Callus tips, of delicate so cold hands. Stringing beauty into darkness. The rain drips throughout her hair onto the reflective marble in which lines the streets of Ernest. Catching a glimpse of such a tattered face(yet so beautiful, so painfully beautiful),bouncing in incoherent rhythm. Nodding modestly towards passerby with secret joy. The familiar sounds of shiny coins shifting freely and the soft cries of the cello. I felt distraught at the sight; like tradition strangers dropped those shiny coins at her feet, without hesitation, not even a look. As beckoned to this very spot. She neither acknowledged these strangers, like ghost to her.

How queer, I just had to, like the force that had brought them all her; standing center front row, I was absorbed. Just as the taught crossed my mind, she shot me a smirking glance.

Her face was a beaten reflection of mine.

-"'Queer' you say", she retorts to an unspoken statement. Her movement never losing there pace.

-"Huh?", my heart is taken a beat.

She ignores my concern, returning back to her entities. Needless to say I was slightly frightened by this encounter; giving me a sick feeling of what would come worse.

Studying the now soggy inch of paper that held my destiny. I searched hopelessly in the blanket of darkness for some actual sign of direction. In desperation, stress, I ring my hair upon the streets...watching the color change of the marble; reaction to those puddles. Amazement. The snow was so beautiful. It reflected the pathetic corners of light. Yet it enclosed me here without any light, in my mind. How can someone be so determined not having a hell of an idea of where they were headed. Like life your only a victim. I felt a victim, by not knowing what someone else wanted of my life.

I was here without my him, stupidly relying on the direction of some unknown spirit who claims to be myself...I could not turn back, and she would not let me sleep. Searching darken nights and hopes of saving....Saving what? And so it started to rain, gracefully it started to rain. Thinking so hard I did not realize the grand house that isolated itself in front of me. I noticed it after the cello player left; the fog slowly departed and the fountain slowly decrease in height. It was white, not a attractive white as the oak protruded through the old peeling paint. You could almost hear the cries of the wood from the life that lived within. Iron bars protected the windows; giving a hint of artistic beauty as the metal was curved into a simple rose for each window. There were not shingles, tan lines left where they once existed. The marble pathway matched that of all Galileo streets, although throwing off all the scenery that had been created. The front door covered purposely in ivy...a natural decoration piece of all '"normal" homes. Above the ivy where the house made a ruff for the porch displayed the words: 1111 SANCTUARY HOUSE.

--

The train was humid, moisture covered the windows from the cold and heavy rain outside. It look like it was midnight, from the dark and cloudy skies. "Damn", I whispered to myself , someone had left the hinge lose from earlier that morning, causing a small puddle on the carpeted floor. I caught a glimpse of myself, I reattached the gold hook, without taking my eyes of my reflection in the glass. A raindrop perfectly slide down, seeming to look as though a tear was running from my right eye down to my cheek. I had not been smiling for some part of the day now. I slightly tapped my nail against the window and traced the various patterns of the rain. I heard Joe and the conductor complaining about the weather at the entrance steps, with this I noticed that I had yet to even place my coat and leather bag that dug into my boney shoulder down. It was as they said "nasty humid", running my fingers through my hair and with the other wiping sweat from my forehead. Still without definite expression, I quickly removed my heavy sweater, to reveal a thin almost transparent undershirt. Looking at my protruding chest, beads of sweat dripped down the curved flesh. Without a word, Joe violently took his usual seat next to me. I stared at his face; always wondering who truly had his heart.

Then I proceeded to removed my black ballerina flats, slowly unraveling every strand of lace, from around my thin ankles. He was too noticeably effected by the weather, as his shirt clung tight to his sculpted body. It was may favorite shirt actually, navy blue, cotton, long-sleeved, with three blue buttons at the neck and many areas of specific white stitch work. I pulled harshly at the lace of my shoes until they finally loosen, I tucked the pair at my side.