The beautiful turquoise skies slowly closed, hiding the smiling sun with a deeper shade. He sprinkled tiny glistening stars over his perfectly painting canvas, the peaceful but mysterious night’s sky. The land below yawned as he peeked up at his father’s work. It was too beautiful to ignore. The land fought with his desire, to dream once again tonight, lie in his watchful eyes. The grass never slept, he complained and moaned until the others were far from awakening. He moaned about the horrifying pain he would angrily receive daily, through being walked over, but he was no pushover. The oldest of the oak and maple trees, which were planted accurately at the edge of the town’s forest – often listened to him, while the younger trees bullied and tormented him cruelly. In the centre of the town lie a beautiful sparkling river. The river was named the ‘River of life’ after a twelve year old girl drowned in its waters. Before entering the clear glistening waters, a gorgeous young girl christened Amelia was just playing near the river, until a dirty unwelcome man to the town found her before her terrified parents could. The ignorant male brutally raped her that afternoon in the icy forest, he stabbed her in the chest twice and three times in her dry gasping throat. The murderer never buried her body at a risk of being found, so he decided it would be best if her body were to lie at the darkest bottom of the river. He attached his prison shackle ball, tightly fastening it around her tiny forearm. After he threw her body in the calm river, he watched her carefully, keeping special attention on keeping her out of sight. Once she sunk, he fled deep into the forest who kept his secret bottled with a torturing pain. At the edge of the river sat two beautiful young girls, both wearing the same short hemmed dress, with tiny doll-like shoes. The girls were separated by the colour of their hair, curious eyes and the short dresses they wore. The strawberry blonde gazed at her reflection in the crystal clear waters of the, river of life. Mother smiled, reflecting the young girls’ beauty. The dishwater blonde held a straw basket in her tiny hands. A tiny white mist appeared, lying on the surface of the river of life. The strawberry blonde stared curiously at the sparkling waters, the mist grew thicker gaining a colour. The dishwater blonde stood beside her, gazing at what was now a thick purple haze.
“What is that, Sandra?” the dishwater blonde choked as she asked the strawberry blonde.
The sister turned to look at her slowly, “I have no idea, Sally”.