Modus

Quiet and still she remains, a sudden sweet aroma filling her conscious on every level, from head to toe, heart to abdomen. So pleasing it is that she thinks it perhaps her psyche’s own manifestation of hope, dangerous and urgent, upon her senses. Deeply, she inhales it, clings to it, moves towards it… touches it.

Startled by the hit of physical contact, she jolts awake, to find him standing less than half a foot from her, leaning against the tree with his arm outstretched by her head. He traps her.

This time, her voice eludes her less effectively, and a sharp, shrieking peal escapes from her throat. Her raw fear is audible even to her own ears. Her heart is desperate within her chest.

Death smiles.

Love Long Lost

 

Alone he sat under the pine,

Slowly was his demeanor

Although his stillness belied his nature,

His cold eyes said not he was a dreamer.

The rain fell and the day turned dark,

But still the traveler stayed,

For lost love and haunted memory,

Around him, the shadows bayed.

Through the Highlands and the Islands,

The weary, misty morns

He had searched and he had bled

All for his maid’s touch torn.

He sat under the pine,

With his slow demeanor

And though his stillness belied his nature,

His cold eyes spoke of a long-lost dreamer.

But fear not, ye weary traveler,

Even Scottish clouds have linings

And here she waits yet for you,

Heart lost with cold beguiling.

My Trusty, Insatiable Genius.

My Dear Watson

“The love of learning, the sequestered nooks,
And all the sweet serenity of books.”

Seven years I have known and loved you, and seven years of continual surprise you’ve given me. Through our shared need to learn and study and suction information, each day you teach me something new, as I hope I teach you in return. First it was simply “learning”, now it’s Masters degrees and Doctorates, book piles and internet data overload. We’ve certainly come a fair distance since I stood on those stools, desperate to be taller than you in a class I didn’t understand. How you amaze me with your endless intelligence and innate ability for almost everything. (We won’t count drawing.)

You taught me the cerebral importance of learning something new everyday, no matter how trivial or irrelevant that thing may be. Yesterday, I learned that True Blood averages a viewership of 8 million an episode. I learned that Philadelphia has more murals than any other city in the USA. I learned that wasps only bother us at the end of summer because they need sugar, and want ours.

it may not be terribly inspirational. It’s certainly not terribly interesting.

But I know that when the white winds blow and the cockroaches arise from their burrows, it will all turn out to be useful. 

 

All of my Riches

Nouns Abound

You’d think that with all of the many riches I possess, succumbing to the bee’s sting that is your pity wouldn’t have been the overly pressing reality of my midsummer. Yet now, as I stand under the soaking fury of the thunderstorm, I realize that I forgot to put my wetsuit on.

So much for the optimism, I say with the cynical tone I know you hate, and you look at me through the hail, all blue eyes and blue balls. The red rose you gifted me had sprung in June and now can we hear August, the Reaper of the months, calling.

It’s my fault, of course, for I should have known this would happen; you like the Last Supper, I like the Creation of Adam. You’re a Slytherin and I’m a Ravenclaw. You like the French pastries with their cloying flakes, and I like the cool release of lemon sorbet… But isn’t that how the whole attraction thing is meant to work?

The flash of red lightning rips across the sky, illuminating your face in pink as deep as the pink of our frustration. Momentarily, you sigh, and I find myself sighing with you.

Who said it got easier as you got older? Oh, to be the sweet seventeen again.

Oh, But One Can Dream…

Fictional Intruder, Daily Prompt.

1. None so Foul as Treachery.

Satan, comprised nefariously of Cassius, Brutus and that most bittersweet of kissers Judas Iscariot, as seen by Dante at the heart of his Ninth Circle of Inferno.

he had three faces: one in front bloodred;

and then another two that, just above

the midpoint of each shoulder, joined the first;

and at the crown, all three were reattached;

the right looked somewhat yellow, somewhat white;

the left in its appearance was like those

who come from where the Nile, descending, flows

2. The Face that Launched a Thousand Ships.

My favourite section of my favourite book of Homer’s Iliad masterpiece; Paris’ ill-advised challenge of the Achaeans to single combat, and Iris’ subsequent persuasion of Helen.

Whom Troy sent forth, the beauteous Paris came:

In form a God! The panther’s speckled hide

Flow’d o’er his armour with an easy pride;

His bended bow across his shoulders flung,

His sword beside him negligently hung;

Two pointed spears he shook with gallant grace,

And dared the bravest of the Grecian race.

 3. Beneath the Gold, the Bitter Steel.

In the dying moments of the failed first Blackfyre Rebellion, Bittersteel with the blade Blackfyre dueled Bloodraven with the blade Dark Sister as the rains fell over the Redgrass Field. The former left the latter with A Thousand Eyes, and One. For me, the most tantalizing moment of the Song of Ice and Fire history.

Aegor was angry his whole life, but reserved particular loathing for Bloodraven, whose mother had replaced his own as their father’s favourite mistress. Aegor loathed Bloodraven even further when Shiera Seastar, the half-sister of both Bloodraven and himself, chose Bloodraven over him.