Pfft...

"You want them, then take them."

She threw them into his face, while he frantically brushed the cold mud off his eyes.

"What are you doing?"

" I am giving you what you came here for, my images."

He was covered in his own filth. He was dirt, nothing more and she loved to see him squirm in his leftovers like a pig. She didn't hate him, she just felt used, awfully used and degraded. The thing is, it was all her fault.

He grabbed the photos and wiped the image with his dirty hands.

"This is not you!"

She smiled, "Figures you have seen me long enough. Let my visage burn through your memory with nothing more to stoke your filthy fires."

She put her hands on her hips and watched him fume. He was dreadfully angry but stared at her for a very long time.

He wished to remember as much as he could. He knew he would never see her again.

Cold- A Different Kind of Pain

Different...maybe so, and maybe not.

cold - The calm that killed the storm

Frozen things--everything--surrounds me. I hate the cold, I hate the barren places that keep deep chasms for me. I wait, I wait until the cold has passed and the blooming center inside sees the light of my destination.