It starts at A.

There were no intentions- only a vision of success infiltrated their adolescent minds; a smudged picture of their idea of sheer perfection. It was such an untainted, spontaneous but focused adventure they imagined individually and also as a small, young group of wasteful dreamers. They shared a bond that knocked them from the social wall, making them a single, sturdy brick in their own “dead” poetic society. And indeed they were bored of the laughter, the card playing, the food tasting and the wine inhaling; tired of the droning reminder of every day’s tomorrow. It’s only because they became statues of a pale green shade and their marble eyes popped from their heads with brilliant gleams of discontent; passers-by couldn’t do a thing but aim their thoughtless heads to the ground and act as if nothing was happening. The statues were so tired of something they couldn’t pinpoint, all they knew was nothing was significant enough to be something; or so it seemed. And so it seemed that absolutely no one was in the wrong; people on the street were right, the statues putting aside facing their plight were right- therefore no one said anything. And finally, nothing turned into something.