They want me to follow.

They are both dressed in white skirts, too big for them, and with a cruel hair. They have dressed up for this journey. Big white skirts, boots, and this cruel hair. They reach out their hands, wanting me to follow them.

They throw frosty dust along the little road they´re walking. Butterflies swin in the dim to catch them. They shake they´re hair, the dust floats silently in the air. Butterflies never reach their moments, they are stopped completely. The girls pick grapes, apples and flowers. Puts them in a basket, an old brown heavy one. They do a table ready for dining, pour wine in tall glasses. They are so young, these two little girls. They eat, laugh, its like watching an old silent dark movie.

Someone goes to sleep. I never see them again.