Clasped within ashen hands lay the corpse of a baby bird: Its wings, decorated by cerulean feathers and specks of crimson, viscous fluids, were crumpled like a scrap of unwanted paper. The hand stroked the broken bird softly, from head to tail, as if it was trying to massage it back to life. No more melodies were to be whispered from the creature, no more time for wind to escape between the silky feathers of its scarred wings. Two roads had diverged into one, and it had decided to take neither.

Looking up from the hands, one would have seen a set of jade eyes that were dancing with images of the crumpled bird in their owner's hands. Their rose carunculas were dripping pools of crystal in an attempt to encase the bird and resuscitate it. Hidden in the recesses of the eyes was acceptance – acceptance that they must let the bird go to peace, acceptance that the bird had been from God and had never truly belonged to them. Acceptance that all things must end. A soft wind blew, brushing a cluster of red hairs in front of the eyes to distract them from the tragedy sat in their hands, blood dripping between their elongated fingers.

Mail Jeevas, the protector of the baby bird, the owner of the eyes and the mourner, took cautious steps amongst the petrichor ridden grass to lay the bird in the soft earth under the willow tree that mourned the death of the bird with him. With quivering hands, he scooped the earth to cover the top of the bird and whispered final prayers to it through bruised and broken lips. The bird which he had been guarding was the final gift which his mother had given him before she was murdered. Its song had reminded him of her, its colours had represented her own. With its death, Mail had to accept his mothers. Somewhere in heaven, the two were singing together, their ribbons of colour diverging into one pool of azure, emerald and amethyst. Their harmonies would become one haunting melody which Mail would never escape.

Walking through the long grass was another boy, Miheal Keehl. From the frosted glass of his quarters, Miheal had watched his best friend laid the bird to rest. He watched the tears escape their captor and make their escape against his hollowed out eyes. After reaching his best friend, Miheal took Mail's blood soaked fingers, ignoring the stench of the iron-like substance, and laced his own fingers around Mail's slightly more tanned ones. They stood a moment watching the ground before Miheal turned around and placed a soft kiss upon Mail's own lips.

"I love you Matty."