Golden Flower

1. When Will My Life Begin?

In a tower in a grotto hidden from the world by towering cliffs, a chameleon darted along a windowsill and hid at a potted plant, changing her colors to match the pot of the plant.

"Hah!" The window was suddenly opened and a blond young man looked out before humming to himself, brushing his long hair back over his shoulder. "Well, I guess Priscilla's not hiding out here." He said, turning to look somewhere else inside.

The chameleon snickered and gasped as she was snagged by rather prehensile blond locks of hair. "Gotcha!" The young man said triumphantly, holding the startled lizard aloft.

The chameleon let out a disappointed groan and panted in alarm. He climbed down from where he'd been dangling upside-down. "That's twenty-two for me...how about twenty-three out of forty-five?" He set the chameleon down and pulled his hair down from where it was looped.

Priscilla let out a discontented squeak and glared at him and he chuckled. "Alright, well, what do you want to do?"

Priscilla's eyes lit up and she turned and pointed her tail towards the ground below. He raised an eyebrow and sat down on the windowsill. "Yeah, I don't think so. I like it in here, and so do you.

She stuck out her tongue in disagreement and he sighed and picked her up off his lap. "Oh, come on, it's not so bad in there." He carried her inside with him.

Truthfully, he did want to go out, but he had been forbidden from a young age to go outside because it was dangerous. And while he could go out, he didn't want to deal with his father's wrath if he found out.

Besides, why go outside when there was so much to do inside? He dragged his long hair behind him as he started on the daily chores, throwing it up to catch on the lever to open the skylight and let in the sun.

"Seven a.m., the usual morning line-up." He sang as he started to work. "Start on the chores and sweep 'til the floors all clean. Polish and wax, do laundry and mop and shine up. Sweep again and, by then, it's like seven-fifteen?" He groaned as he put the tools away.

"And so, I'll read a book, or maybe two or three. I'll add a few new paintings to my gallery." He continued as he went on with his day. "I'll play guitar and knit and cook and, basically, just wonder when will my life begin?"

Okay, so he was kind of lying when he said he was fine not going outside. Truthfully, he was getting stir-crazy and all his favorite things to do, aside from painting, were getting to be... unsatisfying.

He looked up from the pie he'd just baked and checked the size of a spot over the fireplace before he put the pie down and started on the first of many layers to his next painting, a dark blue color like the night sky.

"Then, after lunch, it's puzzles and darts and baking. Papier mache, a bit of ballet and chess." And so on his way went, the same old routine of trying to keep himself distracted while waiting for paint to dry so he could continue his painting. "Pottery and ventriloquy, candle-making. Then I'll stretch, maybe sketch. Take a climb, sew a dress!"

Priscilla was as patient as ever about him using her for a little mannequin for doll-sized clothes.

"And I'll reread the books, if I have time to spare. I'll paint the walls some more - I'm sure there's room somewhere. And then I'll brush and brush and brush and brush my hair," he let out a huff when he finished brushing finally. Seventy feet of hair was a lot to maintain! "Stuck in the same place I've always been." He hopped down from the rafters and threw his hands out as he spun around, tossing his hair around him in a circle. "And I'll keep wond'ring and wond'ring and wond'ring and wond'ring, when will my life begin?"