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At a workbench a young man sits carving away at a piece of wood, for now that lump of wood is nothing to us yet given time it will become something special. On a shelf above this very work bench sits 5 carvings already finished and even painted. They seem as if at any moment they could take their very first breath of life. To the far left a carving of a young man standing yet bent over slightly reaching out a hand to you and a smile pulling at his lips warmth in his eyes. He looks as if he could show you the very city you’ve always lived in, yet when he shows it to you it would be as if you’ve never seen this city before in your life.

Next to this figure is another sitting like an ancient of the Orient dressed in the old robes with an air and look about him that predates his young look, an air about him that is many, many, many more his elder. He looks as if he has all the answers the world could ever throw out at you, yet he holds an expression as if a question has arisen before him that he does not hold the answer to.

Next to that figure is the third a young woman standing as if hiding behind something yet nothing is there. A glint to her eyes as if saying she’s more then the delicate flower she appears to be. Her eyes locked on something that is unseen yet perhaps she is fearful of it in someway. She seems to have an air of adventure ready for anything that comes yet wanting something more.

Between her and the next figure is a gap as if something is suppose to be there yet nothing stands. The next figure is crouched his head lifted slightly as if something has just caught his attention, yet his head is slightly tilted as if something on the wind was whispered to him. The warm furs covering his body look as if they could blow in some winter wind at any moment, yet the fire he seems to be tending somehow warms your very soul with their blue flames. His swirled green eyes dance with the life of an untamed beast yet a calmness that shutters the soul. One hand reaches for a war axe like no other he remains crouched waiting for what is to come.

The final figure another young man also standing yet bent over a hand cupped to the side of his mouth as if whispering some secret to no one in particular. His azure eyes dance with a wicked delight yet a sense of loyalty. Half his body seems to be hidden in shadows of what is unseen; perhaps he is some dark beast to torment whoever he whispers into the ear of.

Each figure sits facing out as if waiting for someone to come and listen to their tale, whether of woe or delight yet no one comes and one piece still seems to be missing. The young carver tosses a figurine onto the table forcing it to shatter and then he slams his carving tool onto the table. He pulls the cigarette from his lips; the last ember had died out hours ago, and puts the butt into the ashtray that is piled high with their remains. This pile tells of the many hours he’s spent at this table, working at his precious carvings, but to what end? His crimson eyes look at what’s left of the face of the figure he’d been working on, his lips move uttering words that cannot be heard, but rather felt. “To hard… It’s to hard…” He reaches up taking down the woman figurine and with his fingertips he gently strokes her face again his lips move yet speech could not be heard, but could be felt, “I was to hard… I told you to live, to grasp what you desired, to be happy. I did everything in my power so you would be happy, but when it came to me…” He bows his head setting the figurine carefully back onto the shelf, “…I could do nothing for myself. Now…I am alone and have no one to blame but myself. I failed you…failed you all. To hard…”

The young man frowns lighting another cigarette he picks up another lump of wood, but instead of picking up his tools he sets the lump between the woman and the crouched man. He leans back slightly in his stool and laughs; part of his sanity perhaps has left him. His dulled crimson eyes look up then suddenly he falls forward onto the table as if dead, the key in his back slowly stops spinning and simply stops as he does. The just lit cigarette slips from his fingers to join others on the floor yet they do not ignite his work room.

A pair of dangerous crimson eyes dance with glee as they look down at the frozen figures. A cackle escapes the old woman’s lips as she lifts her gaze now to you, “What do you think? Perhaps you see a loved one my dear? Or how about you good sir perhaps you see yourself in my special snow globes? Come take a look perhaps you’ll find what you seek.” She cackles again as she shakes the snow globe the glitter dances as if the man had been smoking they dance around him yet never seem to stick just like smoke they seem to almost fade away. “This one is very special it only works on All Hallows Eve. The man will work from Midnight to midnight trying to carve, but what is he trying to carve? Will he carve it for you? Or are you already inside?” She cackles again and looks up with a delighted glint to her eyes as she meets the gaze of a pair of azure eyes looking down from the sky.