They drew a circle of flowers, then lay down inside it, curled up like kittens. The trees held their breath, so as not to wake them, and the forests' creatures guarded their sleep. At night, the moon watched them and wept- for they were children of the future, already let down by today. Rain fell, washing their scars away, but the the wind tore their clothes in pieces and filled their ears with sand from all the world's deserts.

Seasons came and went; winter saw them covered in snow; birds made nests in their hair during spring; the summer sun burnt their skin mercilessly; in autumn their dreams smelled of falling leaves. Spiders wove intricate webs between their fingers and over their eyelids; plants spread their roots beneath them; snails left glistening trails on their necks. In time, they were unrecognizable, two tattered statues almost invisible in the green twilight, and even the stars took them for dead.

Yet they were only asleep, waiting -patiently, long past caring- for a day when the tide would turn and they could walk away from their wooded island, that heavenly prison they had chosen as shelter for their defenseless bodies, whilst their spirits wandered on the twisting path to oblivion and all-defying hope...