Dead silence, which has already prevail in a desolate room, was interrupted by quiet whistle of the wind in the ventilation full of rubbish and dust. The cold light of the electric lamps blankly slid down the floor covering, gently touching it by it's long freezing fingers. There is nobody in the room, except the disgusting fear, which has spread over the space and strangled the last alive soul its deadly attractive arms. However, the soul barely can be called "alive".
But even through the snowy palms, squeezing the gutless heart, you can see the purest beams of light, which is out of this world. And while the soul was able to keep inside this healing shine, the person keeps on living; however at this moment, lying on the cold glazed ceramic tiles with nobody around except these high white walls, he has already doubted in the fact, that he really need this "existence".
Dark short hair has a silver dye of the frost, pale, marble face had brooding facial expression of a clear tiredness of the people and the whole world. He looked like a white iris - the same brittle, innocent flower, supposedly made from the thin cobweb of angels' songs. Skinny arms and long fingers, touching the cold tiles; quiet, barely shaking the air breathing; and eyes the colour of Black Coffee, that lookin' at nothing with apathy.
The frosty time flows through the veins, chilling the skin from the inside and transforming it into a lifeless, but perfect stone, inch by inch covering it with smooth, hypocritical glazed ceramic tiles shining by the light of electric lamps. It seemed like the whole world world stood still, disappeared in a space, left behind just this desolate white room, where the cold glazed ceramic tiles gradually consumed remains of porcelain personality smashed on the pavement, embracing him whith his inviolable shackles.
— Dumela, my sweet friend, — soft whispering gliding in semi-darkness of the shade. — You're tired, aren't you?
Gentle hands down on narrow shoulders of lad and slightly embrassed him, an anguishing shudder went through the body.
— Yes, — tormented glance slid on the ceiling, and palm felt affectionate touching with trembling. — Do you want to take me?
— Sure, — soothing weary mind voice is so close, but unbelievable far away.
— I came here for you by choise, — hands frozen in a helpless sign.
— I know, — cold spread over the chest, hugging the lean body; something swinged the clavicles, northern wind run down the neck by light steps, gently touched gorgeous face and disappear, lost in a maze of white hairs.
— I came for you...
Pleasant twilight. Sleepy eyes covered by thick eyelashes. Long fingers, narrow shoulders, pointy elbows. Gracefully arched lad's figure, sealed with hypocritical glazed ceramic tiles. Lonely body surrounded by walls. A quiet death. The soul of snow-white iris, which is imprison in cold stone.
Do you feel like a chill going down your spine?
