If he knew the difference between his world and your's, he'd tell you it's women's breasts. The sight of a breast to you is privilege but he would like to tell you that women often walk around with their breasts exposed. They dance shirtless in their living rooms and watch the sunlight shimmer on their translucent skin, they wear loose fitting bathrobes and take secret pleasure in the way the silk caresses their lovely skin. A woman does not have to be in a moment of ecstasy to start at the bottom of her breast and drag the very tips of her fingers oh so slowly all the way around the curve and end in a gentle pinch and tug of the nipple. And they don't take their nipples for granted, either. If you asked him how he knows this, he would tell you it's because he is privy to the world of naked women because he has been the lover of so many.
The boy looking at you through tear-filled eyes. His face contorted with frustration. Your hand around his neck oppresses his breath. He truly can not understand why you are choking him and what it is you seek to learn by extinguishing his spark. The advantage of your world over his is realized and your way of getting what you want by force of will converts him. His world of beautiful naked women that informed his loving gaze evaporating, and then gone like they never existed like the fantasies of some author up in flames in the furnace.
Your beautiful dead disciple in the loving embrace of the dirt and the leaves.
