Blood and Glory- Death

"To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die"
                                                                              -The Smiths
                                                  (there is a light that never goes out)
A/N: This is explosive. I was feeling bold. Also, it is a connection to Narcissus, a story that was intended to be a oneshot and then I just decided to drag Ambros Grinaldi into this. It will help understand his character more if you read it, but even if you don't it will not hamper your reading experience. This chapter is a continuation from where I left Narcissus, but it is alright if you don't read it, I will clear things up as the story progresses. Also, if you are homophobic I suggest you turn back now cause this shit is GAY!

Ambros Grinaldi sat in his leather chair staring blankly at the body that lay before him. It was what life had become. Ever since his lover left him the world seemed dull. Nothing could ever compare to the moment when he watched his lover leave. No pain could ever match. He had known no other sorrow.

A little slum boy splashed around in the puddles that the rain had left behind, a little kitten ran after him and a lost boy looked at them longingly. With a small smile Ambros waved goodbye to the boy and continued on his way. He never saw that boy again, until that fateful night. The night he wished never happened. If only he could have not been around that night. There were gunshots and screams and he, he was there. The boy. Ambros watched with his mouth agape as he took in the sight of the boy shooting. The fearlessness in his eyes, the reckless behaviour, and that is when he knew. He knew what he had run from that day. He knew what this boy meant. If the world was a calm sea, he was a tempest, with winds howling, water pelting and ships wreaking, and despite that knowledge Ambros found himself wanting nothing more than to be consumed by it. How he wanted his lungs to fill up with water till he couldn't breathe anymore. He wanted to be wreaked, reduced to nothing more than wooden splinters left adrift in water. With his feet moving on their own, he found himself running towards the boy. 
He watched the boy's eyes widen in surprise and then he saw the fear in them, mirroring the fear that Ambros had held in his own two eyes. "Stay away from me." The boy had spat.  No words left Ambros' lips as he stared at gun that was pointing at him. The mouth gaping at him tauntingly. Unable to form any coherent words he just shook his head. "I will shoot you." The boy growled, but Ambros stayed frozen, nothing could sway him.  "If you want to, then why do you look so scared?" Ambros countered as he took a confident and calm step towards the boy. "I mean it. Stay. Away." The boy growled again as he shot a bullet in the air as a warning. Ambros was undeterred as he continued to walk towards the boy. "Ambros. My name is Ambros." He said calmly.


He never understood how things just worked out. Adam didn't shoot him, somewhere along the lines he started living with Adam and every minute of his life he felt the hollow shell that Adam had become. Adam never shared much of his past or present. Ambros was never an audience to the war the raged in his lover's mind and that was one reason why he never predicted that he would soon be alone. They were on the run again. From Adam's uncle that much Ambros had gathered. Two years of running and being in love, tonight was the first time Ambros felt fear. Fear of losing Adam,not to death but to consequence. "Leave Ambros" Adam had begged as he ran. Ambros shook his head. "I will never, I belong with you." It was that night Ambros realized that he was a storm too. If Adam was a tempest then Ambros was a hurricane. The only difference between the both of them was Adam had not wreaked him and Ambros was ripping Adam apart. "Why?" He choked out as tears ran down his face. "Why don't you ever tell me? Why don't you ever let me be there for you? Why are you so scared of me?" He screamed as he grabbed Adam by his collar. "I'm not scared of you Ambros, I am scared of losing you. You are my heaven, I will always protect you." Adam said, tears of his own cascaded down his face. "You don't have to ever know the things I face. They are my demons, I must fight them alone."

Ambros never doubted after that night. Never questioned, never wondered what new demon must be clawing Adam's mind, he knew it was not important. The only thing that he had to do was fight. Fight alongside Adam and save him. He had to be the promised calm after every storm, the promised peace that Adam was fighting for. With time it became a ritual. It was no longer Adam and his demons, it was always Adam and Ambros against Adam's demons. Running was easy. Standing beside Adam made Ambros realize that he was never enough. Never brave enough, never strong enough, never fast enough, and his flawed self would never compare to Adam. It ate away at Ambros. It manifested in his heart and slowly made its way into his thoughts, it plagued him. 

He watched with fear as he saw Adam fight. Fight for them both, He watched as the gun shots echoed throughout the warehouse. And he watched helplessly as two bullets lodged into flesh. It shattered Ambros to still see the unconditional love in Adam's eyes as they both fell to the floor, bleeding. It was true that he was never enough, but he had always been for Adam, if only he had seen it earlier. "To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die." Adam had spoken as air had left his lungs. Ambros felt the life leaving him too. But fate was never fair, it never showered mercy and it had no intention of showing it this instance as well. Only one bullet did its job.

Blood and Glory- Grave

"When my time comes around, 
lay me gently in the cold, dark earth
No grave can hold my body down,
I'll crawl home to her"- Hozier 
                                      (work song)


Abel felt it. He felt his insides shake as his back hit the earth. It took him a few moments to make sense of what had just happened. He stared at the hole on the mill's roof blankly. His senses had heightened momentarily and he was suddenly aware of all the things happening around him. The steady steps of the donkey that walked in circles, crushing grains into a fine powder. The farm animal had barely bothered to notice the fallen prince. Groaning, Abel turned over to his side and pushed himself back up on his knees. A sharp pang ran through his body, his lips shivered, once, twice and like how a dam breaks, Abel spilled out the contents of his early meal. He coughed and tried to recompose himself. He tried to stand up on his feet but to no avail. From a distance, he could hear the rush of iron footsteps and he knew his end was near. He was in no condition to flee. The steps got closer and Abel's heart raced, he wished it was his legs that did the rushing. He dragged his weight towards one of the rooms inside the mill where spare grain was stored, barely managing to hide before soldiers rushed in, only they weren't looking for him. "The Queen! We need to find her or Lucian will have our heads!" A frail, young soldier panicked. "You mean King Lucian..." The burlier and muscular one responded with an air of nonchalance around him. His emerald eyes scanned the area before he let out a loud chuckle. "Honestly, do you think that us two foot soldiers can take on a witch?" He asked as he wiped the tears from the corner of his eyes having laughed too hard. "If anything... Its this hole and vomit that we must concern ourselves with, word is out that the prince has survived and I know for a fact that he is here. Trade one head for the other." The younger man nodded his head and started looking around frantically. It was not a big area, it was only a matter of seconds before he would find Abel. The other one stood at the entrance, his armour reflecting light and giving his sharp features an ethereal glow. A hard metal pressed itself against Abel's neck and the younger soldier stood with a sword clutched tightly in his shaking hands. "C-Captain.. I f-found him" He called out. Abel's eyes widened in fear. With a trembling breath and tear stained face he accepted what might come. The sound of unsheathing of a sword just sealed his fate. Heavy footsteps made their way towards the quivering boy and before he could make sense of what was happening around him a sword sliced through flesh and bone. A decapitated body fell and Abel's blood flowed. 

Death. The twelve year old boy never gave it much thought, why should he? He had his whole life laid out before him, or so he thought. But however, the way death came was something he just hadn't imagined. There was no pain except for when the metal had grazed against his skin and he saw no light, everything was as dark as when it was when he had shut his eyes. He wasn't numb, he could feel his heart beating, he could feel the warmth of blood on his skin, only now he realized that it wasn't his blood. The young soldier lay dead before him. Abel opened his eyes and recoiled in shock. His trembling hands went up to touch his neck, he was still alive. Except the little cut that was left from when a sword was held to his neck. He looked at the emerald eyed soldier who gave him the kindest smile that he had seen in a while and held his hand out for the prince. "Can you stand?" 
Abel was unsure of whether to take his hand or not and just stared emptily at the man. "I'll take that as a 'no'" The soldier said as he withdrew his hand and secured his sword back in it's sheath. A sigh left his lips as he reached down and picked Abel up. The prince thrashed around in his grip and tried to get away. Tears streamed down his face and he struggled to remain conscious after having witnessed two murders and having almost been murdered himself. Exhaustion wore him down and in a few minutes he stilled. The soldier carried Abel out the mill and tied him onto the back of his horse. He mounted the steed himself and rode away.

It was hours later that Abel's eyelashes fluttered and his eyes opened. He found himself wrapped in warm blankets and a familiar scent filled his lungs. From down the corridor he could practically smell the brew and he knew the source all too well. He couldn't hold himself back as he rolled out the bed and onto the floor trying to get to the scent. Clawing his way across the carpeted floor as his legs refused to let him walk. He dragged his paralysed form across the little cottage to where he assumed the kitchen was. He stopped short in front of a pair of metal boots and raised his head to look up at the emerald eyed soldier. A soft laugh left his lips as he picked up Abel in his arms with ease. Abel saw it then. He reminded him of her. Abel didn't know where she was and just hoped she was fine. Abel prayed his mother was alive. 

The door creaked open and a hooded figure entered the little dwelling. "H-he is dead. Lucian declared it." A sore voice that Abel assumed to be of the cloaked figure's to be voiced out. He saw the brown curls that peaked through the hood. He observed the indigo blue gown cling onto the pale figure. The woman finally shrugged out of her cloak and took in the sight in front of her. Time seemed to have frozen as she took in the scene before her eyes. A shrill shriek left her lips as Queen Emaraa took her son in her arms. Emarus smiled from the distance as he took in the sight of his sister cradling her son. He had lived his life like that. As a shadow. As a secret, watching out for her. His older sister, capable of unearthly magic. Emaraa was sobbing as she clutched her son to her heart. 

Emarus's brown curls and sharp features along with his sinewy muscles was a stark contrast to Emaraa's long brown ringlets, soft and gentler build and her frail body. However they both shared the same feline, green eyes. They were never alike. They had been taught from the time of their birth that one of them was a shadow, always obscured in the light of the other. Always a silent follower, always a hidden guardian of the light. Emarus's fate as the shadow had been sealed when Emaraa married Prince Ptolemus and became Queen. Emarus treasured Emaraa just like he treasured all that he shared with her, including his birth day. The twin brother smiled at the revelation of what had become of his family. The Witch Queen, The Shadow that lived and the fresh new addition, The Prince that rose from the dead.

Blood and glory- Heaven

"heaven is a place on earth with you"

                                                     -Lana Del Rey

                                               (video games)

These words rang in Adam's racing mind. His mother had said these to him once, and with pure glee and delight he had said them back to her. It was their way of saying 'I love you'. But now his mother was dead, shot right before his eyes. Was heaven still here or did she take it with her in the afterlife? As Adam covered his mouth to preventing puking out the last meal he had shared with his family before he became an orphan, he stared at the carcasses before his eyes. She took it. 

Almost a week ago he had woken up on a regular Saturday morning. His father was downstairs, on a call with a glass of bourbon in one hand. His mother was in her room, his parents didn't stay in the same room ever since his father had found the company of a bridge table and bourbon. "I'm now a complete man" he would say when Adam asked him about the growing distance between him and his mother "I need no other company" He had said, and that was that. Now he lay buried in some yard or thrown in some sea with three bullets in his heart to keep him company, he lay as an incomplete man. 

Adam only saw his mother once in a day, during lunch time for she refused to eat breakfast with her husband in the same room and it was the same story for dinner. He wasn't going to see her that day, his father was going to be home. Some time after breakfast the house had resounded with his mother's scream and the sound of guns. His father had grabbed Adam and rushed, he had hid the young boy and gone out with his gun to investigate. "What about mother?" Adam asked him with wide eyes. "What about her? She isn't my heir, its you. She may be dead for all I care." Adam found it strange that the harsh things hadn't phased him as much as witnessing his mother's death had. What had he expected, she hadn't died out of any natural cause in either of the scenarios. Was there a part of him that loved an idea of her rather than her and had his father stated the death of that idea?

Adam had ran, he didn't know who to go to or where to go,  all he knew was the only thing worthy of his trust was the gun that he held in his hand. After three days he had found a place to claim as sanctuary. Surrounded by death and sickness and stricken with poverty Adam had now a slum to call home and ash to call his companion. He started to work for a crematorium to earn his daily bread.

Blue, he found was such a strange colour. Whoever said that 'feeling blue' was supposed to be a phrase for all things sad? He craved blue. He thought himself stupid for relishing grey skies, splashing in the puddles as water drenched his hair. Oh how he craved blue skies now when his were plunged into ashen grey. His world was grey. Grey skies, grey concrete walls, grey contaminated water and worst of all, his own grey hopeless face that stared back at him whenever he found a found a mirror. 

As the body caught fire before his eyes, He took a deep inhale, feeling the smell of burning flesh. He wanted to smell his uncle's flesh instead of the young slum dweller who had succumbed to pneumonia. He let his eyes flutter open and then realized, that maybe he didn't want his uncle to burn. He couldn't let even the residual ash of such a man taint this earth, not when there was a possibility that the piece of heaven may have existed in the spot.

The sky cracked with lightening as Adam walked back to the confines of his dilapidating concrete walls. The first drop fell before his bare feet, the next on his head and so the rain fell, cleansing the soot covered boy. It was then that he found the boy who clutched a kitten to his chest. "You look sad, here you can pet Tripsy, he will make you happy." The boy said as he held the kitten towards Adam. A soft smile graced his lips as his fingers ran over the white fur of the blue eyed feline and he found himself wondering Could there be just more than one piece of heaven on earth?

Blood and Glory- Bloodshed

PART 1

The young boy covered his mouth with his hand, scared to make even the faintest of sounds. From his hiding position he watched his uncle stab his father, the King, till there was nothing left of the man he once called 'father', just a hollow, bloodless, lifeless shell. Tears ran down the twelve year old's face. He couldn't cry in the fear of being found out and having to meet the same fate as his father.

The sound of gun firing filled the air as Adam sat crouched behind his table. The air reeked of smoke, death and blood. He didn't fully understand what was going on around him, all he knew was that his life was in danger and he had to hide. Who was after him? he didn't know. He turned to his father who was crouched beside him and let a soft sigh escape his lips. At least he had his father with him. The sound of Oxfords clacking on the marble floor filled the room. Adam could hear his heart thumping in his chest and he feared that maybe the foreign man could too. 
"Brother? Are you here?" The man spoke in a voice that Adam recognized very well. His uncle. He felt his form relax and almost got out of his hiding spot. Almost. His father held him down.
"There still may be enemies around. Uncle and I will see if the coast is clear. Stay here." his father told him in barely an audible whisper. Adam nodded his head and watched as his father stood up.
"I'm here." His father replied. Adam watched his father walk up to his uncle and he watched as his uncle fired the first bullet. He watched his father fall to the ground. Dead. A clean, circular wound existing where once his heart used to be. He watched with trembling hands as his uncle shot the body of his father, over and over again. 

                                            ----------------

"Oh little prince? where are you?" His uncle's sweet voice pierced the silent air. "I want to play a game! Remember the games we played? They were fun, weren't they?" The murderer asked mockingly. Abel hid deeper into the closet and buried himself under the heaps of clothes that his father had once owned. Tears rolled down Abel's face as he tried his best to muffle his voice with the corner of his father's cloak that hung above him. The wool felt rough and scratchy on his tongue. His uncle got distracted by a man who approached him. Abel instantly recognized the man, he was the General of his father's army. "Your Grace, we can't find the Prince anywhere. What do we do?" 
His uncle sneered "What do you mean 'what do we do?' ?! Find him! He has to be killed!"  
  
                                        ---------------- 

From his hiding spot Adam watched with fear as his uncle laughed. He could sense the insanity in his laughter. He pulled his knees upto his chest as he covered his mouth with his hands. He was in too much of a shock to completely understand the magnitude of the events that had taken place not too long ago. He no longer had sight of his uncle. He no longer had sight of anything. His vision was blurry due to holding the tears that threatened to fall down. He heard his uncle's voice again. "Martha, I need your help" His uncle said to the phone receiver. It took not more than five minutes for her to reach the scene. Adam expected her to scream, yell, cry or do anything but what she did. He watched as she crouched down next to his father's body and examined the body. "I hope he makes a better ghost than a husband. Stupid drunk!" she spat. She stood up and faced Adam's uncle. "What did you want help with?" she asked raising an eyebrow. "I can't find Adam." The man stated. Martha looked at him with pure shock in her eyes. "YOU PROMISED TO LEAVE HIM OUT OF THIS!" She roared in anger. Adam's uncle looked calm, collected. With an air of nonchalance he replied "I lied." His mother was furious as she flung insults and curses at the man as if they would somehow deter him. "DO YOU HONESTLY BELIEVE I'LL HELP YOU FIND HIM?!"
"No. But I'm sure this will draw that little weasel out." His uncle replied coldly as pressed the trigger, lodging a bullet in her skull. A soft gasp left Adam's lips. A gasp that seemed to have echoed in the silent room and landed on his uncle's ears that made the man smile. 

                                           ---------------- 

Abel was trapped in the closet. He knew that his uncle wouldn't rest until he found him and buried his sword hilt-deep into his chest, preferably multiple times. His uncle paced around the room, dragging the sword behind him. "Abel, little one, come out! Uncle promises it won't hurt. It will be over before you even realize!" He said. The man stopped in front of the bed. "Are you under here?" He asked in a dangerously sweet voice as he raised his sword and plunged it into the mattress. He buried the sword so deep that the piercing sound of metal grazing the stoned floor made the boy cringe. His uncle let out a disappointed sigh, he wanted to hear the sound of metal against bone. "I guess not." He answered his own question. He walked over to the windows as he checked behind them "Able dearest! Come! What would you do staying alive now, anyway? You have no parents and no kingdom. You can't escape precious!" He coaxed. "I will be doing you a favor! It will be swift!" The man continued. Abel stumbled back as he watched his uncle stab through every possible hiding place before letting out a disappointed sigh at his continuous failure. Abel's back hit the wood of the closet.  The faint sound was more than enough for his uncle. "Found you!"
                                      ----------------
Adam screamed as his uncle fired the shots, barely missing him. He reached for under the table where his father hid a spare gun. With shaky hands the fourteen year old boy pulled out the heavy weapon. He disengaged the safety and got up and shot at something, he didn't know what it was. Anything to serve as distraction for his uncle, while he would flee. The sound of his uncle's pained howl was all he heard as he ran out the room. Not daring to look back as his feet took him away from where lay three dead bodies. His father, his mother and the lie that he grew up believing was his uncle.
                                        ----------------
Abel could hear his heart beating. He was certain his uncle could too, and he was sure his uncle couldn't wait to stop it. Before Abel could process anything he heard the wind whir by his ear. With evident fear he looked up to see the sword lodged deep into the back of the wardrobe. With adrenaline coursing through his body the young boy pushed past the massive clothes as he ran out of the dark wardrobe. He pushed past his uncle's huge frame and darted across the room. Pausing briefly when he reached the window. His uncle glared at him as he tried to pull the sword out of the stone wall and wood. Abel didn't know what to do. For a second he chose to accept this as his fate. He turned to face his uncle and watched with fear as the mad man, stained in his father's blood tried to yank the sword out. Without a second thought Abel found himself falling. falling out the window and down to who knows which new danger?

A/N:  You probably guessed it! This is going to be a series! I will hopefully update regularly. This is really messy. Sorry. Also sorry for not posting often. Oh and credits to owners of those images.

Narcissus

Guess who is back from the dead? Me. I am. So, I am gonna skip the intro and jump right into the story. Yes, I am writing a story. Also for context, I am linking a video about Narcissus here.

GENRE: Angst

WORD COUNT: 1774

WARNINGS: gore, blood

'Hate' is a strong word. While scrolling through social media Adriana however felt only hate. She hated how all the models these days resembled nothing more than skeletons, she hated how all of them had every single facial feature in common; puffy lips, long legs, no flesh, and really really tanned skin. She hated how she was so motivated to create new art but could not find inspiration anywhere. Yes, indeed 'hate' is a strong word. Lazily, she opened her e-mail hoping to find something there. Her inbox was filled with people who either wanted to buy her art or be her art.

One rule Adriana strictly followed was that never ever draw celebrities. Don't associate with them and don't draw them. Keep your art raw. Real. Draw ordinary people, but unfortunately due to accession of Instagram models, everybody looked fake, robbed of all human features. plastic mannequins at best.

A particular name caught her eye while scrolling past her inbox. Ambros Grinaldi. The Ambros Grinaldi. The temperamental, egotistical, rude and very, very successful Ambros Grinaldi.  It was with great enthusiasm that Adriana found herself opening the email.

It did not have much information, all it said was that he wanted a portrait of himself on 7 by 15 inch canvas in oil. There was a number given at the end of the e-mail. Adriana nervously dialed the number. 

"May I p-please speak to Mr. Grinaldi? This is Adriana Carlton." She couldn't believe the words that left her mouth. Was she seriously calling Ambros Grinaldi?

"This is him." A deep, baritone voice replied from the other end of the line.

"O-oh right, I am calling to ask you about your enquiry regarding the portrait."

" You could have just replied on the email, but since you have called, would you like to join me for dinner to discuss the details of this project?"

Adriana choked on her saliva. Dinner. Ambros Grinaldi. Talk. The words seemed too unreal, she tried to hide all of her enthusiasm and sound as professional as she could and replied with a simple 'yes'

"At eight. I will send a car at your studio." He did not wait for her reply as he disconnected the call.

Ambros Grinaldi was a man of his word. At 8 p.m. sharp there was a car waiting outside the studio. Adriana wore her best dress and the most expensive pair of shoes that she owned but still looked like a mere peasant against the car. When the driver opened the door for her, it felt almost criminal to sit in the leather seat. Everything was far to tasteful for her laced dress and wedged shoes to touch. It was a thirty five minute drive from her studio to Ambros Grinaldi's vacation home. 

Adriana's footsteps echoed across the marbled hallways as she made her way towards the dining room. She had seen a lot of tasteful decor in her life but nothing compared to the cadaverous marble halls and the ashen curtains that decorated every Parisian window. The home looked more like a palace, cold and intimidating, nothing more than a display of wealth and power. 

"Mr. Grinaldi?" she squeaked as she poked her head through the doors of the dining hall. 

"Please, call me Ambros." He said as he stood up to receive his guest. Adriana smiled as she seated herself across from him. 

She was too awe-stricken to start a conversation. She marvelled at the marble dinner table that was covered with a black dining cloth. The table was perfectly laid with a white, ceramic plate and black silverware not because it oxidized but because it was supposed to be so.

"I take it that you are a fan of monochrome?" Adriana mused as she ran her hand over the fabric of the dining cloth. It felt smooth between her fingers, almost as if it were not cloth at all but rather a liquid. 

" Yes, I am indeed," Ambros chuckled. He poured to glasses of wine. He passed one to Adriana. 

"Follow me," He said as he led her through multiple sets of doors and winding staircases. He came to a standstill in front of two intricately carved doors. He pushed open the doors as he led Adriana in to the room.

The sight was breathtaking. Unlike the other rooms this one was full of colours and vibrancy.

"As you can tell, I am a patron of arts..." Ambros' voice trailed off. 

"This entire room is a collection of paintings of me, there are a few sculptures and statues, but do you want to know what my most prized possession is?" Ambros asked. 

Adriana looked at him with cat like curiosity in her eyes. The room was made of marble, like everything else. There were multiple paintings of Ambros hanging on the walls, the floor was decorated with multiple sculptures of him. There however was an empty space on the wall, a space that a canvas of certain dimensions could fill, the same specific dimensions that Ambros wanted Adriana to paint.

"Look, this is a symphony someone wrote for me. From the start till the end, this piece of music has been composed for me." Ambros said as he held sheet music in front of Adriana.

"I am sure it sounds wonderful, but unfortunately, I cannot read music." She said apologetically.

"Very well, I will play it for you." He said as he walked towards a polished vinyl record player that sat in the corner of the room. In a matter of seconds the room was filled with the melody of the symphony. It started with the melancholic tune of a cello to be later joined by the shrill pitch of a violin which complimented a soft piano playing in the background. The song started off as slow, one full of longing and desire and then took a sharp turn towards a maddening chaos of instruments that could portray only rage, the song then slowed down to an unsettling calm, with only the piano playing. It sounded like lost hope, 'succumbing to your demons' Adriana described it in her mind. The last part of the song took an unexpected turn towards an upbeat solo of the violin and a sudden ending played by the cello. Adriana hadn't realized but she had tears in her eyes and goosebumps on her hands by the end of it.

"I-It is truly a masterpiece." she said, still trying to bring herself back to reality.

"Speaking of masterpieces, I want you to paint me one. I will want it hanging there." Ambros said, pointing at the blank space on the wall.

Adriana nodded. "Send me some reference photos and I will get working on it immediately."

"No. That is where you are wrong. If you see carefully all the art here is what the artist perceives me as, you will have to get to know me and then draw me from imagination."  Ambros replied. 

Adriana nodded and followed him out of the room towards the dining hall. She thanked him for the meal and headed home.

After that day, dinner became a regular custom. Every night at eight, a car would wait outside her house, it was the same 35 minute drive and the house seemed as intimidating as it did the first time, every night. 

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months, in the same way small talk turned into exchange of opinions which then turned into confessions of love and sweet nothings.

Adriana worked on her masterpiece the entire time. One day it was finally ready. She picked up the canvas  and took it with her to dinner. She had stopped bothering about wearing rich clothing, sometimes even wearing her art smock to dinner, today was one of those days.  

She greeted Ambros with a hug. "I finally finished it." She said.

"You did?"

Adriana nodded with excitement. She dragged him to his artroom and revealed the painting to him. It was the best she had ever made. Ambros was depicted no less than a god. She had painted all of his features perfectly, from his chiseled jaw to his wispy black hair. He had pale skin and she used this to her advantage to add highlights to his well defined cheekbones and eyelids, concentrating blood there to give an overall rosy tint to his complexion. His eyes seemed almost unreal, with the deepest shade of blue and the lightest in the same iris. Her depiction of Ambros was that of Apollo, the Greek god of art.

"It is beautiful" Ambros breathed out. Adriana beamed up at him. 

He kept admiring the painting and stood still. After a few minutes he began to walk towards a door that she did not know existed in the room.

"It would be a shame, if say you were to create something of equal magnificence or something better,"  He mused as he led her into the room. 

The room reeked of the metallic smell of blood. Adriana brought her hand up to cover her nose and asked "Ambros, what room is this?" 

The only reply she got was the sound of the click of the lock of the door.  An unsettling sensation started to build in her stomach as the smell of blood became even more intoxicating as the minutes passed by. Ambros roughly grabbed her wrists and dragged her to table. The wood was covered with blood stains, the polish had worn off a long time ago, and the table top had scars from the multiple times a knife had been slammed on it's counter.

Ambros pulled out a butcher's knife from the drawer of the table.

"Ambros, what are you doing?!" Adriana shrieked. 

He held her wrists on the table as he rubbed the blade of the knife across his white jacket. There was a strange madness behind his eyes but it was enough to answer Adriana's question. Suddenly all the paintings in his room made sense. The one with demons chasing him, demons consuming him and the one in which he was a demon himself. 

"I am ensuring that my painting was the only masterpiece that you made." He said as he raised his knife.

"Ambros, don't! Please don't!" Adriana begged with tears in her eyes and fear in her heart.

"You said you loved me!" She screamed.

"True, but I love myself more." Ambros said as the knife slammed down on the table with a sickening thud, cutting away every fibre of bone, flesh and cartilage along with it and leaving a fresh scar on the table amongst the many that littered it's surface. 

nothing.

If you met me a week ago, you would be aware of how terrified I was of the word 'nothing'. If you think this is an article about how I conquered this highly irrational fear, then I suggest you stop reading now. This is not about how I overcame it, it is about how I came to terms with it. 

This story starts exactly how every young adult novel starts, with a girl who is horrible at being able to live a normal life because she is extraordinary, only exception is that the girl is me and I am not extraordinary. I am as ordinary as I can be. In fact I might have put 'ordinary' to shame with my 'ordinary-ness'.
I have this insecurity that haunts me every waking moment of my life, 'what if I am not good enough? smart enough? below average?' That fear is totally valid, I have never in my life been an over achiever, to be completely honest, I have never been an achiever in general. I dreaded what any other super average human would, academics. Unlike most average humans, I unfortunately have an affinity for smart people. So while I drowned in the complete and utter failure that my life is, I also had to witness all my peers succeed in life, achieve fantastic results and all the while like a sad little rock I kept sinking to the bottom. 

If you think that being with my friends would have motivated me in anyway to try harder then you are wrong again. I quite frankly enjoyed the view from down below. I felt content being 'nothing', in fact seeing my friends achieve wonderful things made me feel exactly what I would feel looking up at stars at night. Satisfied. This is one of the worst mistakes I have ever made because as soon as I accepted that I am just not that kind of kid, I gave up altogether. 

NO! Not talking about suicide attempts when I say that I gave up. I gave up on trying to better myself. I became indifferent to everything around me. If I didn't care about my future earlier, then I don't know how I will express what went through my mind about my future then, because quite frankly, I stopped considering a future career or life altogether. I became that bimbo who lives in the moment, as fun as that was, it wasn't meant for me. 
As established earlier, I could not afford to do that because I don't have the universe looking out for me, I am just ordinary. 

While living my party of a life, I was slapped in the face with the realization that people around me think I am a nothing. I am not valued by my 'oh-so smart' peers because I can't score like they do. I hated this thought. I knew for a fact that I was not stupid. Yes, I was bad at academics, yes I never woke up with the idea for an invention that might potentially save the planet to compensate for my inability to score according to the terms of a common assessment, but that did not mean I was stupid. I was simply a nothing. Neither a brilliant kid, nor a dull one. Not talented in any art, but I wasn't bad at studies, I just wasn't excellent. I was just a nothing. 

Not being taken seriously was what woke me up from the lovely lie I was living in. If I was a nothing, I would redefine 'nothing' altogether, be the best version of nothing. Who ever said 'hard work is the key to success' was a very good conman. 
One can work themselves numb, but their success can not be defined. In my boards, I scored the most that I have in my entire existence of 15 years on this planet and yet somehow I was still unhappy. I found my success to be nothing compared to what my peers scored. I forgot this minor detail that they have always been good at their academics. It was forbidden for me to dream of achieving as much as them, being a nothing does not give me the privilege to dream so high.

Being a nothing, I should know that a 90% cannot define me, neither can a 99% for that matter. I can be defined as a zero (having nothing) or a 100% (having nothing more to achieve.) 
I was way to far from zero, it would be to much work to reach that number. However, the same cannot be said about the hundred. Seeming like the easier alternative, I picked the latter. 

I would like to conclude by saying that, if only this realization came to me earlier I would have been much better at being nothing. So, this article goes out to all those people who are a nothing like me, who are so terrified of being a nothing and those who don't know how to be a nothing.

Wishing on.. *fill in appropriate word*

So here's the thing. I believe in wishes. I'll give you a few seconds to judge, then I will continue.
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Right, time's up! So, yes, wishes. I have always believed in wishing on eyelashes and birthday candles. I may or may not have tried to steal other kids' birthday wishes too, I'm just saying.. Not the point. 

I was sitting in the park with my friend. It was dark and we were looking up at the sky. I would say starry sky but the pollution levels of the 21st century prevent me. The irony of this whole scenario is, the both of us are well aware of how futile it is to look for stars, but that is what we were doing. We saw on airplane. Well, the blinking light of one. And then it occoured to me, instead of staring up every night, hoping to spot a shooting star, or even a star for that matter I  would rather wish on airplanes. 

No, not because it is easier, but because it makes more sense to do so. Times are changing, people are evolving and now as sad as it is, being able to see stars are a luxury. Airplanes on the contrary are as easily sighted as shooting stars in the early 18th century. 
One more thing to keep in mind is that, as people we need to evolve from wishing on natural phenomenons. 

I didn't write this article to justify wishing on airplanes, I wrote it so that I could speak about wishes in general. No wish is truly impossible to achieve. For example, I have wished for mostly material things and sometimes for the happiness of near and dear ones. The thing about these wishes is that I don't necessarily have to have a magic wand for them to be granted. I can work for them myself. And these thoughts are exactly what makes me believe in wishes. They are not as unrealistic as a genie in a bottle. They are simple things. Really simple things. 

Let me express this in better words. Consider a shooting star or your eyelash as a vessel. When you make a wish you add something to these vessels. And then you send them away to the great beyond where you hope these wishes will come true. The next time you do this, think of it like this, Your wish is a goal. It is as significant to you as an item in your to-do list. Everytime you wish on something that is sent to the great beyond, consider it being sent to your future. 

I know I sound like I am all tipsy and probably had one too many glasses of wine, but believe me that is not the case. Right now I am struggling to express my thoughts because what I am talking about is something that I can't make sense of myself. I find these thoughts very complicated to comprehend, sometimes they end up giving me a headache. Okay, let us pick up where we left off, your vessel is in the future. Now what? Now, you look for it. If it were that easy to get what you wished for then you might as well believe that one day you might find a genie. You made a wish, and then in your future you looked around for it and when you found it, you felt really content. 

Content about what you ask? Content about the fact that in this whole wide world you alone are capable of achieving things that you so desperately desire. When I say alone, I say it assuming that you know that you are not supposed to tell anyone what you wished for. And if that is not it, then maybe content about knowing that somehow you know yourself well enough to wish for things that you can truly get.

If you are one of those people who just don't believe in wishes because "they never come true." Then, I would like to ask you, did you bother searching for your wish? Because when I say it is in the future I don't mean it awaits you in 20-30 years from now, I mean that it can come true in the very next second too. All you need to do is believe.

To conclude this very complicated thought that I tried phrasing in extremely easy words and failed miserably, I would like to say that starting now, I suggest you start wishing. Wishing on stars, scars, eyelashes, trains from under a bridge, birthday candles, dandelion fuzz or even airplanes for that matter.