Six

Beauty, a feature created merely for the lust of men. A specimen of this idea, idealistic in every movement; a young woman, innocent in this world of mass tribulation. 

Smiling through the halls of an innocent school. Smiles block out the outside world for this young woman. Nothing is to get past; nothing could infect perfection.

Flowing white hair, a deep, dark complexion, and the lightest blue eyes, her purity just added to her idealistic manner. Her feelings were always joyful, and a smile spread across the face of this cheerful young woman.

Going through her days with grace and poise emanating through every action she completes. In her mind she sees her standard; she sees what she must work towards, and she completes even the most menial tasks with a matter of sheer grace and aplomb.

The purity of this girl of a mere six years of age is unchangeable; the parents of this child just holding her to the standard she has set. Perfect in every way, just the minimum for even the youngest of children. 

Even in her home, her beauty was acknowledged. Family always sent compliments her way; she happily smiled and nodded whenever a compliment was given. Just a chuckle could show the politeness and perfection her family has wished for. 

If she can’t meet the standards she has set; her parents would yell, fighting becoming a daily occurrence in the once perfect home. Shrieking and tears could fill a house once without fear; a once safe place turned into a house of spite and brutality. 

Her feelings of joy are on a thin line. Unaware of the consequence of imperfection. An example is set by her unaware consciousness. Life by its terms can only lead to the pain of the toll pushed by the gift of existence. 

Friendship in the early years, is set by the parents' own will. Unable to make decisions for herself, she works towards the highest point. Friendship doesn’t exist when decisions and boundaries can’t be set in good proportion. 

Her boundaries are not set, and her life is intertwined. Nothing has tried to infect her perfection for the fear of the gaiety that emanates from her light spirit. 

The powerful protection of sheer supremacy must be tested by lust. Her features were gifted from a lord unknown, though the pleasures of a man could not be stopped by this deity; for her idealistic lifestyle is ‘untouchable’ by the stability provided by the luxury by the name of ‘boundaries’.  

Is it considered sinful for boundaries to be set; is it righteous to be taken advantage of by those who preach their truthful actions?

A cult is considered anything of a misled belief; though is it truly a cult when the beliefs do not fit the standards of the imperfect. Is it morally correct to break the mutual tolerance of pain and mutiny? For the stars gazing across a broken sky, tolerance is all that holds them together. Star-crossed fates, misfortune, and blithe. 

Without telling of the future, perfection holds tightly to these ideas. For the realm of idealistic expectation is said to be boundless; though bounds are set in every prospect. 

Even a girl of the most impeccable stature, status, and splendid attitude; is a subject for such tribulation of the mind. The world may turn against the daughters of Kami, subject to being the prey of broken standards. 

The most pulchritudinous people, both protected and violated. The spirit in which nothing can be broken in the same way, the revolting scene of a young spirit shattering into a million ragged pieces, piercing the hearts of the attacker.

May love bring false joy, life may bring true joy when opened to the idea. What could this love bring when joy is in such high demand in this world of adversity and false hope? 

The ghost of a past self may be haunting in its presence of pure spite. The purity of a spirit may be morphed into the flowering bud of animosity. Flowers may be beautiful in their demeanor and aroma; though the presentation of the blossom may be nearly erotic the malice that the spores the plants let off is addictive in its negative effects. Similar to a drug, the jurisdiction you lose as the spores take control. Unable to resist the illness being inflicted upon your mind; the most important part of you, fading away into the darkness, all they could see was blurry shapes almost as if blindness had overtaken the eyes. 

When does the torture of life's unforgiving overtures that life in tales come to the curtain as the show comes to a close? May the flower of life slowly wilt away for that would be a superior fate than for the human mind to slowly fall into the depths of illness. 

The upcoming eras, coming to a close as the human lifestyle fades into the depths of pain. This pain falls to the powerful overtaking of human nature. How can she come above this global power known as life? 

In a world of infinite capability, anyone can be degraded just because of prejudice, set in time by eras long past. Standards just bring down the spirit of life's glory. Though life is a hellscape to be trudged through it must be made the most of. For what else is the point of life other than to go through it, trying to make it out as the only one to survive?

Walking through the broken walls of a school, the power dynamic of this system falls into chaos; when power is falling into the hands of the young may the odds ever be in the favor of the fortuitous. 

A child of fortune strolling through this system of discord. “That’s amazing!” a teacher exclaims to Ayasaya. She smiles and shrugs due to the image this has created. Daily affirmation for this small girl. 

A teacher works as hard as they can to reach the levels of perfection seen in the young Ayasaya; their worlds being made by this tiny girl. A slight stature could somehow hold this level of purity; her innocence possessing the souls of every individual around her. Her innocence is infectious, in contrast to the nature of this characteristic; the character of her being spreading over to others around her, perfection being held in her young stature.

The land of the free and the brave is put to shame by the genius of this small woman. A future success in the making; the teachers are in shambles over the works of Ayasaya. Principles of the living realm are broken by the power of this girl in her life of purity.

The passage of Power through the veins of cultures globally. May the power be held in the hands of the majority, that shall be a dream for as long as you could imagine. The consternation of people in any nation, dismay overtaking society.

At the playground children crowd around her, even the most tame of folk, corrupted by the grasp of power. She smiled and waved as her dearest friend, Anzazel. 

‘Hey Ayasaya!” he hollers, trying to speak over the hoard of brainwashed children. He tried to trudge between, though his petite stature of a six-year-old boy whose smile took up half of his young face. 

‘Anzazel!’ Ayasaya yelled over the others, pushing one of them as the rest part, bringing Anzazel into Ayasaya’s line of sight. 

‘Whatcha wanna do?’ asked Anzazel through his wide, bright smile. Ayasaya brought him over to the swing set and a smaller smile appeared on the face of Ayasaya as they began to swing up and down, the simplicity of early life bringing joy to the two children. Their joy brought envy to the surrounding children, and without the realization of their envy they give glares, power being held by these two, for ignorance is bliss in this world of mass nescience; for anyone including the youth, envy can be felt, a sin of malice felt even in the highest of ranks of perfection.

Life, was seen as menial to the young as life flashed by, swinging up and down on the swing of existence. Light shining down, bringing the luster of their brilliant souls to the tip of their minds.

Later that day as they walk to their homes in a neighboring location with their mothers, an older man, around forty-two, examines Ayasaya from across the road, biting his lip. He slowly approaches, and begins to speak with her mother, ‘Your daughter is gorgeous’ he says, ‘give me a call when she’s eighteen,’ he laughs. Ayasaya’s mother laughs along as Ayasaya looks like confusion. 

‘Who was that?’ Anzazel whispers to Ayasaya.’

‘I don’t know,’ Ayasaya replies, ‘Mom must know him.’

Her perfection, in this moment, is challenged by the envy of this man, a binding power over the weak and defenseless. Through the presumption of power in perfection there must be a toll on the victim due to the power crisis that anyone can face. Abuse and pain, are a battlefield known as life that no one can trudge through as beings of human nature. 

  Where light is a gift bestowed upon in only the Garden of Eden, darkness overtakes these peoples of the world. The young souls surrounding Ayasaya and Anzazel may be haunted by this past of torment in eras past. The parental control is shown through the pain they inflict on the offspring of these generations that are lost to the world’s intolerance. How the world of honor is programmed into life's norms.

Cupid’s bow is the only weapon that could break through the heartbreak created by life's ups and downs. The flowering of the world's hopes and ambitions. A garden matching that of Paradise; the spores of this Paradise producing the roses of longevity’s curses. 

The next morrow at the tip of dawn the two children awake as they prepare for a day of education through the loss of control, an idea that she is yet to know in this world of protective youths.

Walking down the carpeted stairs to her parents, smiling and jesting towards each other. ‘That man from yesterday was mighty amusing,’ her mother laughed.

‘A man like that seems a jester indeed,’ the father replied. 

‘Good morning,’ Ayasaya yawned, tricking herself into not remembering what she had heard. Trauma is just a delusion to her as she goes on without worry of a man’s lust; for the teachings of this assimilation into the youth’s pure minds with the painful toxins that the world may imbue. 

‘A perfect breakfast for my perfect girl,’ her father shouted, ‘You’re just so beautiful.” Her world of perfection is just shown off by the words of her parents. 

Walking out of her home, her mother beside her, she sees Anzazel walking and jolts over, ‘Anzazel!’ she hollers, as he looks behind him.

‘Ayasaya!’ he yells back, waiting for her. 

‘Keep walking,’ his father says solemnly, a frown appearing upon the regularly joyful Anzazel. He turns back around and continues walking beside his father; the bliss of his spirit taken away from him as they walk. 

Not taking in what she had seen Ayasaya and Anzazel arrive at the institute. As they leave the side of their parents, the insertion of glee is added to both children. The words spoken aren’t to sink into the minds of these young, the opinion of the aged, though they as well were tainted by the words of their guardians and pains. 

For words can reach farther than action with the tone being the actions that fall farther into the depths of despair; spores of disgrace inserted into the flowering buds of the youth, a wilting bud being the image of a child. 

Strutting into a schoolyard, teachers welcome them from left and right, ‘Good morning!’ yelps one, ‘Hello!’ screams another. For Ayasaya on the other hand there is a different reaction, ‘Sweetie, hello!’ one says, ‘An image of the perfect flower!’ says another. She smiles and nods once more, and again. 

The dimensions of human life may not be seen by groups seen as the highest of class. There are things unseen by the highest of classes, yet blinding to the lowest of civilization. 

‘Hey Ayasaya!’ her peers say excitedly, Anzazel still glued to her side, his endearing nature not pestering, but loving.

For how Cupid’s arrow pierces the hearts of any person. Friendship may be the effect of his arrows and the hearts of them may be hurt by this effect due to wishing for love, though is it a curse or a gift to be affected by his friendship. 

The world of wants and necessities is tainted by the norms created by these effects pushed by an imbalance of power. Her perfection limits her, though it limits those around her at a higher level than herself. The closer they may be to perfection in human form, the bounds of pleasure may be pushed down by the world's bias and prejudice. Hardship for those who are surrounded by those who reached a pinnacle. Anzazel isn’t affected by these bounds at this point.

The world of perfection is a limitless region, there is no pinnacle if the standard is only raised, never dropped down. Anzazel sets his limits, his boundaries are raised by his purposeful actions. The land between their two regions was sectioned off by these two different buds, of the most perfect white hue and one of the sharpest of thorns, able to pierce the skin of even perfection itself. 

The power dynamic of their two separate powers. The development of their young, weaker souls. The flowering plants were soon ready to let off their mild spores.

At the playground once more, almost a clone of the scene in the previous day. At the start of a new scene though she just had to complete the same steps, though there was one pungent difference. Anzazel was on the swing before he yelled, ‘Ayasaya!’. 

In class, these scenes carry on like a looped movie, just a twisted scheme of a horror film. The constant praise is just the same thing over and over as she works towards this ideal schedule of repetition. Words can not bring this insanity to recognition due to the sheer amount of power that this reaching has made her lose. This control that repetition holds over the young is due to the failure of bounds set by Ayasaya. Some are protected from insanity grasps, others not so lucky. 

Anzazel is a lucky boy, brought to the brink of sadness yet persevering to joy where he is yet to give in. The patience that he holds as a young boy, the maturity he must hold from a broken home. The worlds are so different between these two homes. Lighting the fire that burns inside of the heart of this child who was broken by the world.

The fragments of someone's past are said to be the reason for someone's fear and actions, yet that does not apply to those who have only lived for a mere six years.

The imperfection may be a termination of the soul due to parenting that may be broken or led by ignorance. Alcohol and marijuana, a method of freedom that the parents of Anzazel use for a feeling of control in their loss of power; leading to anger and painful moments. 

In a house of pain and impatience; words that could break the bonds of a father and son, and a mother who could break the bounds of the underworld’s walls. 

How these two worlds shall clash against each other forming a friendship made of diamond, unable to be broken unless by its own will and ways.

The worlds of painful thorns, seeds of panic implanted into every mind, though the impact they make being the change, bringing the challenges of someone’s life. The environment they find themselves in is not what chooses their future, but the actions they are to take. 

Wilting petals fall off a flower as the mushrooms kick in. The forest must be balanced and it will always end with something consuming the other. Life like this forest, die or survive.

When Anzazel arrives at his home he isn’t welcomed warmly or brought to with a loving embrace. For he must walk upstairs to his room, the stench of smoke and alcohol too strong to handle otherwise. He couldn’t muster the strength to stay downstairs and even alert his mother or father of his arrival home. As soon as he enters his down the mask he holds upon his face disappears. 

Even after only a single year of school, he is accustomed to the schedule of torment his parents bring. Chaos in a home, meant to be a safe place for those who arrive. The environment is meant to build the peace and compassion of a person, yet in this chaotic home, he can only focus on the patience and maturity it takes to take care of his parents. 

A drug addict and an alcoholic, the mix should create a harbinger of chaos and desperation, though what is born is Anzazel, may perfection not run through him nor his attitude he still holds the potential of any other. The infinite possibilities of the young; though tainted by those around them, the life of the young is pure for a limited time. 

As Anzazel must go downstairs to eat he has no choice but to inhale the fumes of alcohol and marijuana.

‘What are you doing boy,’ his father yells from the living room. 

‘Getting dinner, sir,’ Anzazel replies. Anzazel continued to the kitchen where he began to cook. From prior knowledge of his father, he made pasta with cheese for it has helped with his father's anger in the past. 

‘Come here boy!’ his father howls. Anzazel quickly moves to the living room to his father where he is standing waiting. ‘Your teacher called,’ he said, ‘You yelled at your teacher,’ he continued. A scared expression appeared on Anzazel’s face as his father's arm was raised to the sky. Four strikes onto his back before his father returned to the couch, ‘Go finish making dinner,’ his father finished. 

With tears in his eyes, Anzazel returned to the kitchen, where he finished his cooking, giving the food to his father. 

He does not question the location of his mother for she is not usually home. She works three jobs so his father can just spend it all on drugs at the expense of their family. 

The safety of Anzazel and his mother is always in danger due to this horrid power dynamic. For power is held only in the hands of his father, he is willing to hurt others for what he wants, his actions are to bring pain and his words are to break down the boundaries of others. 

In both homes of these children, the safety of the children is endangered by their parents. Their environment couldn’t be more different though they feel the same. Their worlds are ever-changing in their sixth year in this life of desperation. The pain is brought on by the powers known as the parental powers. Forty-eight laws of power are mastered by few. 

The adversaries of life, like a forest, balanced in fortune and broken down in misfortune. The brightness of these souls through the darkest of tales. Walking through a forest, leaving breadcrumbs to return to their past life yet taken by the birds of prey. For taken into a tower for her perfect aspects of magic. All tales embody the ideas of pain and torment; the tales of these characters are not just simple in their dreams and magic for they have the faults of their vices. Cinderella lost her foot and Arial failed turning into sea foam. ‘Happy ever after’ is not an ending in the garden for life goes deeper than the Mariana Trench. The rules of life are non-applicable in this era. Power brings plenty to their knees; bringing to their knees the power of brilliant stars. Millions of stars form the pains of destiny's cloth. Weaving destiny through the three sisters of life; one pulls the thread, another brings the strings up and down, and the third ends the process with a cut. Life was as simple as these ideas of stars and weaving, like a spider weaving their web into unique patterns and shapes; beaten out by a goddess even the most perfect turned to a little, insignificant bug. 

Even a garden has its spiders and flowers; which is a question we all ask, even when it comes to someone’s being, it is broken down by someone's mind due to self-image.  

In the home of Ayasaya that same evening she arrives home and then begins speaking to her mother.

‘How was your day honey?’ her mother questions.

‘It was great!’ she responds.

‘That’s good’, ‘Any homework?’ 

‘Yeah, I’ll go get it done and come down for dinner,’ she finished with a smile on her face. She continued upstairs to her pristine room, her room was white with other white furniture. There was not a single stain, plants were all around the room, and perfect flowers and wonderful scents were scattered around; even at her young age, this perfection was shown through this as well. As she did her homework it is seen that her handwriting was also a pure form of perfection. 

After her homework was completed with pure perfection and poise she walked downstairs where she had dinner ready for her on the table. Sitting there was Japanese cuisine, perfection running in her blood; she was coming from the house of the rising sun. 

‘So kiddo, how was school,’ her father asked, ‘I bet you’ve got all of the boys staring,’ he laughed. 

‘Haha, maybe,’ she chuckled along.

‘Good answer,’ he replied, ‘I don’t need you getting a boy around here anytime soon.’

That night she was thinking about the boys in her class, not knowing what her father meant by the boys staring at her; she had no clue what there was for them to stare at, no clear idea what they could be looking for in her. 

The difference in their home back to the forest of possibilities. These people of purity and chaos in which their homes are to persist through both in maturity and innocence, their worlds are broken down into fragments of options. The spider's web, like a snowflake, is unique in every way; the world’s infinite unique features are brought to their peak by these two children. 

The norms of their lives are like weight on the backs of these two children, like stones being brought to a building; war slaves working to finish a project they don’t get to see or use one finished. Unfulfilling in the completion of these uncompleted souls.

The pains of uncompleted projects, including the heart and mind; lack of maturity, and the lack of pain, for pain builds the character of someone's soul. The torture of life, spores of a forest's secrets, and the tainting spirit and aroma of these sacred flowers. The Garden of Eden looks like a hellscape when it comes to the persuasion and prejudice that it holds. The world of pain and panic that is brought on by the continuance or end of the world. The end or continuance of the living realms may be different in the idea though the pains that this realm holds may be worth its death.

The life within this forest of lives. The circle of life brings together life and death; life and death are a phenomenon that is unexplained by any human scientist or believer; In the world of the unexplained, there are the unexplained possibilities of the living, such as the ocean or the stars, though the imagined are just as strange and unusual, in form of purgatory, heaven, hell, Olympus, the underworld, and the infinite realms showing beliefs past ourselves.