"Death and Life"
Byron returns to his room and thinks to himself long and hard. What on earth was he going to do at the Williams' estate while being cured for love sickness?
If only he had told the professor that he needed to discuss things. Too late now...
Yes, Bryon realizes that there is no cure for true-love, but he also realizes that this feeling he has needs to be solved immediately. Why was it so hard to express a love like this? A love like his was rare. Even within Foxport society, it was not uncommon to hear of such things, but there was a strange uniqueness about it all...
Byron sits in the window at the back of the living room. He looks out among the rolling hills at Williams estate and realizes that he is in love. Badly. What should he do? He looks up at the bright sun. He opens the window and climbs out at seats himself. He kicks his feet outside. His legs dangle below. He looks down, and realizes that the drop is too far down to make it without seriously harming himself. Perfect, Byron thinks.
He edges closer out the window. He takes out his pen and paper from his pocket. He writes down on the paper:
"You, you, it has taken too long. My love has grown old, tired, worthless and scorched. For our love cannot exist in a place like this for too long. We need to meet in another place, another time. Be time someone finds this, your love will be mine."
Bryon places the pen and paper on the ledge, and pushes himself out the window.
His body plummets to the ground quickly but gracefully. His white silk shirt ripples loudly in the wind.
Whack!
The professor hears a thud from the top floor floor office in the main house.
He knows what may have happened. He turns around.
"What on earth was that?" Professor Williams says to himself as he races to the window.
Across the rolling green hills, and down between the trees, he sees Bryon laying face down on the cement paving around the corner at the back of the guest house. A tiny red river runs away from Byron's body.
"Oh my God..." the professor whispers to himself. "Byron!" He pleads, tearing up.
*****
"So, that's basically it. I couldn't take it anymore and so I left." Tracy explains to Trevor. "I hated being there. I hated being around all of it. I just couldn't stand the times when I would least expect it for there to be someone taking a picture of me. Snap, Snap. I just wanted to snap back or something, but I was always way too concerned about how I looked to do that. Daddy would always read the morning papers and tell me that he liked what I wore and the look of the picture or something."
Trevor knods.
The phone rings.
"Hello?" Tracy looks back towards Trevor. She rolls her eyes and turns back around.
"Hi dad. Yes, I'm fine. I'm just here in the house.. I'm still working on my painting, yes." Tracy says impatiently. "Actually, I'm quite busy right now..."
Trevor senses the tension with Tracy and her dad on the phone. He gets up to give them privacy. As he moves away, Trevor notices the painting on the floor in the corner. He hasn't noticed it before now...
It's in shreds, he can see that, but he can only imagine what it must have looked like when it was all together as one...
Tracy is now off the phone.
She walks up from behind and takes off his shirt slowly.
"I know that this is bad... but how would you feel about if I did a life drawing of you?"
"Sure!" Trevor nearly squeals.
"O.K." Tracy says as she readies herself on the bed with her legs crossed with coal and paper in hand...
There's a long pause.
"O.K." she repeats.
"What? Here I am." Trevor enquires.
"Take off your clothes Trevor. This is life drawing."
Trevor's trousers drop to his angles. He turns around, sits on a nearby stool, and Tracy begins drawing gently on the paper... her fingers get dusty quick from the charcoil.
*****
Cameron shuts the door and the young delivery assistant worker walks away.
Cameron enters the bright living room with the photos. He has received the photos finally.
He notices something startling as soon as he opens the small flap:
"Tracy and Trevor? What the hell is going on?!!!"
Cameron whips the photos into the dark wood floor and looks angrily out of the large bay window.
He takes his large hand, folds it into a fist. The whites of his eyes grow whiter, his lips turn reddish-pink. He pops his fist though the window.
Shards of glass puncture tiny holes into Cameron's knuckes.
Breathless, he takes deep heavy pants like an angry comic villian.
Cameron is pissed off. Very pissed off.
He marches over the photos and races out the front door.
As he does this, a large gust of wind from the front door blows strongly through the room. Some of the photos are lifted into the air and are blown clear out the bay window onto the small garden below....
Cameron is headed to Tracy's house.
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