taipan

With each mile that he passed with his car his anger turned from fury to a blinding fire to a pitch black pit of chaos. And yet the pitch black chaos was too small a word as further ahead he went, until there he stood in front of ‘Manerium Somniorum’ The manor of dreams. Standing at the gates his anger dissipated to a form of fear and melancholy. Christian knew it like he knew the back of his hand that these emotions were his. Whatever he was feeling was an aftermath of what the manor was listening in on. The walls were screaming the story that unfolded between their bricks as the windows tried to leap open, over powered by the yearning need for some kind of a void. An escape from what unfolded. The gate of the manor seemed barred from reality. Acutely preoccupied by the nightmare. Participating and escaping every word the manor screamed. Time did not exist beyond these gates. No what was left behind was simply the shadow of broken hearts. With each second that passed Christian watched a darkness descend upon the manor as thick mists of clouds and shadows formed. Untouched was the reality outside the gate but inside Manerium Somniorum dreamed. Dreamed of a heartbroken man. Echoed of an unquenchable thirst. Begged for her return. Pulling every reality into it in its desperation, whispering and moaning Christian or anyone that dared to watch to enter. Enter their dream. Dream their love. And bathe in their despair as a symphony lulled Christian into a heavy sleep. With each ticking minute the manor seemed to draw further and further away, without even realizing his eyes had closed and his body was mesmerized by her. By them. It played out again like a song, starting with a verse. A look. A pair of eyes. A shadow. As translucent darkness shone brightly around a man and interlaced with his soul. And there she stood. It was her form and her face and yet her eyes betrayed who she was. A conscious thought metaphored into her existence, standing right there under the soft glow of his lantern. Christian was the prince and the prince was chaos as their fell in love for the first time. As their skin felt the fleeting graze of her smile and their ears heard the soft whisper of her gown tease the ground. There all three souls stood as one falling in love with the same form and yet a different woman. "We were never meant for tomorrow ..." She said with a trembling voice as her hand reached out for his, so close and yet much like their fates all there was between them were dreams.

Murder is termed as a vague concept of brutality in the moment of death at the hands of someone else. In an unseeming fashion always with the intent of getting away with it. It’s the hows that everyone talks about. The process of solving it. What everyone fails to find is why something changed so fundamentally in a person to do something so cruel. To debase themselves to their most primal instinct. Let everything you think you know be questioned. Let the irony of the world play tricks on you. It’s not the brilliance of the murder. It’s not about getting away with it. It’s about what pushed them to the brink of despair...