My good friend Aca .

Aca slowly set himself down on his favorite rock terrain. His arms let out as his hands carresed the rough dirt surface. A faint glow was emitting from his paper white face into the deep, somewhat crystallized air. His purple slivers, sunk back into his head, surrounded by a thick leftover of tears. They scanned over the hazy horizon as small brown figures smudged across the screen, of his view. Thoughts flew past him, not even paying detail to the youngling below their flying plain. Shut against the sensible movement of thought, he kept to himself. Weeds plummeted up between his smoothing fingers. Strands of velvety purple swooped across his sight, the scent of rich beauty soothed over his thought. In what would seem a trance to the simple mind, questions of quarrys skipped over the confused troubling of a lad of brilliance. Flowing and streaming from soft pink lips came out whisks of air. Cooling the thought of the past, came the intake of newly breathed air. He kept on living.