Greenhouse

            

                  Act 1
The greenhouse is beautiful. Brilliant shades of green. Fiery ruby flowers blooming like kisses floated on the leaves. Life flowed like streams of ribbons in a summer breeze, intertwining. The androgynous man, with luminous beauty that outshone the sun and stars he toiled beneath, was more at home here then the mansion down the long and crooked path.

                      Act 2
The woman leaned against the cold metal bench. Biting rose vine thorns curled around her ankles and snaked up her thighs. Thorns break, dying as they cut into the soft skin trying to defend themselves from the poisonous hatred that lay just beneath it. The glass was cracked with age and dirt let sun in the little patches it had not conquered. Rust had ripped the chains from the pot plants, smashing on the floor and starving them of light and water.

                 Act 3
The palette of this little world, that was once so full and bright, barely made use of dull browns and pale greys. This was natural for her, she could scarcely help it. Perhaps jealousy wanted to make her the only resplendent thing to look at. The mans anger was newborn and inexperienced as he cursed her and sent her down the crooked path from which she had crawled up from. He straitened it as she disappeared from it. Never to return, for death cannot exist without life and death was all that remained.