FicWad

As the door opened, the sense of home washed over him. It wasn't that this place was a comfort to him, a place where he could find a sanctuary. It was in fact the opposite. He had never felt at peace in the cold stone walls but it contained memories and wasn't that what a home was to be; a chamber of memories.

A box filled with objects that were placed around that triggered events in your past, that you had forgotten or his case buried back in the darkest corner of his mind.

It was this place that had seen him grow, though he had not grown up here. It had been different walls that had seen that. But the ones surrounding him now had seen the changes through stiff smiles and expensive frames decorating them. They had seen the changes more then the people living between them.

His shoes clicked softly as he walked slowly through the entrance, the black of his suit contrasting against the white walls. His hand ran along the smooth surface of a table the sat alone, with only a vase of flowers to accompany it. The flowers were beautiful and elegantly positioned, but they held a quality about them that drew his eye. After being placed there they had been forgotten, turned into apart of the decoration. Something in his chest clenched when he realised that he was like a vase of flowers in his own home. He studied the petals that had before seemed so precisely positioned, as they now took on a new appearance, it was as though they hang down, looking at the floor. It looked as though the flowers were sad and lonely. It was too cold for the flowers but somehow they had managed to survive the harsh environment in which they had no choice but to inhabit. He shook his head when he realised he felt pity for the flowers and for himself.

Turning his face, his eyes swept the across all the photos, until he came to the one he had been looking for.

There wasn't anything special about the day it had been taken, but for some reason he had wanted to find it, to look upon the boy who would stare back. His eyes traced the edges of the boys face, looking for any sign of recognition, but he didn't know that boy. Maybe he never had. He remember when that boy had been so sure of everything, so sure of himself. How things had changed.

The breeze played through the boys hair, the strands fluttering in the air. The boys eyes were looking at something he couldn't see, something in the distance. Something far away; out of reach. When your a child everything seems just an inch beyond you grasp, you can't wait until you are no longer a child where things are out of reach.

No body had told him that just because you can finally reach out touch something doesn't mean you can hold on to it.

There was a story that he wanted to tell this boy about holding onto things, about grabbing the things that you didn't reach out for but seem to drift toward you, or in his case the things that just appeared before him. As he stood there he wondered how he would tell this story without making it seem like it had happened to someone else. It had happened to him, but he was still unsure how the events of that one night had occurred. It was like a nightmare that had along the way managed to twist and manipulate itself into a dream. It sounded corny to him when he put it that way but it was true and he didn't care, all that mattered was that with all dreams you eventually wake up and realise that it never happened and that life would simply continue on as always.

The only difference was that this time he didn't want to.

- ~ -

Now it started at a church, at top a hill, surrounded by nothing but a field of grass the danced with the wind and sung with the trees.

There was five people that would never forgot this place for more than what it was. Two of them were lovers, while two were best friends, another two were brother and sister, but there was one who was alone in a group of family that would never accept him.

It was eleven forty-five and in twelve hours everything between them would be different.