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Viam Veritatis

Her fingers lightly glided along the covers. Some tattered, some tape-bound. A few, here and there, slick and uncreased from non-use. Like braille, she could tell each apart from a single touch.

Her library ensconsed her, filling rooms to the height she could reach. No piles, no stacks, everything neatly shelved, perfectly categorized to her preference.

Eyes closed, she hummed to herself, letting her fingers guide her. Past stories of romance, thrilling sea tales, down towards the far reaches of her collection. Frayed bindings tickled her fingertips, like the softest of feathers, pure down. Those were her favorites.

She performed a sort of dance, reaching up , trailing down to the floor. From the floor back up to her toes. A delicate ballet, led by the music of grand stories, fantasies, tall tales and sky-bound knights. Each case of books was a symphony in her mind, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

Through several rooms she wandered, letting her senses guide her. The smell of books, old and new, surrounded her like the finest of incense. Sun warmed wood softly creaked beneath her bare feet as dust motes danced around her.

Coming to a shaded room, where her darker fantasies lay sleeping in their oak-encased thrones, she paused. Her fingers trailed among them, then paused, lingering on a pebbled leather find. She knew her books like a mother knows her children, and this, this was not one of hers.

Soft grey-green eyes fluttered open. Her hand had stopped just above her sight, on a shelf barely within reach. Tightly wedged between paperbacks of a well loved author of science, the tall book put up a fight as she tried to pull it out. Finally, with a less than feminine  grunt, she yanked, ducking her head as a cascade of stories fell down around her. Her green paisley sundress did little to protect her shoulders from the cascade of heavy books.

Peeking through a veil of walnut colored locks, she listened to the rustling of pages settling, anxious of another avalanche. Hearing only leaves settling, her gaze was caught by the book she held cradled against her chest.

“Viam Veritatis,” the title read, in glistening red letters on fawn colored leather. The pages were gold-leafed, she noted, turning the slim tome in her hands. No other writing could be found. No publisher’s stamp, nothing on the spine.

The book felt warm to the touch, though the room was dim and cool. Glancing around, she realized she was nervous, anxious. Never in her years here had she felt anything but calm and comfortable. Suddenly, an icy shiver gripped her. She clutched the book to her breast, backing up against the shelving. She could see the rooms beyond subtly dimming, as if clouds were passing outside. But the gloom remained, and deepened, growing closer till she felt swallowed by it.

Long moments passed in nearly pitch black. Her back ached from the shelves jammed into her back. The only sound now was a soft percussion of panting. Slowly, the shadows lifted. As the light grew brighter, her breathing slowed, recognizing her familiar surroundings. Covered in cold sweat, she glanced down at the book in her hands.

With trembling fingers, she opened the cover.



Haven’t done this in years, and posting from my phone (with a ‘lil USB thingy that connects my phone to my keyboard, but also means I can’t charge). Not sure if this will post to Twitter? The dashboard here is weird too.  Goddamn I miss my computer!

But, I suppose if I had my computer, I’d probably be playing games and not thinking of writing, so there’s that. Meh, guess we’ll see.

@Cruitionix is streaming now, so that’s the end of this test.  =P

I should write something

And I will. Eventually. Probably. Maybe?

Hiding Place
One of the best, most honest, most crafted and chaotic blogs I have found. Sometimes this man scares me. But almost always in a good way. This post is one of my favorites so far.

Down Forever Lane

A beautiful poet. Love to read.


Gosh, I should post something. Been a few days.


Yeah, I got nuthin’.

Maybe later.

First Love, Best Love, Pt2

Continuing from

So, the guy I loved, wrote out a fantasy life about, dreamed of, was in love with my new best friend.

Did it hurt?  Shyeah.  Was there anything I could do about it? No.

So life continued.  Freshman year of High School was an exciting time for me.  Of course I’d found my way into a few demanding classes – namely honors English.  And there was band, which took  a lot of time and effort.  Marching in formation while playing an instrument is HARD.  Plus, I was meeting all kinds of new people.  People who would later have a bit of a negative impact on my life.  But I digress.

It was hard watching Josh and Katrina together.  So hard that I think I’ve blocked out most of the memories of that year that had to do with them.  I know I saw them together.  I’m sure I saw them kissing.  And because Katrina was a friend, and fast becoming a best friend I know she would have talked about their relationship.  But I don’t remember anything about it now.  It is a blank spot in my mind.  And one that I have no desire to explore.

What I do recall is them breaking up.  It was at the end of freshman year.  How a few short months of love can change one’s world.  Well, if you’ve been there, you know.

I don’t remember the details of their break-up, though I have hazy images of Katrina, red-faced from crying, and Josh, red-faced from yelling.  After all these years, those memories could be confused, clouded and corroded.  But that’s how I remember things.

Now Josh and I had somehow remained friends through all this.  How, I am not sure.  Again, it’s been lost to time, and that cloud of “thou shalt not remember.”  So, to not strain my mental facilities overmuch, we’ll just say, “It is known.”

The summer of 1994.  Most of my friends had been accepted into Varsity Band that year, including Josh.  Band camp therefore was even more fun – and exciting.  Whether it was because he knew that I adored him or just because we were both available, Josh and I grew closer.  It wasn’t until we attended a party of an upperclassman later that summer that I found out how close.

*I won’t tease – you can have this moment now, and then I’ll do the cliff-hanger.*

It was at James Hunter’s house, the party that changed my life.  James was a saxophone player, incredibly sexy himself, and the dream guy of many many girls in my circle.  (Yeah, I had him several years later, but that’s a different story entirely.)

Thanks to my new friends – Sara Nieves in particular – I was getting myself into a whole new world.  One that included smoking pot and drinking.   And was just what I needed.  A lot of my friends weren’t happy with the path I had chosen.  But Josh, he was willing to see what the fuss was about.

The party that changed everything was a pretty mild one, from what I remember.  Sure, people were smoking and drinking, and that one asshole was, as usual, hell-bent on burning down the tree in James’ backyard.  But once things quieted down, and most everyone had gone to sleep – or passed out – I was left alone with Josh.

The John Candy/Steve Martin movie, Planes, Trains & Automobiles was on.  Oh, I wish I could draw you this picture, as I remember it so clearly.  Josh was sitting in an armchair, and I was sitting on the floor beside him.  The words that passed between us seem so insignificant now.  All I remember, all I ever want to remember, is when he leaned down and his lips met mine.  The first lips mine had ever touched in passion.  And what passion!

It was electric.  It was mind-bending.  To have this boy, who I’d longed for for years, wanting and needing me in that moment.  To be stretched out on the floor with him, his lips, tongue, hands performing magic that I hadn’t known was possible…

James’ mother interrupted us before things could go further.  Bless and damn the woman.

But a spark had been created that night.  And sparks so often turn to flames.  And flames, so often devour.

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