Wording A Church Anniversary Ad

c_h_original @ 2010-07-24T01: 10:00

LIFE

of Sammael_Belial


and Rebirth Dream




Rating: for all.

I'm naked, but the hot sun rise over the distant mountains and drive away the cold night. But the ice is in, and nothing can take it away. A rhythmic rocking cradle me, but I can not be quiet. I cry. Who is this man? What do you want from me? It keeps me in his arms and looks at me with tenderness, but it scares me. His hair is dark and shiny, like his skin and his eyes. The beard that covers the lower half of the face seems spiky, curly. It is unlike any man I've ever seen before now.
The swing continues, and eventually I fell asleep.

You're not my mom. This woman is my mother. Where am I? What happened? Where is my mother? I cry. My mother is not there, and I get the feeling that not see her again. The woman gently rocks me, shakes my chest, I say I'm his, his, hers, its Kamal, his answered prayer from the gods, the result of a divine gift that brought me into his arms. It never ceases to cradle and kiss his forehead. As a tear falls along its dark face, rigandole cheek, I fall back into sleep.

a bed set up at the last minute is my bed. From time to time - perhaps dreams, perhaps remember, maybe the joke half asleep - I open my eyes and I see the face of that woman. That is not my mother. But he loves me, and I know because me whispering all the time. She loves me, his, her, her little Kamal. Too tired to even whine. Feed me, I tuck the blanket of white linen around the body, caress me, watching me. I close my eyes again.

This time I open them really, and it is day, and today, it is now and it is life, real life, who pulled out an age and I am confused between pours other children. Are dark, small and in the flesh. Not me, I'm different. I see them look interested in my blue eyes, my skin white. But I do not drive away. We play together in chase, and I try, when I'm gone. They are calling me in front of the house and scream my name until I put my head out the door and I follow them with a laugh.
"Kamal, Kamal, Kamal."
attract them, charmed them, draws them around me as if they were insects, and I the flower. A flower that has thorns, it's just been born, but grow. Obey everything I say, do what I want. Follow me running in the market, but my legs are longer, more slender, more of them white. I sow them and rebuke them and cast them welcome, to my taste. I
seven years, and I am the master of the world.
A world that is the village around the palace, the houses small and tidy, welcoming. A world that is in the arms of my mother, and even those are small and cozy. I have not yet applied because they are so different. From you, from my father, by all. But there's no need. "You're a gift, Kamal. The gods have given us the gift of the most beautiful son. Perfection. Like your name. " I repeat it often, and in my mind of a boy I think a god. I will go soon to work as a page at the palace, with others, with my mother. It will be fun. I see the king, my father rarely appointment with such respect.

I have nine years, and I'm cleaning up golds in entrance hall. With me are Aram and Adel. Adel is my best friend, is the only one who can hold me head and when we play to land the fight. It made me bite the dust, and then we are inseparable. He has a year longer than me, but sometimes it seems that he has many, many more. Her look is so different from everyone else.
He gives me yak on his skin, greasy oil, which was cleaning a glass inlaid. And he laughs. Ride. He doubles over, holding his belly. And it's so beautiful when she laughs, the two tiny dimples appear on the sides of his mouth. I would stay to observe it, but revenge and play and need to take it in bites become unbearable. I launched against him, cried out that when we beat and our battle hymn. Aram plane ride, but does not take part in the game: he knows that is not good to interfere between me and Adel, knows that we would end up ganging up against him, so small and frail. It is quiet, as its name.
For a change, Adel unable to land. Has not stopped a moment to laugh, and when he sees that I'm gasping for the game and I need to catch my breath, it launches on my waist, putting in place what I wanted to do myself, or take a pinch. But it is a pleasant torture, at least until my laughter can not reach the ears of a courtier of way.