TB:AF, TM:AS? Part 1That Butler, a father? That Master, a son?TB:AF, TM:AS? Part 14 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Red. Blazing red everywhere. It's my recurring nightmare and memory. I can feel the heat surrounding me and my home; it's going to destroy everything I hold dear. Even though I have had this dream a thousand times I still run to see if I can save them. The heat is slowly engulfing me and my hopes. I run down that familiar corridor, towards the doors that have been the barrier of the everlasting truth of the outcome of the situation. I expect the usual, my father, surrounded and trapped by that blazing red. However this time the dream is different. As I, Ciel Phantomhive, open the doors to the one memory that clings in my mind forever and puts the ache in my heart, it's different. There are no flames, the room is completely cool, and then I see Sebastian. Sebastian is sat where my father had always sat in this memory. He is in his clothes and it enflames my anger, for once I thought that I could save my father, even if it was a dream. I
Silence is a virtueA silent man should not be overlookedSilence is a virtue4 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
For each unspoken word there is a thought
A silent man cannot be denounced
For he voices no belief
A silent man does not speak
For he knows words are forgotten
The Man in the Trench Coat If anyone knew that man in the long black trench coat, it would a small child; barely old enough to understand the world. For, no one else would open their eyes and see life for what it is.The Man in the Trench Coat4 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
He looms on every street corner. He works on every small farm. He begs for clean water. He cries because help does not always come.
Although the small child does not know who he is or where he goes, she smiles. She does not see a man homeless on the street, grimy with garbage in his tangled hair. She does not see a poor, struggling farmer trying to make ends meet. She does not know he collects rainwater to drink.
She does not even see his trench coat.
All she sees are their faces. Every expression the people would show to her played a song that was filled with elegance, pride and perhaps even wisdom. If you listened hard enough, you could hear the keys on the grand piano, the saddened bu