A night watchman in a museum turns the corner on his rounds and finds…
what looks like the memory of his first love, just sitting there and sobbing.
Jason knew it had not been wise to let the young couple spend the night in the decadently upholstered master bed in the bedroom of King Daclun,. the third, on the exclusive fifth floor of the Alchemical Museum in Edinburgh; but what worth was wisdom when love was so fragile and so rare? Jason had made up his mind, ages ago, that when love made itself known, he’d add a wee bit of glow to it, a wee bit of comfort if he could, because love would not last long and it would most likely leave through treachery, death, betrayal, or all three. He knew love never dies a natural death , it dies through neglect , neglicance , obliviousness; well he better stop thinking about his X, and yes he knew it should be ex, but it was XXXXXXXXXXX. Forbidden , do not trespass, gravestones ahead..and then he had fallen into just a wee bit of a dose;
he forced himself to rise and walk the halls for his hourly rounds. He walks into what looks like the memory of his first love, just sitting there and sobbing. His faltering steps towards his past are damned by a far louder sob, tearing through the walls of the master bedroom, of the newly in love couple, he’d let stay in the bed. What memories did the bed hold? He collapses slowly down, onto the cold floor, beside his memory of his first love, was this her memory too? He was trying to form a clear thought when something crawled into his lap. Now it was his turn to scream.