The dark night glowed with the natural moonlight. 
The silver globe showered it’s glow on the two physical flesh,
kissing softly and enjoying their moment.
Loving each other with their soft touch.
Watching from afar, the small frame writhed with anger,
with hatred, with loathe.
Watching from afar the small frame had the urge to kill,
to destroy, to hurt, to extinguish…
The night seems to get longer, the couple seemed to continue. The small frame developed the form of hatred.
Shivering with deep pit of anger,
 the little frame banged her head.
To hurt, to show, to bring forth…
The man seemed to break out of his dream,
running inside he saw something;
something that made his blood turn white.
Clutching his daughter he called for help.
The fragile self of a human flesh smiled with a sinister grin,
 blood dripping down her head,
blood smearing the wooden floor,
and blood seeping towards the bliss of her father’s happiness; tainting it.
She sobbed and yet felt pure happiness,
evil happiness. She had won the battle.
She glanced up, the lady appeared stunned, helpless and desperate.
Someone had won, someone had lost.
Running past the lady, the man ran with his fragile daughter in his arms.
The wind blew after him- the wind of hatred,
ruining the night, completely.
The wind of hatred had removed the beauty of the silver ball,
and had surpassed the innocent length of love.

.    .    .