Soul Chains

This Love, This Hate

I turn to stone as I look into eyes of angels

And my frozen soul plummets into sorrow

Even though it hurts like the Wrath of God

I love it, I hate it, and I just wish it were over

This roller-coaster ride of despair suspends me

I hang in longing, the image of angels in my mind

They lift me up with hands of rock to hide me away

And I know that I am the prisoner of my confusion

I pound the bars of my cage with looks of bitterness

My arms frozen in a protective grip around myself

The angels laugh at my pain, draining my emotions

Draining me until I am numb, numb even to love

~Sammy's Diary

Had Mortimer been standing next to me at the time, I would have swung my head over toward him in surprise.

"Exile," I thought to him, probably also saying it at the same time, "How did you get exiled? You've always been so nice...."

"I," he thought slowly, "I stole something. Something important. Something very important."

I cocked my head to the side, like that of an expectant bird, curiously.

"Well," I said loudly, probably more loudly than necessary, "What did you steal?"

"He stole St. Michael the Archangel's trumpet!" Donovan exclaimed with a burning fury.

"It was for a good cause," Mortimer muttered sourly.

I frowned deeply, then turned toward Machiavelli.

"How and when are you going to remove him," I asked him quickly.

Mortimer whimpered silently. He hadn't expected someone he had known for so long to be so eager to throw him out. Machiavelli seemed startled as well.

"Well, you get to keep him until your first day of school. Come, it is time for you to see the school."