“You must stop this madness look at yourself is this how you want to live a blade in one hand and a pencil in  the other” “No my dear I do not wish to cause you this distress I hate the idea of seeing you like this your the love of my life but i fear that I can not overcome this darkness alone” CRASH

Datrion Blanquez  was just a boy when his father had asked him what he wanted to be in the flick of an eye he exclaimed that he wished to be a composer like all the greats. His father stood grave with a look of shame and said “you a composer not my son no one from the blood of my ancestors will put this family to shame like that i forbid you to study into this silly daydream”. He told me right after that moment he felt a sense that all of what he had always wanted collapsed all he ever wanted was for his father to be proud of him but it seemed that the day would never come.

As a teen his mother had helped him with his studies of music and supported him completely but his father never supported him and didn’t even know that he had been studying. Along with new knowledge came new emotions one of which was dark depressing hatred it was to the point of spliced veins and tortured wrists soon came a day where he decided that the best thing for him to do is get out and go to town for more paper for he was out on a case of writer’s block a feeling some what knew to him for he had never had trouble writing this added even more trouble to his so far miserable life. On his way into town he walked by a flower stand he stopped not on account of the flowers but on account of a beautiful young florist named Castina zantrez  he had never seen beauty in this caliber so he took a deep breath and began to converse with the florist and with this short conversation his days got better and his writers block had left. 

Time had passed and he grew with Castina their relationship was stronger than ever and soon planned to wed but Datrion had taken a turn for the worst as happy as he was he was still trapped in his dark consuming emptiness.  He found the blade duller and duller with each growing day and soon found the pain even more unbearable each growing day.  This all was on account of his father and what he had endured through his life like the judgement he took upon his music and his ability to compose music and how his father had said that him being a composer would put the family to shame.   Most of all even when he had succeeded  as a writer of music and a composer and had become very wealthy his father still was not be proud  of him and would never say he was.

Now we come to the point where we started and the beginning of this terrible story me and my husband talking of his problem with the blade. when it was happening i was terrified  he stood atop a wooden stool he had from his childhood with a rope around his neck and as soon as he said his final words the stool feel  i sprinted towards him with all my might to catch him but he dropped. I crashed to my knees tears washed my face to sadness i had lost the only love i would ever have and now the blade is bestowed upon me………..