It's a pity Mary didn't see my way as help, but atlas she is at peace with her problems now. But I fixed her night dress. But I used my red thread. How I love my red thread. I dye it personally at home so I make sure the it transforms into the perfect shade of Crimson. Not too dark nor too light. But it takes the most time. I use the thread to sew up my problems so they can experience the silence as well before they are disposed of. Sometimes I feel it a waist of perfect thread, but beggars can't be choosers.
It's a damp Saturday. Serves it right. Saturday's are inferior to Sunday's, the greatest day. The only day. I'm starting to sound like Mary now. Mary is the new name of the newest voice. She hasn't learned the beauty of silence yet, but she is new, I won't let it get to me, she will learn. It's as easy as cherry pie to teach the beauty of silence, ahh, cherry pie. I new a lady named cherry, or was is cheery? No. It was cherry. Cherry whintsworth. Sweet lady. She did make the best pies, she was kind enough to teach me how to make a pie. None of them compared, except for one. It was a cherry pie. The secret ingredient, well it was love, love and meal, bone meal always adds a spice to things.
The voices are getting restless, I must sing. They repeat it once I'm done the sing.
" broken bones and broken hearts,
They make way for the silence.
Bad choices and memories,
They all make way for silence.
Crying and screaming is all forgotten,
When they make way for silence.
And the only one I loved is gone,
But he will return of course for the silence.
Screams of pain are all forgotten,
Because the silence is here."
My poor baby, in the cold now I feel bad. But he did disrespect the silence. But he is my favorite. He can suffer for a few more moments. Alas he will respect the silence. Even as a small boy, I've learned that quiet is my friend. When no one else is there, his screams speak to me. I must get my little prize, before he gets too cold. I'll just pick him up out of the ice box, and wrap him in a warm blanket. I'll hold him to make sure he warms, I don't know what I would do without him. It seems that he is respecting the silence now, he is slowing and quieting his breath now. My poor prize, shaking in my arms, but it's such a cute moment as I kiss his head and he nuzzles into my neck. I do feel bad for not getting him sooner, for he has lived me threw all of this. I'll make it up to him he can help me make the thread. He's always been fascinated by the process. Such a soft face, perfect fare skin, even makes me jealous, but I shall not be jealous. That would be a problem, and I would have to dispose of it. But I do love his perfect face, and how his nose I red from the cold. But not Crimson, I may have to experiment on how long he must stay in the cold for his nose to become Crimson.
Crimson, the only color. The perfect color, he silence's color. The voices are restless again, maybe my prize will sing this time? Yes he will sing. My sweet little boy will you sing this time? He responds with a cold shiver and a quiet yes. He is recognizing the silence, good boy I kiss his head once more and he sings the silence song, quietly, but just loud enough to for the voices to calm. I stroke the side of his head, and I notice a quite large cut on his upper arm, that continued up his shoulder. I should repair him, it's the least I can do. I shall carry him to the office and sew his arm back up. But I shall use me Crimson thread. Only the best for him.
I informed him that I was going to fix him up, and put him to bed, and he simply rested his head on my shoulder. Beautiful. No words. No problems. Just silence. He respects it so well. Makes me love him even more. Beautiful. I gently close his wound, but I know how much he hates a cold needle, so pressed the needle up Into my arm, blood warms all. Anything for my prize. Once patched up I shall Cary him to my room and lay him on the bed, but of my astonishment he pulled my head in to a kiss. Sweet little boy. Beautiful fare skin, soft brown hair, and blue piercing eyes. At only twenty years of age none the less, I only being three years older. Sitting on the side of the bed stroking his hair. He falls asleep as the voices act up again, so I shall leave him for the moment being to soothe the voices once more.
