dolari | If they call me back for this application I wonder if it is for my fashion degree or my experience s

The ceiling had some angels on it, in our room in France. So we were living underneath some angels in a dance. The silk sheets were cool and crisp against my body, the morning chill waking us up better than any alarm clock could.

It didn't matter what we did this morning, as all I could think about was cheese and wine in front of Notre Dame cathedral. My teacher in high school ahd made it sound so romantic. Francois had other ideas though, and the morning was whiled away in ways better left out of this story. Needless to say, our day had gotten off to a pretty good start, depsite the fact we didn't get out of the room for several hours.

Over the last week, we had pretty much exausted Paris, this being our last day in the city. The Louvre was nice, and while Francois thought the Mona Lisa was beautiful, I seemed to be the only one to realize she had no eyebrows. I mean, it's beautiful and all, but da Vinci really could have finished it.

The Eiffel Tower was nice, too, but, really, it's just a big tower.

All in all, the paining on our cieling was the biggest attraction for me. Maybe Paris wasn't the right setting for a student exchange. Maybe the Far East, or South America. Paris was just...Paris.

Lunch in front of Notre Dame was silly, after all. And that's when Francois let me have it with both guns. "You've hated this city since DAY ONE. Why you ever came here is a mystery to me."

It was worth it for one thing. That ceiling. That beautiful ceiling of angels and butterflies.

We spent most of our last evening sitting there, staring at that ceiling which had entranced me for the last few weeks. Well, I did. Francois fidgeted mostly. He'd always told me he hated that painting, but never told me why.

Until he went over to the rug on the floor and pulled it back, revealing a trapdoor. Underneath, a long rickety staircase decending into darkness below.

It WAS Francois house, I'd known him for a few weeks. But this began to leave me cold. I'd heard of private dungeons. I've heard of Great Underground Empires. Bad movies started this way. But he lead me down. Down through eight levels of basement, strangely, each one lighter than the rest. With a look of horror, Francois realized he had left the Key to the Ninth Gate in his other pants.

"I'll be right back. Enjoy the show."

And I waited. And waited. And waited.

And I felt something brush my shoulder.

A butterfly.

I looked around, and there were hundreds of butterflies.

Francois returned with his key, and looked deep into my soul. "What you are about to see, you must never tell another soul. It's the source of the painting. And why it is so entrancing."

And with that, the gate opened, and within...a garden. A lush underground forest, lit with artificial light, filled with butterflies of every color. I wondered how all this could be done when I saw them.

Two beautiful angels of light, a chain around their ankles. I had never seen this much beauty before, wrapped in so much sadness. And even in their pain, the glow from their skin lit the room with warmth and love. A contrast to Francois own skin.

The argument didn't last long, as I realized that the imprisonment for sake of art meant NOTHING to him. Francois lost the loving look he had had for the last few weeks and after a shouting match I found myself locked in the forest with nowhere to go. The angels looked at me sadly, while inviting me into their loving embrace.

Maybe it was the extra strength I got from the angels, or maybe it was the extra strength they got from me, but I swear, when he came back a few hours late, there was a deep something behind him. Something that even the angels noticed. They not only got brighter, but taller, more robust.

"I've been watching you on the ceiling, and having you caressed by the angels made for an even more beautiful picture."

I didn't like that tone. They didn't like it neither. Did Francois get darker? All I know is that there was an electricity in the air. But there was more than had ever been before. Maybe it was my presence, or the threat of an innocent. And then it happened: all the propensious potentialities became, abruptly wreaking their havoc.

The firefight didn't last long, and when I came to, I was in bed. I swore I saw an angel in the cielin, but there was nothing there after a few blinks. The trapdoor had gone, the ceiling empty.

And Francois motionless on the bed, dead. His eyes a stone grey.

The police asked what happened that night - and I said what I remembered. They never believed me, but they had no proof that I was anything but truthful. They simply thoguht I was crazy. That's how sociopath ended up on my permenant record.

But I don't mind it.

I've been in an angel's embrace. Nothing can take that away from me.

The sentences I got were:

The ceiling had some angels on it, in our room in France. So we were living underneath some angels in a dance. (Cheater - this is TWO sentences, and a song lyric!)

That's how sociopath ended up on my permenant record.

With a look of horror, Francois realized he had left the Key to the Ninth Gate
in his other pants.

And then it happened: all the propensious potentialities became, abruptly
wreaking their havoc.