"Moving On"

“The term ‘moving on’ is such a fragile term to say…  
         
‘I moved on, I’m so over him.’ Is something you hear a lot…but what does it mean when you have moved on?”   
        
“That you forgot about him? That you don’t care if he dies? That you don’t constantly think of him? Yes, yes, yes. But answer me this…is it true that we can “move on” then go back to ‘loving him’?”  
         
“No, because you never moved on in the beginning. You can’t just go back, once you said those words: I have moved on you never go back, all the heartbreak songs you hear on the radio are not about you and him anymore. It’s about some poor slut who’s in what you got over. The love you felt for the other person, there should be nothing at all…but it’s understanding to hate…I suppose…but it is also extremely unacceptable.”      
     
“If you have moved on my love, you have no reason to hate him right? You aren’t friends, you aren’t lovers either. He’s just there, in the background, like a lost doll. He was fun in the start but after almost a year of playing with him he’s become aged and torn…covered in disease making you sick. Bringing you down.”           

“You should have known when I warned you. We were at the doll shop and I demanded we buy another doll. But of course, you didn’t listen…months pasted and you played with that doll endlessly. I watched from that vague darkness behind your shadow while you held it close. But dieses began to welter in its little wooden head…it began to make you sick.”           
“It started out as a weak cough every couple of weeks. Even then I was infuriated with the doll and there were times I would fight back against it…but that was stopped in a hasty manner by your warm hands pulling my ice gun from him.”           

“Your cough became worse and began to effect your voice. And it happened every week now…I would mend you, hold you in the frosty love of my arms, and teach you little by little the self-reliance you would need to master.”         
  
“Yet still, even in my icy arms, that doll never left your side. The sickness had stimulated into the chest of the thing…and yours. You would vomit red and complain of terrible pain in your petite torso. I would object to you even looking at the thing anymore. That we were damned if it didn’t take its leave by next month.”    
       
“Of course, even you are as stubborn as I am, and held the thing close to you until it was stolen from you by your own best friend…”           
“You were crushed to the point of suicide. ‘No!’ I would hiss. ‘I support your cutting but never this giving up!’ and I took your hand whispering words that I knew would hurt you. ‘He never loved you, he was desperate, he still doesn’t love you…he just feels bad…not one tear of care is real in that boy’s eye for you’.        
   
“I warned you…that you would stand at this doll’s alter.” Angela hissed in Camille’s ear. Angela moved away from Camille as she thought up the last words of her story. Her curly brown hair bounced ever so slightly as she trotted around like a snow leopard. Her hair fell curving around her thin jaw that wore red ruby lips. Just above her lips was a narrow nose curving into black brown eyes that never stopped observing. Her face was heavily animated but always had a look of determination, even when she cried. Her neck was long and her breast’s were full, round, and easily seen through a tight sweater that was lined with whites and grays. It hugged her waist smugly showing off how starvation can make anyone look good. Her legs were long and somewhat thick under her light gray jeans that sparkled in the faint light coming from a distance.     
       
“But my dear, I have taught you all I know…I have allowed you to talk to him.” Her whisky voice rang out in the empty room that took a sudden turn in harshness. “But you mustn’t allow yourself to close!” she hissed coming up behind Camille. Camille had long brown hair that was strait. It curled under lining her jaw line but half her face was hidden by the banged she was so proud of. Her eyes were brown and bright, her nose was a perfect size, and her lips were full and pink. Her neck was just as long as Angela’s but the sweater she had worn sagged a little over her breasts that weren’t nearly the size of Angela’s and the colors were black and dark gray. Her black jeans hugged her thighs hard and gave her the figure of a model that Angela had always longed for. Camille blinked and nodded slightly.     
       
“And of Ray? What about him?” Camille whispered, her voice was still warn from the sickness she was recovering from but still had the hint of sweetness she was born with. Angela hesitated thinking of the new doll they had seen at the shop. She really had no problem with him, he seemed clean enough, not poisoned, and obviously Camille was excited about him. I mean she had already pulled a fit when they hadn’t bought the doll while she could. “Please…” Camille murmured. “I know I want that doll,” she continued. Angela stalked in front of Camille and looked at her with fierce eyes that would scare anyone, but Camille knew all too well that meant she was having a battle within herself for a decision, which isn’t deadly…well to Camille anyway. Angela gave a slight nod.   
        
“Take that doll, tomorrow we will leave the Alter Of The Cursed Wreath and go the Sanctuary Of Royalty.” Angela mumbled. Angela still couldn’t believe that for once, Camille had made a decent decision and was returning to the shadow of Camille mumbling of how well she had taught Camille. As Angela’s head buzzed with puzzlement and a small flicker of bliss, Camille had whispered.     
      
“Where will Ray go…The Room Of The Messenger?” Angela turned surprised and almost fell.            
“My own heaven…no…he wont go there…He will stay with you. I promise he will never see me or the Room Of The Messenger unless he deserves it.” Angela rasped.   
         
“So he will know Camille…?” Camille asked. “And stay in the Mist Of Perfection?” Angela nodded as she slipped into the shadow of her goddess, Camille. Camille smiled and walked down the alleys of the unknown until she reach the doll shop where she gladly took Ray home and showed him The Mist Of Perfection.

The names...

Alter Of The Cursed Wreath.................Steve
Sanctuary Of Royalty..........................Ray
The Room Of The Messanger................Angela
The Mist Of Perfection........................Camille

Think about it.