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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1770215-Chapter-1
Rated: 13+ · Sample · Drama · #1770215
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I remember the clarity of the light that casted the hills with a warmth resembling the kisses of angles. Those summers of summers, the static eye. The leaves illuminated our figures as they rested on the grass of Eden's courtyard. "

What if the sun goes in?"

The sky was still bright blue with the promise of haze. Its lucidity marvelling against the backdrop of great stones of the enduring manor, towering above our vision, imposing, immaculate against our fleshy selves. " I can see the faces in the window again ".



God's smiling cherubs brandished their peace, whilst the honey branches delved amongst us, like an arms of a parent.



" don’t talk of such sin, dearest ".



We basked in our eternal youth, for, in Eden we are safe. The immediate consciousness of our times tog there, and the sense of true peace struck us sometimes on those days, of how we just were. I could see it on the faces around me, that sunny face that honey face: beautifully reflected by the sun’s caressing smile.



How do we survive?, why! we live in a paradise.



His eyes are the fallen apples from the Orchard, ripe and plump with life.

His clothes the green embodiment of the fields, green and tope.

The green man whistles his song of the Gods of the earth.



I look to my right and smile, an open, honest smile to my companions. For it is the truth: They smile back, with eyes gleaming like a polished conker in a child's cotton pocket: the apple of an eye.



Angela registers my look, smiles, looks up to the sun and laughs softly into the gentle breeze: it is splendid isolation.

Immediately after our brief connection she dips her head again and continues writing  her story of a Goblin who lures young women into the woods.



Angela, in  years time will never mention her time here, with us , in her interviews, press meetings or even to her friends. She will never admit such events ever took place: there was no Hext House. We are deep in the green god’s womb, encased in subtle simplicity, the world’s manic wishes care nothing for us.

Instead she will claim that feminism was her goal, to inform women of the heterosexual monster.

Her memory deceives her.

He always warned her of her dark inkling for the capitalist urban life.



Allysaum rests beneath the cool shadows of the high trees, her eyes dipped in feverent rest, she gets his pity.

Rosa is busying herself, humming, whistling, contending with the birds and collecting various flora, arranging them in our hair.

But it is is Ane who sits at His feet and gets her hair brushed, plaited and massaged.



I then dare to look ahead to the table, to him. It is too late and our eyes meet. I immediately feel the heat of embarrassment going the same colour as my hair. The lurer, kidnapper, squire, queer, beauty: smiles with that lucid expression which comes only with the most naturalistic and comfortable  of Gentry .



I drowned in his smile.

Hext will stop time, he will keep us eternally young and sinless.

© Copyright 2011 Millie Crawford (somersetwriter at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1770215-Chapter-1