A scream in the night, is not just a shadow off light, beauty queens from Sweden dreams are not just another good vision, smiles of shadows were covering little by little the time that was passing...
In the backyard, enclaved in the tissue of the earth, where the sweet dreams are buried alive, undeterminated beings crawl in the depths of human imagination. As the thoughts of many were passing by, with the cold wind shaving the grass; over the lonely clocks that melt and make their way into the obscurity of the night, a lonely shadow was being seen doubtly by the eyes of the life beholder.
The Kid, as he was known, was sleeping over the graves of his future parents in a never ending spiral of darkness, when an old owl sat over the top of his forgotten soul, screaming with desperate silenceness words of an story never told, an story of incumbent death and lack of humanity.

Dawn had not yet arrived to the perpetual black inside the Kid’s eyes, overlooking the antique city of corpses, as the smiles forever buried in memory were recovering its whiteness. The owl stared firmly over the shoulder of the Kid’s weakened body, and clearly whispered words of fear and confusion:
-Your time has run out, wee kid. It’s time for you to infest their world.
-Have you read my mind, owl? -The Kid said- I don’t need anyone to tell me what to do. Remember that I’m elder than your ancestors.
-He will take you words into account. –The owl replied. –always by your side, even the silence wont make you hear my shadowed wings.
-You’re not my master, bird. Now let me leave this plane.
A shadow was being seen evoking the nightmare that had been living, parasiting, the Kid’s mother mind and soul. Suddently, she felt cold, and a scream travelled trough the alley. Unfortunately, no one heard it, and the weisting ghouls finished carving her body in the backyard. Rosemary ceased to exist, the 5 of November of 1837.
J.P.R. Tolkien and H.P. Rollocraft