Out with the old, in with the new, as they say. I realized not very long ago that the design of the blog may have been a bit off putting. The color schemes made it a bit hard to read and even the title I think was unwelcoming. My goal was to make the content more accessible; I figured, if people are scouring search engines all over the world, a name that is more familiar and catchy would be more likely to peak their curiosity than something foreign and unfamiliar. So I've redesigned the whole shebang.
“Here,” she exclaimed, “a map I’m sure will fit your liking. I found it slipped between the pages of a book. I took some time pondering it and carefully biding. I think you’ll find your way if you take a closer look.”
She held it out and inexplicably I was gripped with this dread. Staring forth onto the map, rather old in texture, knowing I needed it and wanting to take it, I was unsure of what I might unleash. All the others that I had tried to reach out to, rather factually, were now dead. Ashley was too frangible; her figure was too soft. Even though it was quite obvious that she harbored a strength and lenience unique, an aristocratic mind and an artistic soul kept so fruitfully inside a dolly, firkin body, I could, with prominent ease, take advantage and over power her.
Dawdling too long, I finally reached to pinch the sheet from her, the stress mounting with each measurement that squeezed ever smaller between us. When my fingertips felt the rough, clearly letterhead grain of the map, I snapped it back, pulling to tare the compass from her loose, wholesome hand. The plump skin had a strange, spider web pattern that was lacy underneath the many layers that I only just noticed as she retreated. My recoil thereabouts ceased.
Looking down at the page, it was an ink-printed copy, delineating every room, floor and study meticulously. There were pencil marks and scars of eraser burns scattered around the picture, where, assumingly and most acceptably, Ashley had scoured over and disputed their claims. Seeking a better understanding and taking much judgement from the way her eyes were moving - the felicity, concentration crux that consumed her as she sat and viewed the crumpled up bibliography lain upon her knees - it was clear to me she was one that indulged greatly in her surroundings. An antagonist, a crucible contender of what she sees. Thus, she marked and evaluated everything, taking great pleasure in picking things apart, and so I began to withhold that which I held against her for pestering me. Her heaven must be a labyrinth!
At the end of a short hallway, caged by mostly closets and coves for custodial affairs, was nothing more then a window. It was clearly out of place and silly. The eye almost sought and expected to see more. Yes… yes, this could be - this indeed could be the very portal I had been looking for. At first I thought it was too simple, but I embraced the idea as I began to respect it more and more.
“Thank you,” I said sourly, still spilling my clenched eyes over the scrappy deed.
Quick upon my disjoining, I reached for and proceeded toward the door.
I turned to her, in a fashion I had no will over, and found I was curious as to why I did.
“Sometimes what we seek, we never expect to find… Sometimes we are excited over things we are not anticipating… What can be uncovered as we dig can come as a surprise - monsters hibernating in the loins of consecration. Wisdom cannot save the old and chastity not the young. When the veins of long dead dreams run cold, they cannot be revived. Some things are meant to wallow in the hallow of forlorn, to rest unrested in the placidity of the scorn. Tied down by the scar tissue of the wounds they never could induce are demons we often create, but rarely put to use. Take care down there and contemplate much, uncertainty can create prowess, but stubborn skin is much weaker then it is callous…”