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Description
He raises his boyish arms, one flower each upon the palms. One is not more perfect than the other, one is not more wicked than the other. Choose, he asks.
The flower tremble slightly within the cage of his fingers, blown by the wind. Frail and precious, they whisper of unsurpassed glory and undying love. They murmur of exquisite agonies and unbearable shame.
They tease with glittering fame and heavenly promises. They laugh with childlike cruelty and poisoning illness.
His voice, like a wisp of cold air, "You can walk away and choose neither."
But I could not walk away.
I will choose.
The flower tremble slightly within the cage of his fingers, blown by the wind. Frail and precious, they whisper of unsurpassed glory and undying love. They murmur of exquisite agonies and unbearable shame.
They tease with glittering fame and heavenly promises. They laugh with childlike cruelty and poisoning illness.
His voice, like a wisp of cold air, "You can walk away and choose neither."
But I could not walk away.
I will choose.
Image size
765x1000px 110.2 KB
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Comments60
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Oh, this little Devil of Fate with the two roses in his hands... we´ll choose and we´ll always choose the wrong rose. Why?
Because we are never content with our choices and thus hardly ever content with our lives. Poor human beings we are...
Because we are never content with our choices and thus hardly ever content with our lives. Poor human beings we are...