Fairytales: The Ballad of Lovers

She looks over at him, and he turns to her with a knowing smile.
He looks over at her, and she turns to him with a knowing smile.
The breath in him is the reason she breathes.
The breath in her is the reason he breathes.
Suffocating together.
Suffocating apart.
Suffocating.
Suffocating.

He touches her hand lightly, and she hears the words in his soul.
She touches his hand lightly, and he hears the words in her soul.
The words from his lips are the reason she moves.
The words from her lips are the reason he moves.
Paralysing together.
Paralysed apart.
Paralysing.
Paralysed.

They hold each other and watch as the sun rises, life feels complete.
They hold each other and watch the stars fall, forever now complete.
Picture perfect, like they dreamed, yet so fragile.
People's envy, like they do hear, yet so fragile.
Secluded together.
Secluded apart.
Secluded.
Secluded.

To stand and stare at their love from the outside, breath taking.
To stand and stare at their love from the outside, terrifying.
Their love's existence, inviting.
Their love's existence, acting.
Reality or fantasy.
Fantasy or reality.
Real fantasy.
Real fantasy.

Lagos - Sights and Sounds: Part 1

Adventures in a 'Keke-maruwa' 

So I went to Bible study with my mum today. On our way back, we decided to take the infamous keke home. The first one we got into broke down after about 30 seconds. The engine simply went off, no apologies, nothing.
We got down from the machine and stood at the side of the road, trying to hail another to take us home. After 3 minutes, the broken down machine started up. But rather than pick us up, the driver simply sped past us. My mother goes 'After dropping us in the middle of nowhere, you now drove off without thinking twice, hyan' lol.

Finally, after about 20 kekes had driven past, we got one going in the direction we were headed. We got in and immediately noticed it was not empty as we imagined. There was a fairly large man sitting in the other corner at the back. When the keke began moving, the driver and the man began speaking a language that was either Ghanian or Igbo (my mother and I are not in agreement here lol). So at this point I'm thinking 'ok its dark and this is Lagos. If they try anything, we can jump out at the traffic light'. We turn the corner, the man drops off and the driver picks up two more passengers - more men - and mum and I calm down.
Trust Lagos, there is traffic.
We drive a few minutes and notice these girls trying to hail a cab across from us. Our driver acts as the middle man because, well, they couldn't see the taxi guy.

Girls: To Ajah.
Driver (to girls): He said #5000. You dey go? (Are you going?)
Girls: (gesture for him to move)
Driver (to taxi guy): They no get money. (They don't have money).

We all laugh.

Driver: They wan go Ajah this night na for club now. Before e go reach Ajah today eh.... (They want to go to Ajah this night for a club. With the traffic, they won't get there early).
Mi: But a taxi to Ajah though??
Driver and other passengers: You can just take bus to Shita. Then CMS, then you get Ajah straight. (You can take a bus to Shita, then to CMS and then get another one going from CMS to Ajah). 
Mi: But they weren't dressed for bus hopping.
Driver: Eh no be to take am reach near Ajah. Then if they get a place like Shita for there, na to enter taxi N200 reach where you dey go. The people way you dey meet go see say na taxi you come with. Then runs gees fit tell the guy say the taxi na N7000. After all one girl do am to mi na. When we reach near the hotel, she tell mi say make I drop am, drop am. I talk say we never reach, na im she say she no wan make the guy see am.
(They can take the buses till they get close to Ajah. When they arrive at Ajah, if there is a place like 'Shita' close by, they can then get a taxi for N200 (Naira). The people they plan on meeting at Ajah would see them arrive in a taxi. For girls meeting their 'sugar daddies', they can simply tell him the taxi costs N7000. A girl has done it with him before. When he got close to the hotel she was going to, she asked him to drop her off so the man she was going to meet would not see her). 

lol.

We arrived at our stop and dropped off. Here is the conversation with my mum:
Mum: I was just praying as soon as we got on that keke. I thought it was only the driver, only to see the big man at the back with him.
Mi: Mi too, I was worried for a second.
Mum: I was ready to hit his head with my book (a hardcover she came with) if they tried anything.
Mi: looool mum though?? I thought we could just jump out at the stop.
Mum: Yes I figured you'd have thought of that since you were at the edge. But I was prepared to tell you not to worry because I have my weapon with mi. I was ready to knock that his head self!! I thought the plan was to take us to Shita and drive off from there. Since we weren't going to Shita, I was ready to knock him until he agreed to drop us off.
Mi: O_o looool your mind has gone a bit too far though.

And that was my evening today.

xoxo

Freaky Tales

Death and Sex.

Thats all I seem to think about these days. A rather peculiar, albeit, dangerous combination, I know. Its not like I plan to think about them...it....the thought(s) just pop up randomly. Sometimes in the same scene, other times, separately. Would be so nice to talk to someone about the crap occurring in my head. I can't though. So terrified that I'd get locked up if words gets out lol. And the only person I would have been able to talk to....well the laws of 'x and o's state that I cannot burden said person any longer. 

Blanks

She is blank.

Looking at the picture before her, it is amazing they say it is the story of her life, because everything is unreal to her. It all seems like a movie she is unfamiliar with. Funny irony?? They say this picture is her life. Her future to be precise.

'She was born, she lived and she died'. But that is not true right??
'She was born....and she died'; that seems to be more of what it feels like.

Emotional Drama he says??

How odd.

One would think that when you say something like that, you don't go stop concerning yourself with YOUR unnecessary emotional 'baggage'...'...at least not after the person being spoken to has evidently gone through depression several times...and had to self-help each time...
But then she is the fool for thinking there would be a difference this time when there was nothing remotely close to that the last time....

He was human

He was gay,
He died.
His partner cried,
Society shunned.

Why though??

He was someone's child,
He was someone's hope.
He was someone's love,
He was someone's world.

He came out,
Got harassed.
Suicide.
His partner cried,
Society shunned.

Why though??

He also had a mother,
He also had a friend.
He also brought laughter,
He also brought joy.

He was,
He is,
He will remain,
Forever human.

Death of a Flower

And the flower was spotted, 
it was watered,
it was nourished. 
It grew tall and handsome. 

Strong and swayed with the wind. 

And the flower blossomed, it was beautiful. 

We all loved it, we all admired it. 

We all wanted to stand next to it. 

Then the flower died.

It was pretty,  full of brightness the other day, and now it is no more.

It was envied, standing tall with pride, and now its is no more.

It was protected, surrounded by love and affection, and now it is no more.


And the flower was born, lived and grew.
And the flower was born, grew and died. 


And the flower was. 

...Dear Tasha...

My dear Tasha,

Do you know the sun did not shine today?

No, not in her lovely way!

For the skys have blocked her rays,

And earth is no longer in tune with her ways.

Both inside and outside, all is quit.

Not peaceful, more like a dark, cold night!

Feels like a bad omen,

Much worse than the nightmere.

Oh Tasha, where are you?

Is it true that your world too is blue?

For we here view your world as paradise,

but if it is blue, am afraid there would be none to still our cries!

And all we'd have left is....






....to be continued....

Chess Pieces.

These are the last words of warning I would say to you.

From here on out, I have no idea how life would play out for us. I would not lie to you- I am not scared, but I think that you should be though. I think that you should be terrified.

My little rival-kitten.

Do you know how to play chess? Well even if you say no, we both know with the mind games you play, 'yes', is the more reasonable answer. 

You've picked mi as your opponent. I feel you should know, I never loose. And in this game of ours, there are no foul moves. Everything is fair game. 

So come at mi with all you've got. Don't be afraid. I bite, but you said you can take it. Come at mi with all you've got, because I'd be doing the same and some.

And when we are done, the last words on your lips would be my name.

And when we are done, the last words from mi would be 'I told you so'. 

The Mother

Just watched this Korean movie (yes I do that a lot these days, moving on) based on the story of the Korean Serial Killer Yoo Young Cheol. Overlooking the fact the case was all levels of disturbing, I'd focus on the fictional aspect in the movie. His last victim was a prostitue who, despite being tied up and had received a blow to her head, escaped from the house and tried to get help. In all this, I was amazed by her strength - the strength of a mother. Obviously no one wants to die, but still in all she went through, the only thing she kept thinking about was her daughter alone in the house. 

Mothers are amazing. I mean that goes without saying. But the bond and protective nature of a mother truly amazes mi. Like the wild cats, their natural instinct is to protect their young with a vengeance like no other.  No matter how strong the opponent is, when it comes to keeping her young safe, a mother would go all out. It is the natural instinct. 

Which is why it truly amazes mi to hear stories about women who harm their children. I mean, how hard must that be for them?? It's hard to do things out of character, not to speak of things against ones nature. I think that might be a reason for the depression most women who hurt their children feel. It's like a right handed person trying to write with his left for whatever reason. It is so hard, and when it cannot be helped, often times painful. It leads to frustration and depression. Why would someone, experiencing all these things, continue to put themselves through it?? 

Is the answer 'I couldn't help myself' really sufficient in this case - where nature is the true opponent??

The Road Not Taken....

Would I be a bad Christian if I say I believe in the existence of an alternate reality? I don't think so. Call it whatever you like: Alternate universe, parallel line, other side of the coin...it doesn't matter. The fact remains, I think, that there is a parallel universe running at the same time ours is. I think it is basically the other story if you had gone the opposite route. Because now, there are always two answers to a question: A or B. Some say there is a C, D and even down to Z, but ultimately, something happens or something does not happen. So there are only two sides.


I play bubble breaker on my phone a lot, and I figured something out. Each time you make a move, it upsets the path of the game and takes you down a different lane. If you undo, you get back to that path and can take a different route, changing the game in yet another direction. So if the original path you took turned out to be unfavorable, then you can turn around and try something else. Wish life were that simple?


Well it could be and it could not be. 
People say I think a lot. But I figured that may only be because we don't have the 'undo' move in reality. Everything is set in stone, and man is yet to find a way to get back and change the path taken. But asume for a second there is an alternate universe. That means there is a you that made the other choice. The fact that that choice exists and you thought about it means there is a script written for that path. If there is a script and the play is in motion, that means there are actors. If there are actors, that means that path was also taken. And since the 'you' you know took the path you took, and both scripts were written for you, is it unreasonable to think the other 'you' took the other path and got a different outcome??

Fated Love

    Just watched a Korean movie (won't give the name to avoid spoiling it for those who might see it) that involved two star crossed lovers who, in my opinion, defied fate, and forced themselves together. They started off as both guys, but A couldn't handle the pressure from people and broke it off. B was so distraught, and after a lot of in betweens - involving him joining the army, getting raped several times cause he was super girly - he had a sex change and became woman (the woman that acted as him was too gorgeous by the way). However, a series of murders ensued - involving those who had raped B, and B became the suspect. A, now a cop, began searching for B. When he found him, now her, B turned out to be his current girlfriend. So even now that A and B were okay in the eyes of everyone, they still couldn't be together because B was now a 'murderer' (though whether or not he was the true killer in the end still remains a mystery. The movie ends rather ambiguously, and the jury is still out on that matter). Rather than get caught by the police - B for 'murder' and A for both aiding and abetting and, as it turns out, murder (he killed the last of the rapists) - the two did the ever famous Shinju or 'Lover's Suicide'. 

    I know the story is rather confusing, but its not so complex in the actual film. Anyway, this got mi thinking about the cycle of love. What kind of force, so powerful, it drives one to defy all grounds, including fate, for another?? As both guys, they could not be together because it is 'immoral'. I am not going to comment on the issue of homosexuality before this turns into a verbal war, but I think its so sad they had to be persecuted simply because they chose to 'love' each other. 

Then B went as far as becoming female just to stop the persecution. Fate, however, was not on their side. B had to have gotten raped prior, and was now the suspect of the murders A was investigating. Once more, in the eyes of society, their 'love' was immoral. And so the two chose to die together. 

    It seemed to mi their 'love' was originally not written in the stars. yet they believed in this 'love' so much so that the chose to die together rather than live apart. So I ask, this force called 'love', why is it worth so much, than one would chose the unknown in death, over an existence save 'love'?? Many people would say I have never been in 'love' so I won't know. Granted I did come close to it once, and that hurt like hell. Why would I then go so far for something that seems to mi, from several indications, to hurt more often than not?? They say when you find 'true love', you are happiest. But from what I've seen, the quest to find 'true love' is like playing the lottery. 99% of the time you don't get lucky, and you get broker and broker as the game goes on. Yet you continue to play in the hope that the next one is the right one. Can't that be classified as a senseless battle??

    Granted, it can be argued that finding 'true love' is a risk, like playing the lottery is a risk, and whats life without risks?? But not all risks are so heart wrenching. Fine, the really good things in life are the onces you have to take the bigger risk for....but at the same time, the damage you get from 'love' seems more deadly than that from other risks, as well as less worth the possible benefit....

But then again, everyone might be right in saying I won't know till I am in the same position. 

The Girl Who Danced With The Snake

It struck as weird didn't it?? Her advocating for the new guy instead of d old. But thinking about it in this order might make some sense. 

Remember the A likes B but B likes C scenario?? Well this is more A likes B. B is dating C. And then there is her. Usually, she's not a fan of the underdog. But this time, she wants A to get B. Though the chances are slim. But that's all her vicarious living talking.
She has gone through the personal cycle of liking A (in normal people terms), getting dumped, getting over it and wishing for his happiness - all in her head.
What if I tell you she thought about liking A, decided on her own he won't like her, got sad/over it and projected her 'almost' feelings unto B.
So it looks like she is rooting for A and B for their sake or as a friend, but in actuality, she'd get to live vicariously through B. Pathetic ain't it?? Now what happens when she plays too much or over projects or deludes herself into believing she could let herself like A and see what happens??

This little dilemma is one of the main reasons I, and not she, keep the keys to our heart. Its too fragile for a repeat of last time for instance. 

The Door Way

What would it be like to hold death and life in your hands? To have a person in your arms, as they are dying. One minute they are there, the next minute, gone. The life leaves them while they are still in your arms. 
Do you feel it?? I mean is there a feeling that transcribes the hollowness that just became of that person?? Do you feel the empty shell as it looses its core, like you do when a bottle becomes empty?? Is there a difference in what you see or feel of the person one second while they are alive and the next after death??


If there was a difference, would you want to feel it?? Would you want to tell when the life is gone by the feel or rather remain in a state of unknown?? Granted its pretty obvious when a person dies, they stop breathing. But what else, aside from the heart and breathing, lets you know that life has left the building?? 


Doctors get a chance to come close to this, as they have life and death in their hands. But still, doctors never actually feel the life leave for the most part, right?? They don't hold the patient in their arms through the process of dying, do they?? So technically, they can only speculate. Sure they can tell you the feeling of loosing a patient but thats it, no??


I guess when it comes down to it, what I want to know is what does death feel like, without actually experiencing it of course. Not till I am old BGG at least....What does it feel like at the door. Not to die, but to feel death happening. 

....From The Eyes Of The Beheld....

When you adore something, you watch it.
You don't touch it.
You don't touch it for you fear that then it would be contaminated. No longer pure, no longer the beauty that you behold. You would be contaminating it with the essence of yourself. The essence that makes you thus unworthy, thus impure, thus a simple guardian.
You understand this, you accept this.
But then disaster strikes.
Now that which you adore so is in shambles. You watch as the pieces gather together. Holding on to each other to soothe the ache that they each share. The common ache that you all share, though yours is well masked, well hidden.
You watch the bond and once again, it's painfully clear. Your heart is hurt cause you watch that which you adore stand before you, its pieces holding on together to comfort itself. To become stronger.
Suddenly, it becomes even more painfully obvious, your position. You are merely an observer to them. A visitor, charming nonetheless, but still a visitor. One with a mere interest in what that which you adore are, but not one that can feel or understand like them. You are automatically tagged, along with the rest of the outsiders, as one with sympathy, but incapable of empathy.
Tragic loss.
Now you have two kinds of pain to deal with. The pain of watching your beloved hurt in a way you could never have wished upon your own daemons. The pain of being all but ostracized as an outsider by the same beloved: Kept so close but yet so far, stuck between being one and being none. An empath to your degree, it hurts more.
You close your eyes, and the eery all too familiar echo of silence engulfs you. Not the silence of peace, but that which echos with lonesomeness. That which is plagued by the every living fact that awake or in sleep, remains eternal.
It's sad. Playing the beholder to the beholder to the beheld. The beheld knows not what it does to the other. The beholder cannot help the one between. For as sad as it is to say, the beholder is but one.
So to soothe yourself, you dive into the fantasies. The loves, the hopes, the dreams once held, all fulfilled. For a time, the ache is pacified, the loneliness is sated. And like a drug, the effect soon wears out, leaving you aching till the next dose.

If you understand any of this, then congratulations. You have become a beholder; seeing what no other has been able to do before - see from the eyes of the one in between....

Diabolical lover

In the wake of the night,
I saw.
The shadows illuminated my room’s sky,
Forcing my unwavering attention.
The soft fiery glow warmed my cheeks,
Yet I knew for a fact one touch would scourge.
Like the ever living fires of Hades.


He came to me.
In sleep or dream I do not know,
But he came.
The skies became the baby blue of dawn,
Yet he glowed and smelt as the twilight.


Gentle kisses he placed,
And I felt them like rain droplets.
Yet I did not touch him.
Plead and cajole he tried, Immortal none the less; I refused.
Relishing the power.


His eyes now grey,
I fear a storm cometh.
He placed a hand on my chest.
I shivered.
His hands burned and cooled as they moved.
A sensation I did not know to scream from or weep with joy.


He kissed me,
I tasted his lips.
He tasted of the sea, the dead sea.
My eyes flew open, the cock crowed.
It was morning on earth.


Night and day he torments me.
Leading mi up the torturous pleasures of ecstasy,
Only to leave me hanging at death's door.


Yet day and night I long for him.
Like the sex craved drug addict he turned me into.
Sodom and Gomorrah had the right idea I wish to say,
For he alone would drive me insane.

Bizarre Circle

There is a man down the street. He sees you all the time, but you don't see him. He watches you as you leave the house in the morning on Friday at 10am.


You always open that door at 10am.


Then like clock work, you pick up the news paper, check the mail for the day then walk back into the house. A few minutes later, you walk out again, lock the door and walk to your car. You get in and drive down the street in the opposite direction from him.


You never see him, but he swears he sees you everyday.


Three houses down are the McClauds. The little girl, Ami, is six and wants to be a ballerina. Her seventh birthday is around the corner, and you promised to get her tickets for her first big life show.


You pass by the house as you drive on your way, and remember your promise.


Across the street from the McClauds is old Mrs. Harper. The woman slimes at you all the time as you drive by and you smile back. She always yells for the kids to go back in the house saying it's dangerous to be out at this time.
You smile and shake your head. The same old story everyday.
All would be as it was when you return Sunday night at 7 as you do every weekend.


But this Sunday is different.


You slow down as you get closer to the house. There are too many people outside, including the cops. Something is not right.


You stop the car and walk out, standing next to it for a second.


The man is there. He sees you, and you see him.


Suddenly he starts yelling. He is yelling something along the lines of "It was meant to be you" but you don't really know.


You walk up to the house and you know. Before the police get to you, you know and you feel it. The dread in your stomach, the realization in your head, and finally the calming and acceptance in your heart.


"Ma'am, is this your apartment?" The officer asks.


"She lives here but she is not meant to!" The man screams. You turn to him, a look of confusion on your face. What was he talking about?


You turn back to the officers and respond. "No sir, I don't live here. My friend does though. I only come to visit on the weekends. What happened?"


The officer begins his "I'm sorry" speech. There was a shooting, your friends have been rushed to the E.R. and you would need to come with them for more questioning. You hear the 's' after 'friend' and fight off a dread. You nod and follow the officer out.


The man was taken out before you stepped out. He is in hand cuffs now. Apparently he was the shooter. But why did he shoot and who is he? They can't figure it out.


He still continues to yell things about lies and how it was meant to be you. Did he think you lived with them though you were not meant to? Was that why he had shot them?


Your head hurts.


You try to tell yourself it is because of all the shouting, but you know it is not. It had been hurting even before you got to the house.


You look up and the sun is suddenly too bright. Everyone is shouting. You want to tell them to be quiet, but then you suddenly feel light and weak.


There is a shot. There is a scream.


You really want them to be quiet but it's all white now. Slowly you let yourself rest for a while.


You wake up in the hospital. Devan's with you. Your boyfriend.


"What's going on?" you ask, and his face is suddenly looming in your view. You want to tell him to move, but he is blocking the light so you let him be. He is fussing about something and you figure telling him to move would make him even noisier.


The doctors come in. They move your body around, probe you some and then smile at you.


"You had a blood clot in your brain, but we got it out now. You were lucky to have come in at the time you did." One doctor says. He continues talking about rest and other things, but you tune out.


Blood clot? Was that what the headache was about? But what about the shot and the screams?


Just when you decide you had imagined the entire affair, the officer comes in. He looks solemn.


"How do you feel ma'am?" he asks. You try to smile but it hurts too much. So you mumble an "Okay, considering", and he smiles.


"What happened?" you ask, knowing he was not going to begin talking otherwise.


He sighs for a minute, as though carrying a heavy burden. "Do you know Mr. Trover?" he asks, looking at me for a reaction.


Trover? Was he meant to be familiar? "No." You reply, hoping it was not going to lead to a session of brain checks to see if your memory was intact.


He nods and you are relieved. Then he tells you "Well Mr. Trover seemed to know you. He was the man at your friend's house when you walked in. We interviewed him. Apparently he was the landlord of the place and thought you lived with your friends. Did you?"


You shake your head.


"She spends the night on the weekends." You hear Devan say. You smile as he squeezes your hand. And to think you had planned on breaking it off the night before.


The officer goes on. "Well he went in to kill you in order to get you to stop living with them. He didn't see who he shot, but there were two victims. A man and a woman. He assumed the woman was you." The officer paused.


You close your eyes. If the woman was not you, then it had to be Trish.
"What happened to them?" You manage to ask. You open your eyes and turn to the officer.


He shrugs. "The man had a surface wound, his left arm, and was out of the hospital before the end of the day. The woman is in a coma. Her face is almost unrecognizable, and there doesn't seem to be any available ID to identify her. The doctor says its up to her now. It is a small town and the weekend, so getting her finger prints results would probably not happen until Monday. But you know her and we have the culprit so there is no rush."


You nod.
Devan's grip on your hand is a little too tight. You want to tell him to let go but you can't find the strength. Then you remember.


"I heard a shot before I passed out." you say, and see the real reason for the initial sigh. Ah, here it comes.


"He grabbed the gun of the officer closet to him when he saw you outside and aimed to shot you. You fell before he hit you. The McClaud's little girl was behind you. It was a clean sot to the heart. She was dead before the medics arrived." He falls silent for a second, then says a few things about getting your report when you get out and hoping you get better soon.


You did not hear him leave though. Little Ami was dead. Was it odd that you remembered her rosy cheeks go crimson when Mrs. Harper had yelled for her to go back in and called her a vile word? You remember you still had not bought the tickets you promised her.


Mrs. Harper....the old bat had been right in the end.


You look at Devan. He had remained quiet since the officer left. You glanced at the table behind him. There are white roses on the table. He follows your gaze then smiles at you. "Roses. I got them on my way in. I remembered they were your favorites."


You look at him then and smile. You hated flowers. Trish died for roses.


"You are holding on too tight." You say at last, and smile and close your eyes when he releases his grip.


You hear the door open and do not need to open your eyes to know he is here. You smile as his scent hits you.


You seem to be smiling a lot for someone in the hospital you think.


"Oh Dimitri," Devan says, getting up to shake the man's hand. "Trish's room is down the hall. I am sorry. Funny they both got hurt at her apartment." he says.


You open your eyes then. Ah, that's right. He would think that.


You look at Dimitri. He has a single plastic blue rose, and you could tell he had dipped it in your favorite perfume. You stretch out your hand and he hands it to you. You notice he is favoring his left side.


You smile then turn back to Devan. Poor thing, he looks baffled.


The doctor comes in then. "Ms. Gardner is asking for you." he says, then waits.


Devan looks at Dimitri, but he continues standing. "The doctor's talking to you right?" he asks with a smile, but loses his smile when he turns to you.


You think he realizes then that the roses were not meant for you. He recalls that you hate live roses.


There is an awkward silence then he gets up. He turns to apologize to you but you shake your head and tell him "She told me she was pregnant two months ago. The same day we bought the Teaser perfume together, me and her. The same day you came home smelling of teaser."


He looks at you in shock for a second. He wants to respond, but the doctor coughs to remind all of his presence. He walks out with the doctor and doesn't say a word.


The door shuts.


You glance at Dimitri. He sits on the bed, leans in and gives you a kiss.


Well laid out plans.


Two months ago after you and Trish went perfume shopping, and Devan came home smelling of the perfume you hadn't yet used, you bought the apartment in Trish's name yet she only found out about it last night.


You knew Trevor hated you. You knew he was going to try to kill you on that day. It was only a matter of setting the right time. But to think that he shot her up to the point of nonrecognition? You did not know he hated you that much.


He watched you, as you watched him. you knew he had come in the house at noon to see if he could get you unawares several times before. So having Trish come over at noon that day gave him the once in a life time chance he had been searching for. No one was going to stop you if he didn't. The house owner did not believe him, the police thought he was crazy.


And why wouldn't they?


Though he claimed you lived there, he only saw you at 10am on Fridays and 7pm on Sundays. Yet there was no trace of you in the house at noon when he went in, and no sign of you coming in and out of the apartment even on the weekends. You simply went out at 10am on Friday, and came in at 7pm on Sunday. What happened in between was a mystery.


Poor thing.
He could not have guessed the tunnel beneath the closet door in Dimitri's room. Who could have? It had been built in the 80s, when the Viscoff family smuggled all sorts into the country. It was the family trade.
Dimitri was heir.


And he screamed on and on about how it was meant to be you, you almost felt bad for him, had it not been for the clot in your brain. But his mistake was as good as any other persons. It was impossible to tell Trish and you apart.
You are twins.


Dimitri kisses the crease off your brow. "It was not your fault." he says, and makes you smile.
The plans would have been perfect, but little Ami, for the first time, broke the rules. The little child always listened when Mrs. Harper said go in, but not last night.
Last night she stayed out cause you had promised.
It was her birthday last night, and you still did not buy the tickets she waited outside so eagerly for.
What a bizarre Sunday it had been.