A/N these short musings like Another Child and Faded Angel are much more likable to me. I'm not sure why. BUT NO ONE READS AND REVIEWS THEM REALLY *sob* *sniffle* I like them but they don't because they are mean. So be nice read and review. This isn't as good as the other two. This is what I call a musing that refuses to think of itself as a short story. But that's where I'll put it.

Everything

Everything fades, or does it? Could there be a place for everything, where it can last forever, preserved perfectly? What would such a place look like? Perhaps a white room where you can never see an end filled with an endless number of little bubbles. Each bubble containing something, a love, a life, an event, a single pink flower just before it was killed in by late frost. Perhaps some would be surrounded in a crystal shell, others in translucent colored shells black, white, red, gold, silver etc. Or would they all look the same? If they don't what would decide their shell? Who would care for these little, precious orbs? Would each snow flake be captured perfectly? If so, why wouldn't they be captured after they were mauled by another object?

Softly the child walked among the balls. They parted for her like living creatures. Her favorite were the gold balls. The silver were filled with happiness too, but not the pure happiness of the gold ones. The crystal were boring and the black frightening. Her silver hair shimmered in the light of the white sky as it fell to her waist. She wore a light blue dress, soft and comfortable. The same thing she wore since the beginning. Touching each flickering orb as one by one they danced in front of her, her smile was constant. Each one flew to its place, some moving many constantly dancing and spiraling according to the design. Beyond her sight were others. All silver haired, smiling and child like. They walked among that which stores the universe, organizing the past and present.

Dancing orbs of light move in a pattern, each new one bringing it closer to completion. When it is complete the white room will become something greater, the universe will be completed and therefore end. The children know this, the same way they know the pattern and that that day will be their golden day.

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Fine don't review, read another of my stories and say you read this one too. See, I appreciate laziness. Come on. Please? Do you want me to cry again?