Note

I am trying to figure out how to create an effective, user friendly blog, and it is proving to be more difficult than I had originally though.  So, any help/suggestions would be wonderful, any feedback would be wonderful! If there is anything that bothers you about my writing, or blog, or if you have any ideas I would love to hear from you, or if you just want to say hi.  Anyway happy Tuesday!

Charcoal Pt. 6

 YAY! A new chapter.  I should have been editing the last part, but I wanted to add something new.  And for this section I have no excuses for editing this time, other than I am terrible at it.  I hope you can look past the mistakes and enjoy! Oh and thank you Jadelilac for the wonderful comments, they make me want to write more, better, faster.  And Charcoal Pt. 6:

Soul didn’t do very well with trusting people. And the task of trusting such an outlandish claim was even more difficult.

The barista was watching with interest, so the new trio headed to Professor White's office. It was a small, cozy room in the art building. It smelled slightly of acrylic paint, turpentine, and coffee. There were two soft armchairs not unlike those in the coffee shop.

Scott gently pushed Soul into one of the chairs and perched on the desk. The pleading look was gone from his eyes now that he had a purpose.

“Close your eyes.” Soul did what he was told. His heart was beating harder than he had ever felt, and yet, he knew Scott wasn’t going to do anything he wouldn’t like. Not yet at least.

Soul could feel Scott moving around the room, but dutifully kept his eyes closed, when he felt hands over his closed eyelids he jumped, but Scott's warm dry hands were oddly comforting. It wasn’t like the stifling closeness of a hug, but still had enough contact that Soul was secure in where Scott was.

“I want you to go to the place you go when you draw.” Soul frowned. This sounded rather new age-y and maybe a bit Freudian.

“I don’t go anywhere when I draw, I just do-”

“Shh.” Soul would have gone on, but now that he had agreed to do this he didn’t want to mess up, or disappoint Scott. He didn’t like how his feelings were all over the place lately, he wanted to go back the steady, calm, unemotional Soul from before, but knew that wouldn't, couldn't happen now.

“You aren’t trying hard enough.” Scott sounded like he was smiling. Soul sighed and tried to imagine drawing, but without paper in front him no image would come.

“I can't do this. I can't just imagine drawing. I just do it.”

“Try harder.” Said Scott. Soul tried. He pictured a pencil in his hand, the blank expanse of paper in front of him, but nothing would come. For an artist Soul had a very non-visual mind. He couldn’t picture things, he imagined the descriptions of them,, instead of seeing paper he thought of the idea of paper.

“I can't!” Soul sat forward in his chair ready to leave. He hadn’t agreed to be tormented, there were enough people willing to tell him his problems, he didn’t need a whole task to fail at.

“Maybe you need to try something else?” Professor whit spoke quietly. The hands left from Soul's eyes.

“What do you suggest, now that you are the expert.” Scott sounded angry, frustrated. All the times Soul had been mean, Scott had never gotten angry, but now he sounded livid. Professor White also seemed surprised.

“I just thought maybe-” The professor set his hands palm up on his knees, it seemed an odd gesture to Soul but Scott seemed to recognize it, and calmed- just a bit.

“Well I don’t need you telling me how to do my job how to deal with my Arima.” The professor nodded slowly. Soul wanted to know what Arima meant, but didn’t think it was a good time to interrupt, he filed the information away for another time.

“I don’t think I can be of any further help this evening. Let me know if there is anything I can do for you boys.” The professor stood to leave the room closing the door softly behind him. As he left Scott let his hand cup the back of Souls head.

“There may be a better way to do this. But that is for you and I to figure out. Not him, not any other randoms, yes?” Soul nodded and swallowed hard. He didn’t know if he liked this new Scott. “What do you feel when you draw?” Scott knelt down so he was face to face with Soul, who shrugged.

“Nothing, I just draw what wants to be drawn.” Soul spoke quietly. He felt so lost. The day had been such a roller coaster and didn’t look like it was going to be over any time soon. Scott bit his lip and studied Soul's face closely, Soul noticed how long his eyelashes were, he reached out a finger before he could think about what he was doing and brushed them slightly. They were soft, but didn’t move much under his touch.

“I would draw you if I could.” Soul's heart beat hard enough he could feel the echo in his throat. He could feel a blush working up his chest.

Scott smiled and ran his thumb over Soul's cheekbone.

“I'm quite sure you could. In fact do it now.” Scott got a pad of paper and a pencil down from a shelf. Soul wondered how many times Scott had been in this office to know where things were so easily.

“I've said before, I can't draw people.” Soul though back to the other times he had drawn form sight, or tried to draw figures, he didn’t want to embarrass himself any more than he had already.

“This time will be different, I’m sure of it.” Scott stood to sit on the edge of the desk.

“You can't watch me!” Soul could feel his blush spreading, he felt too hot, too closed in. He wished the door was open. Scott smiled again and sat in the chair the professor had recently vacated. He sat crooked in the chair, offering Soul a three-quarter view.

“Is this my good side?” Soul ignored him and began to draw. He began from the middle, with Scott's eyelashes. Soon Soul felt nothing, not the heat of the room, not the stifling embrace of the chair, he simply drew, not realizing that the moment the pencil hit the paper he stopped looking at Scott and simply drew.

As Soul was putting the finishing touches on Scott's hair he crossed his legs in the chair, his hips popped and a he sighed softly. Scott caught his breath. After Soul had slipped into sleep he had been almost holding his breath, the bond made him constantly aware of Soul's beauty, but watching him draw was something else entirely, he was more than beautiful. Scott wanted to hear that sigh again, and many other involuntary noises from that mouth.

Soul bit his lip and straightened his spine and sat the picture on the desk.

“I think I’m done.” He looked up and was surprised not to see Scott sitting in the chair across the desk, and even more to feel Scott's breath on his cheek. He turned to see Scott's reaction to the picture and to have room to breath, but was again lost in the length and thickness of his eyelashes. Scott was likewise lost in the haunting green of Soul's eyes. They really did seem like they were seeing more than other people, and at the moment they were taking everything in. Scott could see the emotion in them, the confusion, and longing, and loss. When Scott felt Soul's soft chai scented breath across his lips, any restraint he had dissolved. Scott bridged the short distance between them and brushed his lips against Soul's.

Soul blinked in surprise and pulled back. He couldn’t think, just hours ago he had hated Scott, or though he had, now he was kissing him. Before he could think more Scott had slid his hands deep into Soul's hair and kissed him again. It was a soft kiss, gentle brushes of lips. Scott heart threatened to choke him with desperation. As much as he wanted to feel Soul completely, he didn’t want to scare him more. So after a moment with more restraint than he thought he had, Scott pulled away from Soul's smooth, startlingly cool and sweet lips.

Soul's eyes were unfocused. He blinked slowly twice before speaking.

“Why can't I just be?” he bit his lip again and Scott bit back a moan, his whole body ached with wanting, but he knew if he pushed too hard, Soul would disappear, and that would be more than he could bear.

“What did you feel when you were drawing?” Soul looked up in surprise. What did he feel? Nothing. He answered such.

“I told you before, I just draw what wants to be let out.” Scott shook his head, there had to be something. He looked at the picture and found an impossibly detailed picture of himself, it would have been remarkable if that was the only significance in it, but there was more, if he looked closely, reflected in his charcoal twins eyes there was a figure alone, surrounded by trees, the figure looked like Soul.

“What were you thinking?” Soul shrugged, “nothing. I’ve told you.” Scott looked back at the picture, there had to be more than that. But maybe, even Soul didn’t know what was going on. He had been so disconnected form his talent for so long, thinking it only an art- useless for anything other than simple entertainment.

“Do you feel anything about this picture after you have drawn it?” Scott held up the picture. For a long moment Soul didn’t look when he did his eyes had lost their dreamy, open look.

“Nothing. The only image I feel anything for is the forest. And that, only that it isn’t quite right, I always want to make it better.” Scott frowned. He was stumped. Soul was going to be a challenge on so many levels.

“And that, can you draw it for me now?” An odd expression passed behind Soul's eyes, too fast to recognize.

“I don’t want you to look at it. Ever.” After he spoke Soul was startled. He hadn’t meant to say that. He meant to make some excuse about he couldn’t just draw it whenever. He felt relief at having someone he could really talk to about how he drew, however he felt about Scott. But he had never said something so different from what he intended. He opened his mouth to apologize but couldn’t get the words out. He rephrased in his head.

“I didn’t mean to say that.” Scott could see the confusion in his eyes. “I meant to say I can't draw it for anyone and you aren’t one of those people.” Soul covered his mouth and looked at Scott with wide eyes.

“Maybe you can write what you want to say?” As frightening as it was, Scott felt they were finally getting somewhere. The block in Soul's speech told him there was more significance in the picture than he had originally thought.

Soul picked up the pencil and tried to write, but it was as if he was writing with his non dominant hand. He couldn’t make himself form real letters. Never before had he had such a problem. He looked up with true panic in his eyes.

“Scott, I can't- I can't show you something your eyes aren’t meant to see.” Soul bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and tried to hold back tears. Never had he felt so out of control. Scott brushed the ruby of blood from Soul's lip and smiled.

“This means we are getting somewhere. There is obviously something special in that picture, we just have to figure it out.” He tucked a piece of Soul's hair from his face, and looked into luminous green eyes. “There has to be a version somewhere I can look at.” Soul's stomach turned as he though of Scott looking at the picture. He felt like the few sips of chai he had were going to make a violent reappearance.

“I don’t think that is a good idea.” Soul spoke the words he meant to and allowed himself a small smile. “I don’t think that you are meant to see it, at least not yet.” As long as he didn’t suggest anything that would lead Scott to the picture he felt better, “I'm-” He couldn’t finish his apology, a tickle in the back of his mind telling him that he shouldn't give Scott anything. Not an apology, not anything that could give Scott the upper hand.

“You are sorry?” Scott asked, trying to read the expression in Soul's eyes. Soul couldn't even make himself nod. Scott, somehow understood. “Your eyes tell everything.” Scott leaned forward for another kiss as Soul's stomach dropped. He closed his eyes as soon as the meaning reached his minds, and was once again startled by the feel of lips against his own.

Soul had never imagined kissing someone could be so perfect. He had always imagined it as rather gross, swapping spit and all, but this was so soothing, and so rousing. The feeling of Scott's hands in his hair send goosebumps down his spine, the heat of Scott's lips against his own made his dropping stomach twist into knots. Overcome by the intensity Soul couldn’t sit still. His own hands were reaching for Scott. He pushed himself out of the chair and wrapped himself around Scott, suddenly he couldn’t be close enough. His breath was stolen and he couldn’t care less. The only thing that mattered was getting closer to Scott. One of Soul's hands slipped to the bottom of Scott's shirt, he needed to feel more skin.

Scott responded to Soul's intensity. He had meant the kiss to be sweet and reassuring but it was anything but. They were caught in a fever of sensation, both their thoughts focused on the texture of the others skin. Just as Scott pulled back just enough to pull Soul's sweatshirt over his head the door opened.

“I've found something!” Professor White was faced with two livid, tousled students. Soul was straddling Scott on the desk, pieces of paper, pencils, and art covered the floor. The professor didn’t mind the mess but the looks on the boys' faces was close to terrifying.

A low growl began in Scott's chest, feeling the vibration Soul's hands clenched on Scott's shoulders and his head fell back, his eyes closing. As the sound faded Soul leaned down to rip the buttons off Scott's shirt. Scott rolled and they both ended up on the floor. Soul scrabbled at Scott's buttons, but the fall had cleared the intensity for Scott, just enough for him to remember the professor stricken in the doorway.

“How dare you.” Scott's voice was dark and low, completely different form the pleasant tone of his everyday life, the professor gulped, regretting with all his being interrupting. Before he could blink Scott's hands were around his neck, the nails that had so recently been running through Soul's hair now drew blood in the smooth weathered skin at the base of the professors skull.

Masks

Okay okay, last short thing, I will not post again until I have written something longer, hopefully another part/chapter of the many stories I have started.  The challenge for this piece was to write something to do with masks.  Please enjoy (and comment)!

Masks

lined the walls.  The room was dark, but the masks were backlit, the glow of the eyes and mouth the only light in the room.  Scarlet and gold wallpaper was on the walls and gave the masks eyes of an unholy burning fire.  The room was meant to suggest luxury, and succeeded.  The moon, however, was one of ritual and fear, not one of comfort. 

            Taylor looked into the room from the doorway, dreading what was to come.

            “Come in.”  Taylor jumped.  Among the masks sat a man, in a chair carved from one piece of deeply polished wood.  Slowly Taylor took one step into the dark room.  The empty ruby glowing eye sockets of the masks followed him until he stopped in front of the thrown like chair.  From this distance he could see the carvings were faces.

            “You know what you have done.”  Taylor nodded.  His head felt too light, his palms were damp with sweat.

            “You know your punishment.”  The question was spoken as a statement, and Taylor nodded a gain, a tear slipped down his cheek.  He had broken the last promise to himself and his father.  The last words he had spoken to his father had been made a lie.

            “Whatever you do don’t cry.”  The last words he had heard his father speak.

            “I will not, that is my last promise to you.”  The last words he had spoken.  Even that simple request he could not follow, after all the lies he had told, that one hurt the most.

            “I’m ready.”  Taylor whispered, no longer able to stand his memories, or the silence.  He looked at the faces carved into the wood, imagining his own among them.

insomnia

Less than 100 words? My run on sentence, over using of commas self took the challenge, but does it make sense outside of my mind? I don't know.

Insomnia

I sat on the edge of the bed and wished for sleep. It was a blessing that would not come. The moon paints prison bars across my pillow- where some are trapped in sleep, I can’t find my way in.

            I think about my sister, how sometimes I imagined her looking out the same window, at the same moon.  A world away with the same focus.  Now even imaginings are no comfort.  They are too close to dreams.

            I wished I were sleeping as I wished she would wake.  But wishes, like dreams, so infrequently come true.

May crazy and a poem

May is the craziest time!  I always forget how little time there is to do anything.  Still, I am sorry about my infrequent posting, here is a little poem from a writing exercise.  Usually they are called poem sketches and there are specific words that you have to include.  Also follow me on twitter for quick updates and random comments, what else is twitter for?  Anyway,

Winter

The scarf brushed her cheek

like a kiss, like the bloom of her favorite flower

but this-was silk.

She dreamt of the worms that made it,

the pots that boiled it.

and though

what a pretty way to die

drifting in a cauldron of color.

Tears glossed her cheeks and she masked her face in ice.

She rolled in the snow

making a print of her body.

Forever is too long

she though,

just until spring is perfect.

She thought of the snowflakes dusting her face

pressing her into the blue

white snow covered her

her body blooming with cold,

crystals of ice crowned her hair

and she became the queen of silence

unseen, unmoving

until the thaw of spring.

Charcoal Pt. 5

 I am very sorry for the long wait.  I am frustrated with myself on how long it took me to write this.  I have been busy though, then I lost my hard drive, then it crashed.  I also have to apologize for formatting and spelling errors, in the transition from one computer to another through email, spell check and regular formatting were messed with. But enough excuses.  Comments are wonderful!  And Charcoal part 5:



“Soul, your name is no accident. Though your mother’s description of how you got it is as accurate as any, it, as many things, does not tell the whole truth. I also cannot tell you the whole truth. But I can begin to.” Soul realized then that this discussion was not going to be about his art. At least not entirely.



“Your mother was an extraordinary woman. You may not realize it now, and you may never really comprehend what she gave up to raise you the way she did. And it may not have been the best for anyone but it was what she believed in. she didn’t want you to know about your talent, and she did a damn good job. But there have always been people in your life, and there will always be people that want to draw it out.” This was stupid. Soul was just waiting for the camera crew to jump from the walls.



“This isn’t some weird fantasy movie. I don’t have some talent. I just like to draw, and according to you I’m not even that good. And if I do have so talent why wont you just say what it is?” The professor smiled warmly.



“I haven’t mentioned because it is so hard to believe. If I didn’t know your mother, if I hadn’t witnessed your birth and watched you grow up I would have sworn there was a mistake. There would be no way this quiet sarcastic- rude,” here he gave a rather significant look, could be the one that all the elders speak of in hushed voices. But there you are. Mysterious ways and all that. “Soul was getting frustrated.



“What am I supposed to be able to do? Why wont you just tell me?”



The professor looked down his nose at Soul, he didn’t speak for a moment. Right before Soul was going to gather his materials and leave he began.



“It is a sad story, your mother's. But I must begin there for any of this to make sense.” The professor turned away from the easel and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “If you are willing to listen this will be a rather long story. We should go somewhere more suited to talking.”



They ended up in a small student run cafe under the library. It was nearly empty and the broken in leather armchairs felt like a warm embrace. Soul sat forward in his chair, knees tucked under him. The feeling of being in the chair was too claustrophobic. He didn’t want any hugs, especially not one from a dirty old chair.

“Before you were born your mother lived a very privileged life. Everything she knew was given to her. Her family had enough money that jobs or finances were never spoken of. But there was also little freedom.” Scott had gone to get coffee. He set Soul's on the edge of his chair. Soul ignored it.

“Little freedom? Try none.” Scott curled, catlike into his chair. He didn’t quite meet Soul's eyes when the other boy looked at him, surprised. “I'm lucky they let me come here. If they knew you were here- well I guess that wouldn’t really make much of a difference.” Soul was becoming more confused by the second. If this was some sort of elaborate prank it was going too far. No one would like it if it were televised.

“Scott is right, in a way, but his life was also different than your mother's-”

“What the hell is going on? You should just tell me if this is real, and quit saying stupid vague things. If you are going to tell some long winded story then get on with it.” Soul took a deep breath through his nose, not understanding where the venom was coming from. He wasn’t someone who yelled, he stewed, and brooded, and held wicked grudges. But he never raised his voice.

“Your mother was raised Claire. Even if she didn’t have the Talent she was still forced to go through all the training, and she had enough of the Talent to pass it on to you. Claire is not a place as many people think, it is not a city made of glass or anything of that nature. It is closer to a state of mind. Many people study the discipline, but your mother's family, and Scott's, lived in a community with those dedicated to the art. There was no other option for her, or for Scott.” This explanation was far from satisfactory.

“What's the talent. You keep saying it, but I still don’t know what it is.” Soul managed to keep his voice close to level, but he was still frustrated.

“All in time.” The professor took a leisurely sip of his coffee, rubbed his temples and crossed his legs before beginning to speak again. Soul though he was going to burst. If any of this nonsense was true his whole life was going to change. But these two, with all the answers wouldn’t do anything to make what was supposed to happen clear.

“When I was in college I first thought I wanted to study parapsychology. I looked into all the lab trials that had failed to show evidence of ESP and realized that maybe there was something about the lab environment that was messing with the power, or talent, or skill. I went searching for people who could do the things I wanted to learn about. I started in Lilydale, but soon found that I was more interested in the actual act, not the show of it. For several long years I searched. It was difficult. Those who really have the Talent usually try to hide it, and those who don’t are usually locked in communities like the one your mother was born into. I managed to get an invitation to a ball through a friend of a friend and that is how I met your mother.” Soul frowned. This was sounding more and more like a bad TV show. Or maybe one of those crime shows. Maybe Professor White was going to lead up to some elaborate reveal of how he was some inbred child of a serial rapist or something. Or maybe his parents were from some sort of poly-amorous community where everyone was related.

“Are you like my dad or something?” The professor laughed and shook his head.

“If only I was, maybe I could be of more help to you.” I know very little, that is why I am being so vague, I don’t mean to be. That is where Scott comes in. But first I want to finish my story.” Soul stood and walked around the cafe. The barista behind the counter looked up suddenly, as if just becoming aware there were costumers. Soul scowled at her, and she quickly went back to reading her book.

“I met your mother, and was stricken with her beauty. I wanted her.” Soul made a face, the image of his mother and the Professor, together, was too disgusting for him to think about. “ I think she may have noticed me, but I will never really know. I will only know from that point forward I never could bear to be without knowledge of her for long. I had my friend send me updates about her life. And when she was paired, I crashed the ceremony. It was like a wedding, but fancier, and with more ritual, I imagined I could feel the magic in the air. I could tell, though, by your mother's face that she didn’t love the man she was to be with, she flinched whenever he leaned toward her. I couldn’t watch the end of the ceremony, well, I’ll spare you the details, but I was later told that is the night you were conceived.” People watched that? Soul was disgusted again, and more so that his own professor had been there to see it, that his own mother had- fornicated-in public. He shivered and walked back to his chair. He didn’t sit, still unwilling to feel the suffocation of its embrace, especially after hearing of his own conception.

“Later I learned that you had been born, then a little after a month after that, that your mother had disappeared. I spent years looking for her, all across the country and world, until I found you here. I introduced myself to your mother, and she remembered me after all those years. I watched you grow up, from afar, and after you began to draw, more than just what you could see I knew you had the talent your mother lacked. She knew it too and that is why she tried to protect you, by keeping you in the dark. When you came to this school I wanted to honor her wishes, to tell you nothing. But what you draw suggests that there are changes coming, and we need to know what this means. You have to develop you Talent so you can interpret your own works. That is what I have learned, both teaching and studying art and your family, no one but the artist can truly interpret the meaning.”

Soul sat back in his seat and considered what the professor was saying.

“You still haven’t explained yourself very well. How am I supposed to learn. I just draw what comes to mind. It isn’t some magical prophesy.”

The professor nodded.

“That is where Scott comes in.”

Scott turned slowly in his chair, still not looking into Soul's eyes.

“When you were born, my family claimed you as my intended. It is not a practice that is often observed anymore, and many on the counsel though it had been made illegal, well it hasn’t been. I was bound to you, I don’t think you mother finished your side of the bond. But I can't break it ever. And I always felt something was missing. Until I started drawing. There was always a figure that I wanted to draw, but never came out right, until I drew you sulking in the window.” Scott laughed. “I asked my mother, and she told me I was stupid, that it was impossible. She told me what she has always told me, that she is very sorry the bond wasn’t finished, and that I should get used to the idea of being alone. I had hope when I first met you, that maybe- but after I talked to you it was certain that you didn’t feel the pull.” Scott finally met Soul's eyes, Scott's were glossy like he was close to tears. Soul broke the gaze first. He had never been one to like eye contact, especially after such an intimate confession. He turned to Professor White who simply smiled.

Soul felt quite uncomfortable. He had to admit that keeping him hidden was something his mother would do. She was terrified of letting him go to school. He had never gotten his license because she 'couldn’t find his birth certificate' now he wondered if he even had one.

“Even though you were gone, the bond didn’t resolve. They know you are still alive, and assume your mother is too. It's hard for me not to tell them, but it would hurt more for you to be taken away. I want nothing more than for you to be happy.” Scott looked broken. Nothing like the arrogant jerk that Soul had seen that first week.

“I had to do something with my life, since I couldn’t have you, I don’t have the Talent, but those around me seem to get better at it. I learned how to help people use their Talent, how to protect their minds from getting too caught up in the Unworld. I would like nothing more than to help you.” Soul sank down into his chair slowly. It was too much to take in. Professor White watched quietly. He hoped that everything would end up okay, but knew that there would be a long way ahead of the boys. Even if Soul did agree to work with Scott.

“It sounds like there are a lot of creepy obsessions going on.” Soul looked down at his hands and wondered if it could all be true. Could his forest of hand and smoke mean something? He wondered how his mother had gotten away, if she really had no skills. How he could learn a skill he didn’t even believe in. “First you and my mother, now Scott.” He ran his finger through his hair and thought.

“Your mother was amazing. Even after she was pared with someone she didn’t love she had a wonderful life, she could have anything she asked for, she gave it up for you, she didn’t want you bound, and didn’t want you to be forced into a loveless match. She gave it all up for you. If it was a wrong choice, or even a drastic choice, she still made the only sacrifice, the only decision she knew how.” Professor White looked determined, like he was expecting argument. Soul didn’t have the words to disagree, or to inquire more. Scott looked like his heart was breaking, and Soul wondered how Scott's life was so different from his mothers, they had both given things up, both for him, both our of love, or some twisted version of it.

“If I did agree, what would I have to do?” Scott's eyes brightened to an almost fanatical delight. Soul leaned away, unsure if he was making the right decision. Scott saw the reaction and tried to temper his own.

“I don’t mean to be too, forward. It is just hard to be away from you, and it had been years.” Scott smiled and sighed reaching out a hand to Soul's face, drawing away at the last second. “We were supposed to be a powerful pair, that is the only reason they put us together, apparently both our families Saw it. I don’t know though. You really seem to hate me.” Soul sighed.

“I don’t hate you. I just-” He didn’t have the words to explain himself, he still didn’t know if he believed any of it. “What would I have to do?”

“To start,” Scott began “you have to trust me.”

The train

Short short, I have been super busy, and have not had much time to write, but wrote this little vignette today, and thought I'd share.

The train has left the station, read newspapers blow across the platform and onto the tracks. it is like a sepia photograph- a daguerreotype.  But there, in the corner lies a hat, red and forgotten.  It sits like a stereotype, a red rose of romance, of forgotten love and longing, unrequited love on a far away shore.  I wander over to it, thinking of the missed train, missed goodbyes and promises, missed movie endings, and fairytale kisses.  I pick up the hat and think- in another story this would be the closing scene, that story would be a tragedy, no dry eye would be left in the audience.  But this hat is a stranger’s and reminds me only of my mother laugh as I stepped out of her arms, and onto the train.