With the night comes darkness, but also stars With every cry comes sadness, but also relief With every fall comes failure, but also a lesson In every bad thing, is a good thing hidden Us humans focus on those bad things, since they are bigger than the good ones. As the darkness of the night is bigger than the stars. The darkness overshadows them; it makes them invisible. The stars are only visible if you look closely enough, not if you don't look for them, not if you give up after only seeing the darkness. So turn to the stars, turn to the light in the dark, to the good things in the bad ones. Turn to the warmth of the sun during a cold winter's day Turn to the colours of the sunset during a bad morning Turn to lemonade, when life gives you lemons Turn to the light, even when all you can see is the dark Turn to the stars, when the night only offers you darkness It's hard to look for the good things, to seek them when life denies you your vision. It's hard when the stars are too small to have a proper form. When the good things are too small to overcome the bad ones. But they are there, they are present, they are there for you to find them, waiting for you.. Look for the only flower standing on a mountain of snow Look for a small puddle of water in a desert Look for the start in the darkness of the night Look for the light

It was a beautiful painting, called Warmth In The Ice, the illustrator used the inspiration of a girl who had fallen in ice and never swam back up. The painter worked with the light from the sun reflecting on the ice. She painted sun rays that had fallen with the girl, a big lake surrounded the girl, there was nothing else but ice and light. I stood before it, trying to figure out how and why the girl had gotten there. No tree or piece of land surrounded her, only glass-clear ice. I took a close look at the girl, whose eyes were closed and her face showed relief as well as freedom. It looked almost as if the girl was happy she drowned, glad the light had taken and accepted her, she had found a comforting warmth in the ice, in her death. It didn't look as if she wanted to swim back up, I couldn't read any fear or regret from her face. The warmth reflected on the girl's face too, almost making her orange, not a bright orange, more like a sunset kind of orange. It made her look beautiful and somehow alive, it strangely made her look warm while she had frozen to death. I wrote in my little notebook, 'Warmth In The Ice, beautiful but tragic' and I went on to analyse the next painting.

My mother spat the words in my face as I held my knife to her throat. I had her pinned to my bedroom wall, the paint of the walls surrounding us had faded over de years. I haven't been in this room for a while, haven't been near my mother, my enemy. I felt sorry for her, she was jealous of the love I shared with Luther. The love she cant feel for anyone anymore, after the passing of my father. I saw the change in her face, her features, after she had witnessed the murder of her lover. I observed the moment she lost the spark in her eyes, the moment after which she would hate me forever. I watched her yell out, but being denied any space to move, as Luther held her tight. And I kept watching her, while stabbing my father over and over again. I didn't care where or how many times my knife cut him. All I cared was that my mother would lose everything, that she would suffer a pain worse then dead. It wasn't until Luther let go of my mother and pulled me from my father that I had stopped. He took me into the next room, that way I could still hear my mothers screams. 'She will be next', Luther promised with delight. 'You have my word'. He always kept his word, it's what I loved most about him. He has helped me kill my siblings and aunts and uncles, it's why I'm so loyal to him and he to me. He stood behind me as I applied more pressure to her neck with my knife. I hesitated, as I knew what would be next. 'Don't worry,' he breathed in my ear, 'it will all be over soon'. I closed my eyes and with a deep breath, I cut through my mother's throat. Her body fell with a loud bump on my bedroom floor. My tears mixed with the blood on my white, now red, carpet. I turned around, handing the knife over to Luther. 'You've done well my love,' he whispered as he dried my tears, 'it's your turn now'. He hugged me tight and stabbed me in my gut. It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would,' I love you', I thrembled as he twisted the knife.