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I don't want to live my life, not again...
The room is dark. The only light available is coming from the solitary candle in the middle of room. Atop the candle, the flame sits there. It does not feel like dancing on this normally joyous occasion. Rather, it stays still, burning itself, melting away it's foundations. It needs them to stay alive, but it doesn't care. It can't change what it is. Even though the candle is in stark contrast to the darkness that envelops the room, it is not very bright this day. Almost as if it were losing the battle to darkness...
Along the walls, the shadows stare in silent contemplation. They do not dare move, lest they interrupt this solemn, depressing moment.
If one would take their eyes off the bright flame for a moment to look around the room, one would note the absence of any objects in the room. There is no paintings covering the wall, no windows to let the outside in, and, if one strains their eyes long enough, one could notice the faint outline of a door, painted in the same depressing faded light blue that covers the walls.
Indeed, the only object in the room is a stately, majestic dining table in the centre of the room. It is made of oak, and is massive, barely fitting inside the room itself. One wonders how such a table could have been brought into the room. Should one's mind linger long enough on the subject, they would come to one of two answers; It was either built in the room, or the room was built up around it. Though it seems unlikely, it is actually the latter that is true. Upon learning that though, one would ask where the table came from?
Some things we may never know...
The table is richly adorned with the settings of a banquet fit for a king. The plates are engraved china. The silverware is elegantly made, embossed with gold. Each chair is massive. Expertly carved, and made of oak wood, these chairs would look at home in any royal palace's throne room. They are empty, all of them.
As one's gaze is drawn back to the yellow flame atop the candle, a pair of eyes appear to be gazing back from the darkness. Deeply blue, these eyes would appear sullen, and tired, but yet, very deep. The eyes protrude an aura of pain, and longing, along with wisdom. At this moment, they appear to be in pain.
A lone voice breaks the silence...
"Happy birthday to me..."
last modified Sep 12, 2004 at 14:22
*comes out of the corner and starts her own song* Happy birthday.
Take care of yourself. *hugs*
*walks in with a cloak covering his face, leaves a gift and leaves* happy birthday 
As that low voice joins the first at the door, a shadow steps out of the wall. Her hazel eyes entranced in the blue flame coming from the candle. Wondering how such heat and fear and pain are created by a lone candle, a solitary figure in the confines of this neverending world.
Her eyes dance with that of the flame, and as they twine around eachother she leads him out of the flame and into the shadows where all three voices sing once again that song of happiness and sorrow.
*hugs*
and slowly, as he continues the song, the door opens, and another person is framed in the doorway, also rather darkened by an absence of light, he enters for the final lines of the song.
happy birthday dear Jesse, happy birthday to you...
Biff
Somewhere in your head, the shadows are dancing...
Let them dance here.
*hugs*
You know what I think.
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