A Song of Nessi and Guns   von OnyxOrion
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                                Prolog: Prolog
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It’s always been 17 freckles, that spread from the tip of my nose up to my
eyebrows, and countless more across my cheeks. 
No, I never counted them, that would be weird, and I don’t think I’ve ever
looked at myself in the mirror for that long, to even get there. 
Not that I didn’t like looking in mirrors, but never so intently that I’d
notice every little thing so strongly as the count of my freckles. 

No, the reason I know this, is because other people used to count them for me,
counted them, when the sun made them nearly shine, when it hit them. 
Actually, that’s not true either, it wasn’t people, it wasn’t plural, it
never was. It was him, only him, that bedded my head in his lap and just stared
at me, for hours on end. I don’t think anyone else would have ever give them
so much attention.

The first times he did, I got uncomfortable, as I didn’t know what to make of
it, but as time went by, and we actually got to talk, got to know each other, it
started to not feel so weird anymore, the staring, that is. 
I never expected us to get so close, that he could even count my freckles, I
don’t think I’ve ever expected him to speak so many words to me, I don’t
think that I would have ever expected that I wanted to speak to him. 

“Eliot, did you know its 17 freckles?”, his so quiet and low voice would
erupt after hours of silence, and nothing but the flow of the stream, and the
birds chirping in the trees above us. 

“hm what?”, I think I was dozing off, when he spoke to me. 

“Right here”, he said and lifted his pointer up to the tip of my nose and
ever so gently stroked it over the bridge, up to the part between my eyebrows.
“from here to here, its 17”, he repeated and for a moment we locked eyes.
His eyes where a yellowish brown, nothing like I’ve ever seen before. 
But maybe that’s just because I didn’t pay attention to people all too much,
people usually payed attention to me, and I just had to respond to whatever they
threw at my way. 

I don’t think I could have cared less about peoples eyes, I cared about
different things, if I liked their appearance, their attitude even, sometimes I
would even notice their smell, but why would I care about their eyes. 
Greyish blues, or muddy browns, they never caught my attention, but his eyes,
Liams eyes where something else. Him, is something else, something so fantastic,
and weird, and beautiful and brilliant, that I still don’t comprehend, how we
got here. Not here in particularly, but how we got where we were, back, when
there was such thing as a ‘we’, before I screwed up, before everything I was
so hesitant to even let happen, faded.

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