass. She maybe should have learned something from this episode, but then its hard to learn anything new when you know everything already.

The girl with the curl part 2 Two butterflys uncomplicated complication of realisation

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The elevator opened at the correct floor of the correct hotel that he had left long ago, though he wasnt sure how long ago. He briefly wondered whether they would still be there, whether he was still in the same century or whether he had gone back to a time before any of this happened. He briefly wandered in. Wondering on what might have been the best scenario for non-confrontation, and nicely ignoring the responsibilities of his actions. But then he knew that was too easy.

His door loomed in front of him.

Byron took a few moments to compose himself , but then realised a lifetime of composing would not be enough to douse the heated nausea in his empty stomach. He raised his hand to the door to knock. It opened before he cracked the silence of the hotel corridor. If he had been a religious man the illuminating back lighting by the window behind the girls faces would have confirmed to him that there was a heaven and it was populated by angels like these. Hello love. Candy whispered, his eyes had not adjusted to interior light and the tears filling them was not helping either but he felt two small bodies throw their arms around him and wrap him in a warmth, never as much needed as now. Come in. Flower said to his chest her face buried deep, weve been waiting for you. Vaguely the ominous sound of that sentence registered with Byrons brain, but being led into the heat of the room from the cold of his body was blissful. It would have been discourteous to interrupt the sympathetic warmth, as his veins carried it soothingly throughout his body.

Flower and Candy unwrapped themselves long enough to cover his face in butterfly kisses, they held him tightly again then kissed him again in a cascade of hug, kissess, hug, kisses. The conflict of joy and growing fear of unavoidable doom fought itself
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in the back of Byrons consciousness. The front of his mind wrapped his arms around them with the urgency of fear that it would be the last time. Four eyes, two emerald, two the clearest blue, sought his out through the shadows of his brow. They were so clean, so unconditional, so unlike his grey lifeless pebbles.

He had no idea how long he had been gone but knew, now, at this moment, that it had been too long.

Flower and Candy released him and clutched his hands as they had a hundred times before and guided him, like a blindfolded postman to the sitting area of the opulent LA Hotel suite. To join, to his surprise, a third personification already sitting there. Life looked to him with uncompromised compassion, his eyes widened as he looked around instinctively in mounting panic for her sister. Shes not here. She said softly. Whether his reaction was relief or self-preservation he jumped into his explanation of events with a dialogue of stumbling speed. Flower and Candy sat either side of him holding each of his hands tightly, their innocent attention gilded by wide hungry eyes. They looked beyond their years in two identically cut, but different coloured, pinafore dresses, expensively put together and sold on a name. He hadnt seen them before and again wondered how long he had been. Their slight frames huddled next to his, their bare feet crossed at the ankles, direct from finishing school. Life sat in another chair, unusually tense in posture. Light, loose, opaque cloth graced her glimpsed silhouette. I didnt do it, he started hurriedly nothing happened between us, I dont know why I went to her, I dont know why I have been so wrapped up in Death, it hit me when I was there that it was ridiculous, not real not anything nearly real. I thought of you two. She tried, I nearly tried, but her clothes were on again, and it wasnt you and you have been the most mature most sane and most beautifuland He stopped his breath running out, his hearts speed shooting the words from his mouth like a cannon. Byron swallowed hard, took a long deep breath, slowly connecting his mouth and his
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brain so they would work together this time. I left here, I dont know when or how long ago that was. I had to leave. I felt dishonest, disloyal, undeserving self-hating. All of the above. I felt it because I love you both and I couldnt get that person out of my head. I was 10 when I first met her, 10 years old, that kind of thing affects you. I was given all that power and I couldnt do anything with it, I felt I was missing the big picture, the infallible plan, the reason to. my reason? Guess it comes down to I didnt deserve you, your love or lives. Youre not even alive, yet you live life to the limit. Your hearts are so big, so forgiving so uncompromising. Im not Im not, a good person. Yeah, I know no shit! Im barely even a person! Or I wasnt. I want to change that, because of you. I went somewhere I grew up near, the place I should have died, from there I went to find her, maybe to ask release from her, or maybe to ask for her. Candy and Flower physically winced at his sentence. Byron paused, with his eyes painfully full. They squeezed his hand to say he should go on, no matter what. We went to her apartment, we kissed The grips tightened on his hand. Something nearly happened, but I stopped it. I stopped it because having what I thought I wanted wasnt what I wanted. An old stupid dumb arse clich I know, but it was true. Because all I could see was you, both of you. I have no power left now, Im just half human, half alive. I cant give you anything that Ive given you before, I can only give you myself. But all of me. Its insanity to think youll agree, or even that it can work or that Im all of a sudden epiphanated and can do this easily, I cant say that. All I can say is that I dont want to lose you. My Flower and Candy. He stopped, not sure what else to say but knew there should be something. The longer he spoke, the longer he could put off hearing their response and the end of it all. Life looked quizzically at him. Gauging his eyes, his face, even his heart. For what its worth, She said Hes telling the truth. She sat back. She knew what was going to happen. Where she could see his heart she could also see theirs. Byron had missed something when he was away, missed an offer, an offer that would change everything. Life had given
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it to Flower and Candy, and whereas she couldnt see inside her sisters head, she could see all that ever was and all that could come to be. She hated clearing up her sisters mess. The living were her territory, the conceptions, the births, the loves, even the hysterical careering of life heading without brakes and chasing with dogeared determination the personal fulfilment of a smile and a full heart. Death dealt with the loss, and therefore in her opinion she didnt know humanity from a fish. And touching their fish little lives as she was want to do, would always end, well as everything she touched, dead.

Byron began to see the subtle changes in the girls faces he knew before they said a word his worse fears were to be realised. They didnt let go of his hand but relaxed their grip slightly, looking at each for one of them to start. Weve made a decision. You were gone, we didnt know how long youd be, and after two weeks we wondered if at all. Began Flower Two weeks? uttered Byron. Deaths last play. And we were offered a choice. She said. An opportunity. Candy offered. From Life. An opportunity of a life. Our lives. Not these walking-dead lives. To breathe againto eat because we need toto taste. Waking up and not wondering what we are, or whether we are even real. Explained Flower compassionately. There was a catch though. Her voice softened to almost a whisper, perhaps if she said it quietly enough it wouldnt hurt so bad. She faltered. A huge catch which nearly stopped us, one we dont want almost more than we want to live again. Offered Candy. Flower regained composure and continued. But I guess you know by now we accepted. We get to have our lives back, but not the lives we have made since we met you. We go back to the street, the off-licence, and instead of not looking for a drunk driver as we cross the road, we wait. We live. I think its as simple as that. Or at least thats what Life has said. Byrons face had drained in colour almost completely. He felt sick, his head tingled, sweated and spun,
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his heart fell through his stomach. Words were difficult due to lack of breath so he remained silent. We will remember you and this life! Said Candy trying to wrap the blow in a blanket. We fought for that bit! she said defiantly. But we wont be with you. Finished Flower, just to make sure the explanation couldnt be misinterpreted by a desperate mind. She watched his eyes grab at passing flickering ideas and protests, his eyes widened and his mouth opened to speak, And you wont be able to come with us. Or see us, itll be too hard for all of us, and raise to many questions that would ultimately lead to your demise? Interrupted Candy before he could utter that exact idea. Were sorry Byron, love. Said Flower. Her hand reached for his face, as if to calm a child younger than she. So sorry. Uttered Candy wrapping her arms around him. A long silence enclosed them, there was really nothing else to say. Candy and Flower held their boy lover for the last time, long minutes passed before his arms reached for them. But not to hold them back for he knew his pleads would be desperate and uncomfortable, just like he knew they were going. He actually loved them too much to make it their last memoryto make it harder than it was. It was an hour of silence that passed but it could have been a minute, no time was enough. Life interrupted: We should go. She said, not that it mattered when the three of them went back. Time wasnt a particular law of physics that affected Life, it was just simply time to go. The anguish was evident on all their faces, Candy and Flowers eyes burned with free flowing tears. Byrons face was without colour, seized with stifled pain. We love you. They said, self-governing the wrench from his arms. Byron stared, his eyes shouting he loved them too. His speech though was mute, unable to move like the rest of his broken body. They stood gently from the sofa, slipped their shoes on and looked one last time into the face of what could have but shouldnt have been. First love may be the purest, not tainted or guarded by
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inevitable rejection, or restrained by experience and pain. But then, without the pain there would be no joy, and learning to still love completely and without reserve with all the knowledge of pain and damage must surely be a deeper love, a more rewarding leap of faith? They looked on him with eyes of both, deep uncompromised but with the pain of all that had gone before, and all that might have happened now. The maturity of two girls out shone that of people and personification, the wisest and the youngest, and their eyes betrayed this. Byron forced himself to look upon them. The pain it caused almost unbearable, but without looking his memory would have been incomplete. He tried to raise a comforting smile. I understand. He whispered. You are both truly remarkable women. No wallowing, no pleading. And I do love you. They smiled through the tears they had, leant down to him one last time and kissed him simply on his lips. Sharing his mouth as one. Wet with tears their lips touched softly. And then they were gone. And Byron sat, his eyes still closed, alone in the room.

The girl with the curl part 3 butterflys and caterpillars meet for tea

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They had given him his first good memories.

Twenty-seven hours later Byron finally stood up from the sofa, unsure whether he had been asleep or not, having had his eyes closed for most of that time. He had managed after no small an effort not to think, and just let the thoughts and memories wash over him instead of fighting for contemplation. Eventually the What ifs wandered off bored at their lack of attention to their frenzied campaigning. The selfpitying wallow retreated back to its mud pool, in the dark recess of his brain, and his mind became an open landscape for the rest to move through in their slowing haste. The opening line was the result. He was no longer in pain, the resulting pragmatism of those hours spent drifting. He knew he hadnt and didnt deserve their attentions or their love, but they did love him, and there was some unfathomable reason why they did. A reason that could stay unfathomable, because it didnt change the fact that they did. And that, finally, was the point.

Dishevelled in attire, but unusually conscious in appearance he strolled from the room and out of the Hotels main entrance into the bustling streets outside. Purposeful directionless strides took him across street after street. Shops and boutiques changed to houses and back to shops again. His body had a surprisingly energetic canter to it, his soul felt free from the anguish of obsession and self-destruction. The world looked the same, but he just saw more of it. He noticed corners that had always been hidden by the pre-occupation in his own selfish destructive destiny. And these corners were held beauty. Patches of green and nature in endless concrete structures, patches of human compassion in endless concrete souls. Without the enveloping fog of his obsession in self-destruction it left Byron refreshingly empty of all desire. It occurred to him slowly, and with a ridiculing smile, that all he currently wanted from life, was a cup of coffee. That was a good a place as any to start: with caffeine.
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Subliminally he found himself standing outside a coffee bar. Its crackling neon buzzing in the hot sunshine, cheerful reds and rainbow colours drawn with felt tip on its open sign. Orens Cupajava said the slightly unkempt window stickers. With a nonsensical grin, Byron glided in with a satisfying tinkle of the small bell above the door. The long counter in front of him displayed an assortment of hot and cold small cabinets, an old till, sugars pourers, cartoon cow milk sachets, and shinning condiment containers. He sat at one of the counter stools, his grin remained like the eternal cheery salutation of the insane. The middle-aged waitress smiled fleetingly at him. With a phone cradled between shoulder and chin, she poured him a coffee before resuming animated gossip on the phone: Outlining her holiday plans. In the kitchens through the large serving hatch her diminutive husband took the opportunity to nip outside to enjoy a highly satisfactory cigarette and admire the geraniums he hoped to enter into the flower show. Small joys huge.

The world moved around him, ignoring his existence in the way people would ignore the clothes they wear. Happy in his neglectance, he watched the light from the window dance in lazy flickers across his cup. Nothing on his mind, nothing to do, busy like Pooh. In the middle of a particularly difficult pirouette the light was disturbed by the clink of the bell and the door opening and shutting. Unconsciously secure in his old persona of never being seen, never being noticed, he turned to look over his shoulder at the new customer. Searching in her bag for money is a girl, mid twenties, brown hair tied back, clear grey eyes and an uneven tan. She wore a strange variety of clothing, chosen in haste or with her mind on other things. Unselfconscious in the very best way. The brown beaten jacket matched the cowboy boots but not the short skirt or incorrectly buttoned and oversized linen shirt. Byron continued to stare. He liked peoples uniqueness, and used to spend hours in parks or shopping centre cafes just people watching. His own unique camouflage had always leant itself to looking longer, and deeper, contemplating their imaginary lives.
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Usually to escape his own version of his. The pretty girl, for she was unusual and unconventionally pretty when you looked longer, glanced up suddenly from her feverish hunting, her eyes wide and impatient at Byron. What!? She scorned at him defensively. I er nothing, sorry. He stuttered. Turning to his coffee show in hurried voyeuristic embarrassment. The pretty girl eyed the back of Byrons head suspiciously for a moment. Her defences had always been sharp. Her lifestyle of untidiness, clumsiness and occasional scattermindedness had precluded immediate social affability from as early as junior school. It was easier that way. But there was something about the man in front of her that gave her an unaccustomed feeling of regret in the acidity of her tone. The girl shrugged lightly behind him, her face softened and she chose uncharacteristically to occupy the counter stool directly next to him. Byron shifted slightly on his stool to offer submission in space, overtly attempting not to look at her. The pretty girl tipped the contents of her bag over the counter, grabbing and rounding up rogue items, as they spilled over the clean formica top. She sifted through the wreckage in front of them, much to Byrons bemused fleeting glances, which she returned with a polite smile. She stirred a combination of receipts, mementoes, paper clips, hair bands, fluff and miscellaneous bits of her life until with a small gleeful cheer she found the five dollar bill she was looking for and held it up to the frowning but still phone affixed waitress. The waitress wagged a detrimental finger at her mess, indicating that she should clear it up from her clean counter before she would be served. Simultaneously saying it was expected to be 35 degrees in the shade accompanied with appreciative whoooing sounds to her long time companion, the phone. The pretty girl stared at the mess on the counter and frowned. With one brisk, and well practised, movement swept the whole lot back in her satchel bag. She turned to Byron, and waited for him to return her look. After a while, and discreetly, sheepishly, Byron shifted his head up and tentatively returned what he hoped was her eye contact and not reading the menu or clock behind him. Ever felt like you were just a spectator in your own life? she quipped. The pretty
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girl grinned widely. Her smile lit her eyes in the most refreshing way, as if a sea breeze had come from nowhere but the coffee machine, and cooled them to freezing and back again in one exhilarating blast. Byrons eyes opened wider, accompanied by his smile. Actually, yes. He stated. The pretty girl put out her hand, My names Annabel She said sweetly. Byron. Said Byron.

The conversation continued into the morning and through lunch. Awkward silences were combated by easy smiles. Watching them, behind them, in the corner of the Coffee bar, sitting alone was a beautiful rainbow-eyed stranger, slurping a chocolate banana shake and smiling to herself. I like this part Life giggled to herself.

Across an ocean two young girls walked into class and grinned at each other, the girl with green eyes held her buttock tenderly. The tattoo of a dead poets name itching slightly as it healed. The Blue eyed girl shoved her playfully as they received stern glances from the teacher. Uncontrollable giggles were stifled, they had their whole lives ahead of them. Death sat alone in the sand across from her bar. Being aware of everything was a curse. Shit She whispered. And a soul screamed in the tear rolling down her cheek.

When she was bad part 1 Starts with the tornado of a chaos butterfly

All moments, even theatrical ones, end. All fulfilment is necessarily transient or there

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would be nothing to strive for. And thus the kiss ended, they drew back slowly the physical connection released and replaced with unsure but unwavering eyes

In his mind Byron knew he should have everything he wanted, doubt crept in. His troubled mind kicked it out. Thoughts ran and battled through his mind, he forced them to the back. A black veil drawn over them and the sight of Death seared on to it with flames of entrenched desire. Deaths hands drew to her blouse and with a fingernail she cut the material like a heated scalpel, the black cloth parted. Its divided edges glowing with ember as it fell to the floor giving to Byrons eyes her perfect breasts, his heart leapt audibly in his chest. Death smiled carnivorously and giggled lightly as she pushed him slightly away from her so he could see her full form leant against the hall wall. She ran her fingers across her breasts lightly, her hands being his as they caressed her torso, gliding down to unclip her skirt. It dropped to the floor like the curtain opening at the theatre. The lady Death languished naked and exposed to him, standing in a liquid pool of black cloth lapping against her lily-white calves. Her hands moved to where his eyes sought, across the personally idealised body of Death, it searched for the warmth between her thighs, lightly circled her excited nipples. She tilted her body toward him, her eyes open, liquid, and rapacious. She swiftly and urgently pulled his t-shirt from him and released his body from his trousers. He strained at her touch as she entwined her fingers around his genitals caressing lightly with long drawn out strokes. He wanted her to guide him, to let him know what she wanted. Without voice, only a smile she took his hand a placed it in the warm tenderness between her yielding soft thighs, it was so silken smooth. She slid his hand between her swollen lips, her arousal evident and lubricating his tentative gentle fingers. He could nearly taste her sweetness on his fingers, and she gently pushed his face down to fully taste her with his tongue. He drank hungrily and revelled in her twistings and writhings of pleasure as he bought her to climax. She breathed heavily against the wall for a moment as he looked up the creamy flow of her body, her hair hung across her face and she looked down and smiled
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Were not even started yet She chuckled as she pulled him to his feet and led him to the huge round rotating sofa in the middle of the room. Kicking her shoes off she crawled seductively onto its plush fabric. Displaying herself to him seductively with caressing fingertips on her unconcealed openings as she looked over her shoulder. Not even close. She whispered, tasting herself from her index finger.

What followed was two hours of inhuman revelation of passion and want. Every inch of both bodies were coated in kisses, sweat, and ejaculation. The kind of experience than can only happen when not restricted to the boundaries of human ability. For their fifth and last climax Death pulled Byron deep inside her, their bodies almost joining on contact, enveloping each other to make one body, one moment, and one experience.

They lay together on the ruined and battered circular sofa, as it rotated slowly to a stop, both breathing heavily, holding each other and giggling. Although the breath wasnt necessary, it added a fitting symphonic epilogue to the previous hours. Byron was spent of all emotion and thought, his body just a mass of tingling nerve endings. He turned his head with theatrical effort to smile at his equally content Death.

What the fuck did you think you were doing?! She screamed at him, the room boomed with the reverberations. She suddenly shot into the air hovering vertically before him. The air chilled to zero and exploded to 100 degrees and back again in a second. Frost formed across the walls of the apartment, propagating loudly with thunderous cracks, yet the centre of the room felt like a furnace. Hell itself was freezing over. How dare you! She screamed again. Byrons mind raced without direction, trying to escape like his body should. Total confusion, disorientation and incomprehension detonated simultaneously in his head. What? Whats wrong? He managed to stutter before his face froze in terror with
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the rest of his body. How dare you take advantage of me like that! Her screams hadnt dulled in volume and the ceiling had begun to tremble, raining plaster dust across his immobile form. His mouth opened and shut vaguely. Complete desolation and destruction of his mind was taking place with increasing speed. Where was he? Dont pretend you dont know! She shouted, You used the power I gave you to influence what just happened! To manipulate me! Death itself! Who was he? She was angry enough for it to be true, but Byron was at a complete stranded loss. He hadnt, he was sure he hadnt, he couldnt have, he hadnt had he? I know youve used it before! On those simple humans, but to use it on me! How dare you! Her voice hadnt lagged in decibels. Byron began to tremble uncontrollably, his eyes rolled with tears. That wasnt him, was it? How could he? How did he? She was Death, she was unchangeable, unavoidable, undeniable. But, but, I didnt? I wouldnt? Byron coughed at her, already doubt in his voice and in his vacant mind. Death drew back a hand and struck him, tearing a gash from his neck to his hip. She was too far away to make physical contact but they were not purely physical beings, the blood and tissue vomiting from the wound lay testament to that. Automatically the flesh sought itself and knitted itself back together in slow difficult convulsions as if the power had gone from the batteries, and the energy was ebbing away. You dont deserve my gift to you. Death said coldly as his skin stopped knitting, the tear from his chest to his hip remained open and bloody. It seeped blood rather than poured: the wound too deep, the blood vessels burnt. Byrons intestines winked at him in the darkness. He looked from his body to the darkness of Deaths eyes, infinitely deeper, infinitely more terrifying. I thought we I didnt consciously I couldnt Byron spluttered, the agonising pain of his returned mortality wet and sticky at his abdomen. You disgust me! She said coldly. The words were more severe, more damaging and more painful than any physical mutilation she could deliver. His heart crumbled
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in his chest in a new unequalled agony. He couldnt move. Every cell in his body drained of energy as his heart stopped pumping and feeding them. His eyes burned, and in the midst of his despair all he could think was, he deserved this. Finally a punishment fit for his pointless and destructive life. He wanted to die. Death is too good for you, I am too good for you. She spat at him. She looked toward the huge windows of the apartment an ambulance siren sounded in the distance heading toward them at speed. To live is your punishment. Live as you were before: nothing, half alive, half dead. The room returned to natural light the furniture lay collapsed and broken around them. Byrons motionless body lay against the wall, only his eyes watched her. The rip in his body too drained of effort to bleed. Deaths feet touched the carpet and she walked to her clothes to pick them up. Bringing them back to Byron, she dressed slowly and purposefully in front of him. The sirens stopped beneath them. The sound of doors slamming and urgent shouting at the intercom to let them in, drifted to the room stories above them. Death looked down on him one last time, her face expressionless, devoid of the fury of moments ago, and of the love hours before. Her sculpted face shifted slightly only to say Goodbye Byron. And she left the apartment, not to be seen by the running paramedics as they crashed through the door a second after she closed it behind her.

Whether it was an out of body experience or not, but Byron felt nothing as the paramedics attempted to talk to him, to patch him up enough to move him. His body was moved around like a rag doll. All movement cotton padded and third party to him. Still only his eyes moved independently. He looked at the room, at the trained paramedics, at himself. None of it drifted into darkness, none of it faded out to black as in all the films he had watched. He didnt pass out and wake up in a sterile white clean hospital, friends and family around him tearfully welcoming his recovery. He just stared and watched the ceilings pass him as he was wheeled hurriedly away through corridor after corridor, foyer, and finally ambulance.
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Unseen by the world Death leant against the wall of the apartment building and watched the Ambulance pull off noisily. She stroked her stomach maternally. Sadness welled in her eyes, and a regretful sigh escaped her infallibility. Im sorry. She whispered.

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When she was bad part 2 the destruction of butterflies

Where is he? Shouted Candy annoyed, worried, and furious. Hes with her isnt he! She spat. Flower touched her life friends shoulder, vainly attempting to calm her, and to stop her uttering anything else than was too painful to think about. You saw him, She said softly Hes probably just calming down, just embarrassed to come back. She reassured. Its been three fucking weeks! Candy yelled. Flower fell silent, there was no argument and no reassurance to that. Having to leave to the hotel at some point and not wanting to stray too far from the last place they had seen Byron, they had returned with the actress to her house. Currently she was out of town, about to start filming, and had let them take the place for as long as they needed. They hadnt spoken about that morning since it happened, and the obligatory starlet therapy sessions had already convinced her it hadnt happened. The Night, however, had. That she had kept to herself so far, relishing in her new found rebelliousness, sure that the story would come in useful at one of the many dull exclusive parties she went to. She would dispatch her good girl reputation and shut those acquaintances of hers up with their taunts and boasts of their film star life style privileges. She could be as pseudo rock star as any of them, and for the rock stars she could be a pseudo film star as any of them. I know baby. Flower whispered. But we have seen Life, and she doesnt know whats happening, And you think shed tell us if she knew? Rebuffed Candy Shes probably fully aware of whats going on and just covering for her sister. Shes not going to bloody say anything to us, were just insignificant humans in all this crap, and dead ones at that! Flower tried again to calm her friend, trying to pull her to a seat, but Candy continued to pace like a caged animal, striding out of the house to the pool and
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stalking along its length. I would tell you child. Said a voice from the pool beneath her. Candy stopped dead. Half fear, half anger, at the emerging body of Life, as she pulled herself from the water. Resting her arms on the pool edge, leaving her body to be lapped by the water, as unthreatening a situation as she could manage. She paused, And I do now know where he is. Flower came running from the house at full sprint. You know what! You know where he is! Where damn it! How long have you known! She Yelled. Candy touched her arm in the same calming manner as had been tried on her only minutes before. Shsssh. She whispered at her girlfriend. Let her speak. Life pulled her naked body from the water, characteristically unashamed. Light linen cloth materialised, swirled from the wind around her and draped itself against her, unnaturally adhering to the soft curves of her body. She took them to the patio furniture set, at the corner of the pool area and sat them down. Well? Demanded Flower again. I know where he is, yes. But with that knowledge comes pain and a choice you must make. Lifes face denoted a seriousness that was almost painful to see. That bitch! Shes with him isnt she. Shouted Flower. Manipulative malevolent malignant Bitch! Spat Candy. She winced slightly and looked at Life. Im sorry, shes your sister. Lifes mouth raised at the corner, Shes been called worse. She replied. Jealous stagnant egomaniacal narcissistic sub-scum slut! muttered Flower simmering. Life raised an eyebrow, Flower didnt need to look. Hes not with her. She said. Both Flower and Candy looked at each other their eyes lit with uncontained relief. But he was. She added. Two dead hearts cracked in half. All they could do was look at the floor and wait for the ability to move again. Lifes eyes filled with the tears she pushed back.
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Hes currently in hospital in New York. Both girls sudden concern made them look directly at Life. Is he. Ok? Whispered Candy. He will be Life paused. Choosing how to structure her words. For now. She added quietly. What happened? Please? Managed Flower. Well, he has had surgery to reconstruct half his insides, and is currently waiting for the tear from his chest to his hip to mend naturally. Candy glanced at Flower, despite themselves distress pained their features. He is back to being as human as he ever was. I have not seen him, but I have seen her, so I only have one side of the story. And I cant see everything she does. She stated clearly for the two girls, oddly sensitive to their opinion. Omnipotence is very rarely complete, its just a word for more ability than most people can imagine. But his gift has been taken back as a punishment. Punishment? Interrupted Flower. Yes According to her he over stepped his liberties and altered Deaths own perceptions, her wants, and her body. Life began to falter, aware of her sisters short comings, and very aware of what she has been capable of in the long past of time immemorial, but having only her sisters words she had to choose them carefully. Her what? He did what? Demanded Candy. She said he altered her want of him, and escalated or multiplied it. What?! Shouted Flower. It is true that my sister does, did, hold a great deal of interest in the man we know as Byron. Not just because of his unique liberation from his scheduled death. Hhe has always seen something in him. I have no idea what, or to what ends. But according to her, although it might have become something, it was not time. Arrogant bitch! He was ours! Spat Candy furious. Im sorry, its just her way. Maybe he didnt want her anymore, maybe the
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manipulation was the other way around, maybe he had another choice in mind. I dont know, he wasnt the strongest man born or died, but he had a self-destructive element of formidable fury. Death said he wanted her and altered her desire for him, escalated it, whichever. But they came together. Life paused she might aswell have taken a blunt instrument to the girls. They fucked you mean. Hissed Candy, holding her friends hand as tightly as if it were her sanity. Flower gripped it back, stifled sobs wracking her body. Yes, and then she tore him apart in anger. Literally. She drained him of power before he could recover himself, and then called the ambulance. Life finished. Why didnt she kill him? Flower stumbled, her mouth working at the same time as her brain. Regretful of the question, but torn to know the answer. I dont know, she has done worse for less. Life replied. Worse than dying? Candy scoffed aloud. Yes, a lot worse than just dying. Dying is just another misunderstood stage of living. Look, you have a choice now and it needs to be made quickly. Both the deceased looked at her, their faces had already been pleading for time to process this. She has no bargain to keep any longer. I dont know whether you are safe. She doesnt like to be dictated to and when you went with Byron from the Waiting, well it didnt please her. Life looked ashamed of what she was saying about her sister. She saw the anger and defiance growing on Candy and Flowers faces. Look, I dont know what she can do, Shes done it already. Flower uttered angrily. I can help you. Said Life. You can stay as you are, and I could probably hide you for a few years, but that would only make her more determined. She is inherently patient, and deeply vengeful. But all things die eventually, even the dead, and not even I can change that. What I can do, however, is give you another chance. I can make the drunk driver not drink that night and go home early from his colleagues retirement party to his wife and children after only an orange juice. I can give you your life back. What should have been your life, and you can live it.
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But that was so long ago. Candy managed in her astonishment Thats the choice. And it needs to be made now. I want you to live. Said Life. But Byron. Flower and Candy said in unison. You have a lifetime to meet him should you wish. She lied. Should we wish? Flower questioned. Well you cant see him for as long as you were dead, you didnt meet yourselves did you? Well you cant again. And time changes many things, life changes many things. Would we remember..? Flower paused. If you wanted to. Life answered. Would he? Candy asked clearly. Everything that has happened will happen again, its happened already, you will just be in two places, but alive in one of them. Life sold. Flower and Candy looked at each other. Their hands clutched at each other, and an inappropriate smile of joy shone in their eyes of green and blue. To be alive again. Whispered Flower in reverence of the possibility. Shit. Agreed Candy quietly. Lifes shoulders relaxed and she slumped into the chair, relief washed energy from her like water. But then she watched the girls body language change dramatically, they straightened forcibly and turned to her as one. We want to see him. They demanded. Hes sedated. She said quickly. To aid the healing and the pain. Or at least he would be when they got there she thought. We dont care. We need to see him. To say goodbye at least. Flower insisted. So you will go back, back to the street corner, and cross the road safely? Life asked her regained relief reappearing in her voice. The girls looked at each other and for a last confirmation. Yes. They said together. Then lets go. Answered Life. And as quick as the sentence they were sat around Byrons hospital bed. The chairs were in the same formation as the patio. The table
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between them was replaced by the bed, and the distressing array of machinery plugged, injected, and taped to him. The small dresses Flower and Candy wore held no warmth in the cold room, and their bare feet on the cold floor made them shiver like the living shiver when they feel the dead. Byron was indeed unconscious in appearance before them. He hadnt been seconds before. Life nodded to them in encouragement, Flower and Candy looked at him and carefully stood up, their movements afraid of waking him. He looked more peaceful than they had ever seen him before. Hi Honey. Candy Whispered kissing his cheek. Hey baby. Flower whispered sitting carefully on the bed and leaning to his lips. She kissed him and took a breath. Baby, Life has offered us something, and told us everything. And we have been given an opportunity we cant ignore. She looked to Candy, this had to come from both of them. Candy sighed. Life says you screwed Death. Flower slapped her arm reproachfully. Candy mouthed the word What? to her friend shrugging her arms in defiance, it was true! We dont know why you did it. Well we do! But we dont, we know you were happy with us, you just had to be so fucking self destructive. Flower touched her girlfriends arm. We just wanted you to know thats not the reason we are taking Life up on her offer. Flower continued. Well, some of it! Candy insisted. Yeah, some of it. Flower agreed. We can go home honey. Flower and me, go back and cross that road without getting killed. We can live the life we should have had, rather than this fairytale in the original sense, a whirlwind of experience: ultimate highs and crushing lows. Were too young to have been through that. She looked across at Flower But we wouldnt change a second if it. No baby, we wouldnt. Confirmed Flower gently.
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Can you imagine it? School again, the boarding, the exams, the long path with no shortcuts to growing up! Its as exciting as it is terrifying baby. Whispered Candy, in awe of her own words. And we will take you with us. She said, just not physically. But you are, and always will be, a part of us. We love you. I love you. Candy faltered tears pooling in her ice blue eyes. I love you. Flower softly spoke. We are going home. Candy said as much for them as for Byron. To live the time over again, Flower continued. Life said we will still have the time we had, and after that we can see each other again if you want to, if we want to. And we do so want to see you again, itll be in two years for us, but for you it could tomorrow. Well not actually tomorrow, Candy interrupted motioning to his current state. And hey well be 18! She quipped. Flower smiled at her, at the absurdity of the whole situation. The inconceivable had happened, and was happening, and it had turned into a worryingly standard normality to them. Life, death, dead, alive again. And at each corner they coped with a maturity and understanding, far ahead of any other around them. Guess well see you Byron baby Said Flower. Each of the deceased climbed on the bed beside him, threading themselves through the myriad of wires and tubes to hold him tightly. They kissed him in turn, and then each kissed a corner of his mouth together, just how he used to love it. Goodbye sweet honey I love you Whispered Candy. Goodbye sweet love I love you. Whispered Flower.

They untangled themselves from Byrons tubes and wires, soundless tears flowing freely from their eyes, as they backed out the door. Their sight locked on their dishevelled love: pathetic and alone. They couldnt stay, yet Life had to push them gently to move out of the room. She guided them to the corridor outside, leaning into
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the room one last time, Life whispered: Im sorry love. Byrons eyes opened wide, but he was still unable to move or motion that he had been awake throughout their visit. He loved them and he was sorry, but it was too late. Byron sobbed unbearably for a day and a half seeing them leave in his mind, over and over again. Each time tearing slim strips from his heart. His stomach rebelled and dry vomiting caused hot nauseating pain against his barely healing wounds. And still he sobbed. For his pitiful life, his pitiful death, and his destruction so determinedly pursued yet so painfully rewarded. The doctors had no choice but to sedate him for two weeks, just to keep him from distressing his injuries. Staff had been leaving in droves from his bedside care, unable to cope with the soul tearing sobbing, infectious and tormenting. By the time he was sedated the staff had reduced by half. All off for days, unable to leave their homes overwhelmed with anxiety and anguish. Euthanasia had never looked so good, sympathy being a finite resource for even the saints.

Stories began to circulate the gossip columns about the new risen film stars collapse. They blamed the media, the same media they worked for, the same media still reporting his demise. They petered out after a week, and he was forgotten a week later, when he was finally allowed to regain consciousness. Another two weeks of silence followed until he was well enough to leave. All kinds of help and counselling were offered, for whatever he had that pained him. All were refused by a shake of his head a deep entrenched frown on his brow.

As selfless as the hospital staff were, a small celebration took place as Byron wandered out of the Hospital doors into anonymity.

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When she was bad part 3 the destruction of self

They had given him his first good memories.

And he destroyed them.

He destroyed himself.

A week after leaving the Hospital without money in his pockets, without ID, without an identity, and thousands of miles from his flat in London, Byron sat in the harbour. He looked out without emotion toward the French woman of liberation. He had been mugged and beaten twice on his way. His shoes stolen, then his jacket, and the clothes left were dirty and ripped. The blood had dried on his face, his tormentors bored of beating him without response, they couldnt even be bothered to kill him. Byron guessed he was looking in the general direction of his home. As he sat, a wry smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. The Smile turned into a giggle, the giggle into belly laugh, belly laugh into near hysteria causing salt tears to tumble across the dried blood, diluting it to a strawberry pink, and leaving a salty rich taste in his mouth as it coursed in. He was so pathetic, so absurdly anticlimactical, so dead.

As the pain in his sides eased with the laughter dying from his breath, he chocked up some of the blood from the tears. The tickling fluid caused a small coughing fit, at the end of which a large pool of thick crimson blood lay between his legs, on the floor in front of him. Byron guessed his internal wounds had been somewhat rekindled into fruition by the tussles he had encountered on his journey here. It was his intention at the time to get to England somehow: even stowing away in a hold somewhere, or begging a trip with the people smugglers on their return journey, depending on their direction, and possible insincere integrity. Somehow he was
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going to get to his house, put the kettle on for coffee, and smoke a cigarette in his most comfortable chair. This was his small ambition. He had contemplated many things and many directions in the last week: to see the girls, to die and shout at death. To pick himself up from his seventh layer of destruction, leaving the past in the past and even dispatching oblivion and get a normal life somehow, somewhere, with an unconventionally beautiful girl called Annabel. But all of these thoughts and aspirations paled into silence along with his laughter. The water lapped beneath him, just over the edge of the railings, it called to him.

He had drowned once, at the age of ten. It should have killed him. It wanted him back. If he didnt struggle this time, and fight the filling of his lungs, the water promised it would make him better. Fleetingly he thought of having to see Death again, but knew under his thought that she would not be there. That he was alone as he was when he was ten, looking at the inviting reservoir, its cool water, and its simplistic maternal pull.

I promise it wont hurt.

Byron stood slowly and walked to the railings, looking down at his mother calling. What about the girls? He thought. They would be ok, he replied. It was two years later, they had lived what they should have lived. If he was even a memory he hoped it was a fond one. He had only caused pain and devastation before, why would now be different? They were eighteen, he was he was more than ten he couldnt remember, but it was a lot older. There was no future, at least not a pleasant one, with him in it.

It will be like going to sleep.

He stared again at his mother. Light rain began to fall around him. It seeped into his
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skin, cleaned his clothes, his face, a pool of pink muddy water formed at his cold bare feet. He looked at his reflection beneath him, peppered with raindrops, his face became alive again, and he could see his bright grey eyes looking back at him. He remembered the soft kisses of Flower and Candy on his lips, he heard their voices tell him they loved him one last time.

Come home Byron love, come back to me.

The water called softly, constantly, reassuringly. He was ten again, stripped down to his cut off shorts. The sun on his skin warming him from inside out. The cool water held her hand out to him, asking him to come and play. Byron giggled, it began to rain harder, but to him the sun was out. He sobbed gently, filled with a ten-year-olds uncontainable excitement.

Come home Byron. Come and play.

Byron let out a laugh, heart felt, and full. He leapt the railings and plunged into the cool water once more. On his way home.

214

anthropocentric

When she was bad part 4 Epilogue

Death gave birth to a daughter. She was called Summerfall. Her eyes were speckled with the most iridescent illuminating grey.

Flower and Candy grew up: they became successful and happy. The third film they produced together was called; Anthropocentric.

Byron Diaeh went home.

215

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