"Depends really. Did you have any intention of meeting another person today or just prance around all by your lonesome?"

My come back response was said swiftly as one eye brow was raised upwards. Really If he doesn't want blunt and honest responses from me he shouldn't set them up so easily. I am not sure if I am supposed to accept his touch or not. I know it is merely one finger, but really I don't know him. If Father were here he would have come up and pulled Frost away from me, perhaps he would yell at him about putting his hand on his little girl. Dads were always protective. Yet my Father always knew I could handle myself...but he was always waiting in the shadows to leap and attack. I should be happy about that. I am. I mean no male has ever touched me. I think partly because no one really looked at me like that and the kind of Father I had must have been intimidating for any boy. I know I am getting older and if Father were here and I brought some boy home he would be standing at the doorstep with a shot gun in hand, loaded, when he met the boy for the first time. Mother would be telling Father to put his gun away to not scare the boy...I wish I had that moment. I think I would have found it amusing, but sadly I will never get that. Although I love thinking about my parents, and what could have been, it still brings back that familiar dull aching feeling when I think about my parents. As I feel his fingers slip and leave my chin I find myself at odds, I am glad he has stopped touching me and yet at the same time I am displeased. Odd.

As I place myself carefully on the edge of his bench near his lap I instantly freeze and hold my breath as I feel his arms wrap around my waist. I keep a strong hold of the apple as I munch on it, my eyes widening slightly in shock and surprise. As he easily places me in his lap I still do not move. I just sit there. Still. Unsure with what I am supposed to do. Mother would tell me to leave, to run, maybe even slap him. Father would tell me to do all of the above and run to him for safety and protection. Yet they are not here. No one I think would hardly care how he treated me. My handlers just want me to stay alive so they can continue to live their cushion lives until I finally turn 18. Only then I will get my inheritance and I will finally be free of them. I remain in his lap not shying away. I stay sitting there as I turn my head to look at him a bit annoyed with that smug look on his face. I honestly don't know what he wants from me, but I am pretty damn sure I'm not the first girl to ever sit in his lap. It is the change of note in his voice that catches my attention. I still have no idea why he gives me some sort of nickname and yet I have not bothered to ask about it...it does not sound bad I think. It is his question that causes me to tilt my head to the side as those golden strands cover part of my face. I nod my head in agreement knowing this particular poem. In AP English we had to study many poems and Robert Frost was a classic.

My brows furrow in concentration. As he speaks in a language I simply cannot understand I allow his smooth apathetic voice to ignite my mind to focus. My mind swirls with the endless possibilities in an answer, deciphering the poem mentally. Fire and Ice. They are both painful and both represent the same thing but in different ways. This is not good vs evil, Fire and Ice do not represent the hellish fires and heavenly chill. Fire is passionate, contagious, and ever so very violent. Ice is apathetic, numbing, and so extremely gradual. Fire would be harmful and it would take a long time before my body would suddenly shut down, I would have blisters, my skin melt, and my lungs inhale ash and my roasting flesh. It would be an agonizing and painful death. Yet Ice would be gradual, slowly numbing me and shutting my body down until I passed out and that is when I will be unable to feel Death take me away. One would think Ice is the more reasonable death, but Ice symbolizes hate and Fire symbolizes passion â€" be that positive or negative. With a heavy sigh my shoulders slack slightly as I try to figure it out. Slowly my response would come out, a well thought answer mind you, and after all I want to be honest.

"Depends really on the kind of death I want. If I wanted a long, lasting, enduing painful process I would choose fire. Yet if I wanted a slow, numbing, gradual death I would take ice. Problem is...Fire represents sinful ways like anger, greed, lust, it is contagious. Ice, seems better, but it represents a cold exterior, apathy, and hate. Fire is passion and Ice is reason. It isn't a good vs evil thing, both aren't great so I guess I would choose fire."

I stare at him for a moment growing quiet. Why he is asking me this I do not know. It wasn't a particular question I thought I would ever have to give. It is strange that a stranger would ask me such a thing and I wait for him to answer just why he asked, assured he was trying to trick me some how. I decide to ask him my own question, thinking that it was reasonable. I myself have always thought just how I wanted to leave this world and see my parents once again.

"Though really the more important question should be...how would you want to die?"

It is when he leans forward and actually takes a bite of the apple from my hand do I just give him a small simper. Taking the same apple I bite in the same place, proving that I am not shaken or disturbed by this. Haughtily I respond with a playful and yet serious tone.

"Watch it Frosty...your horse side is showing. Just because I'm letting you eat my apple doesn't mean I'm asking for a ride."

Calliel Alosi

Now I'm Unbreakable, It's Unmistakable