A History - Of Sorts
I'm not finished with it yet. Nor am I happy with the way that some parts are. Feels disconnected. But...if you want to read, here it is.
Writing ones life story can be a daunting task. Where does one begin? The beginning usually holds a whole lot of events that don’t amount to anything in the grand scheme of things but at the same time, they are events that shape one into who they become and explain why one makes the choices they do over their lifetime. The interesting facts and tidbits of an insightful life are just that-interesting facts and tidbits. One can make a timeline to outline those events and make it easier for the people reading it to understand and follow. More linear. But then, whose life in completely linear? I know mine isn’t. So I pose the question at the beginning…what is “the beginning”?
For a person, the beginning usually starts with the first stinging painful breath of air outside their mother’s womb. Mine took place on February twenty ninth, nineteen eighty. I was born in a small town in the Idaho. I don’t remember much of that place simply because by the time I was two, we had moved. My father was in the navy and so we moved around a lot. My mother did the best with having to pack up and move on about every two years until he was stationed in San Diego at Thirty Second St military base when I was twelve. By then, I had the travel bug in my blood and so it was no surprise to my parents when, after I graduated high school, I was gone. We never had a whole lot of stuff to begin with so it was easy to sell everything that didn’t matter, pack all my leftovers into a duffle bag and be out the door. Seems a rather uneventful of a life in the spectrum of things to come, but the reality of being an only child in a military family was a whole lot of learning to be ones own best friend.
The first stop on the journey of my life was New Orleans. The big easy has always held a mystique for me that no other place could. The geography alone baffled the mind. There was something utter soul stirring about this place. Its rich history, full of magic and darkness, light, danger, all just below the well lit party sheen pressed forth for the tourists and city gazers. I spent less then a year in the big easy but in that span of time I had many of a young woman’s firsts-sex, love, drugs, drink, heartbreak and of course, this is the city where my eyes were opened completely.
Follow the white rabbit, as was coined by a recent movie. Many don’t understand how completely accurate that statement was for me. I’m not going to say that I’m a fan of Lewis Carroll or anything, I enjoy his writing and I read all the books when I was a small girl. He didn’t impact my life in any noticeable fashion until after my awakening. Like many who walk my path, my soul never left my body during the trial of getting out of bed. I remained completely lucid and aware. Only my perceptions changed. But then isn’t that all that ~this~? A perceptional change that allows one to see things the way they really are? I digress; we could spend eternity postulating about the topic. With the change of perception, the world around be fluxed, flowed and became even with the time. I saw the threads for they were and I was at peace with the infinite tapestry of the possible. All choices made sense for their reasons and all things were equal in the light of the tower ethereal.
It felt good to finally understand why I was always standing out. I understood that destiny lay out before the path and me. During this time I also fell in love for the first time. Things were happening so fast and when I meet him, I was like him, but I changed and he did not. Things became hard and jumbled and he became worried, thought I was losing my mind while I just wanted him to understand what was going on, to see the things that I saw, feel what I felt. We parted ways just before I left New Orleans. I’ve watched his thread since then, helped him from a far when I could do it without being intrusive. It’s painful sometimes to think about him and I’ll admit that I am weary of having it happen again.
From there, it was just a hop skip and jump to the city of angels. Los Angeles was always just a few hours up the coast from where I grew up but I had never been here before. I was newly awakened in a large city full of so much light and shadow. In love with the sense and smell, the taunting darkness. I made my way into the politics of the city pretty quickly only because I meet someone on a thread at a club two months. His name was Go. He was quick with the lines though it was charming in his extremely disingenuous fashion. We had a couple of drinks, we talked politics for a bit and I could tell by the way that he kept attempting to always say the right thing that he was just trying to get a pretty girl into his bed. I declined his invitation to join him in his apartment that night though I did get his number. I called him a few days later and we meet up again. Once more with the lines and the snappy patter. He was slick, there was no doubt. I asked him about the consilium of the city and he seems surprised then we started talking about more mystical politics and the snappy patter stopped and he became serious. This was the Go that I wanted to see and so we talked a few more time before he took me to the consilium where I was introduced to the Hierarch and council. After that, we began sleeping together.
Los Angeles was quiet, for the most part. Go and I stopped seeing each other and meet Azreal, who was an intense and passionate lover. Then, I meet Elias and the whole world changed.
He wasn’t a member of the consilium or even staying all that long at first. I saw his beautiful form sitting across the hall at a meeting on a sweltering July evening in two thousand and four with Papa Twilight. I watched him for a long while as we were listening to the Hierarch speak on the events of the city. He had to have felt my eyes on him because he turns her head casually and looked back at me. The world seemed to fall away at that moment. I blinked and he was standing at my side and we were inseparable from that moment forward. Well. Until he left on his never ending treks of business and such. Which was in November. But from July to November, we spent every moment, waking or not, together. I feel in love with him, and so that meant it was not to last. It was a happy time for me however.
Elias left, Azreal, once again, became my constant companion. Only this time, I actually paid attention to what he meant to me and how much he really cared about me. Sure, he was a whore; he slept his way through entire cabals, male or female. He was always there when I wanted him to be there for me though and that was very comforting. Comforting indeed.
Cheshire is dead. All that remains is darkness.
“People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right.”
“I believe there is a place where souls wander, burdened by the weight of their own sadness, waiting for a chance to set the wrong things right. Sometimes, a crow shows them the way, because sometimes, love is stronger than death.”
“Life is just a dream on the way to death.”
So much has happened. So much it seems like it’s not real. Sunshine is gone and all that remains are the shadows of what could have been. The police report said it was suicide. According to the hasty autopsy, blood loss due to self inflicted cut to the femoral and brachial arteries.
Yeah. I did it good. Humans are so easily fooled.
Everything started and ended with Donavon. Though, a good beginning is really just the end of something else…and of course the end is merely a new beginning. So. To the beginning. We meet him in an IRC room one fitful October night. It was the first time we had ventured into the world of cyberspace on the network for insomniacs. Cleaver. It was conversational at first, always with the snappy patter. We discussed many things that night and she felt connected to him in a way that she had never felt connected to someone. They shared a fate, yes. Threads tangled. Things would happen between them and that would change the both of them.
She flew to Cincinnati the next day and spent the week with him. He shared his soul with her and she with him. Love wasn’t even strong enough to describe how they felt for each other. It was like something out of an epic fairytale. Or so she thought.
The details are inconsequential. He purposed to her. She accepted with her own proposal. They looked at houses. They spoke of children. Then she disappeared. Missing for two weeks, taken by darkness and broken. Raped, beaten, cut, bleed dry and left with only the memories of her ordeal. Ill equipped to handle her sorrow, he pulled away….
Or did he pull away long before. Did he lie to her and make her own fears come true at a time when she needed him the most? A month later, he was dead and it was more then she could bear. Her shattered soul cried out for release and so, it was done. There is a place where souls wander burdened by the weight of their own sadness. She sat in the bathtub, just as the corners report stated. She cut herself, bleed the sorrow from her body, let it wash away…
But did not die. I was born then. I am Rook.
There are many myths about the fae. One such a myth is that there are two different types of fae-good and bad. Good fae, being all together made of things like sunshine and laughter, do good things, are good to people and generally are happy and shinny. Bad fae, well, bad fae are just that. Bad. Made from nightmares, hollow and broken souls, depraved creatures who haunt the night and forgotten places. When one who walks the path of thistles is forced into terrible circumstances, they change. Adaptability is a hallmark of the path we walk and those that tread it are adept at making changes when necessary. Like Summer to Autumn to Winter, I am the result of the strain on the soul we shared.
Writing ones life story can be a daunting task. Where does one begin? The beginning usually holds a whole lot of events that don’t amount to anything in the grand scheme of things but at the same time, they are events that shape one into who they become and explain why one makes the choices they do over their lifetime. The interesting facts and tidbits of an insightful life are just that-interesting facts and tidbits. One can make a timeline to outline those events and make it easier for the people reading it to understand and follow. More linear. But then, whose life in completely linear? I know mine isn’t. So I pose the question at the beginning…what is “the beginning”?
For a person, the beginning usually starts with the first stinging painful breath of air outside their mother’s womb. Mine took place on February twenty ninth, nineteen eighty. I was born in a small town in the Idaho. I don’t remember much of that place simply because by the time I was two, we had moved. My father was in the navy and so we moved around a lot. My mother did the best with having to pack up and move on about every two years until he was stationed in San Diego at Thirty Second St military base when I was twelve. By then, I had the travel bug in my blood and so it was no surprise to my parents when, after I graduated high school, I was gone. We never had a whole lot of stuff to begin with so it was easy to sell everything that didn’t matter, pack all my leftovers into a duffle bag and be out the door. Seems a rather uneventful of a life in the spectrum of things to come, but the reality of being an only child in a military family was a whole lot of learning to be ones own best friend.
The first stop on the journey of my life was New Orleans. The big easy has always held a mystique for me that no other place could. The geography alone baffled the mind. There was something utter soul stirring about this place. Its rich history, full of magic and darkness, light, danger, all just below the well lit party sheen pressed forth for the tourists and city gazers. I spent less then a year in the big easy but in that span of time I had many of a young woman’s firsts-sex, love, drugs, drink, heartbreak and of course, this is the city where my eyes were opened completely.
Follow the white rabbit, as was coined by a recent movie. Many don’t understand how completely accurate that statement was for me. I’m not going to say that I’m a fan of Lewis Carroll or anything, I enjoy his writing and I read all the books when I was a small girl. He didn’t impact my life in any noticeable fashion until after my awakening. Like many who walk my path, my soul never left my body during the trial of getting out of bed. I remained completely lucid and aware. Only my perceptions changed. But then isn’t that all that ~this~? A perceptional change that allows one to see things the way they really are? I digress; we could spend eternity postulating about the topic. With the change of perception, the world around be fluxed, flowed and became even with the time. I saw the threads for they were and I was at peace with the infinite tapestry of the possible. All choices made sense for their reasons and all things were equal in the light of the tower ethereal.
It felt good to finally understand why I was always standing out. I understood that destiny lay out before the path and me. During this time I also fell in love for the first time. Things were happening so fast and when I meet him, I was like him, but I changed and he did not. Things became hard and jumbled and he became worried, thought I was losing my mind while I just wanted him to understand what was going on, to see the things that I saw, feel what I felt. We parted ways just before I left New Orleans. I’ve watched his thread since then, helped him from a far when I could do it without being intrusive. It’s painful sometimes to think about him and I’ll admit that I am weary of having it happen again.
From there, it was just a hop skip and jump to the city of angels. Los Angeles was always just a few hours up the coast from where I grew up but I had never been here before. I was newly awakened in a large city full of so much light and shadow. In love with the sense and smell, the taunting darkness. I made my way into the politics of the city pretty quickly only because I meet someone on a thread at a club two months. His name was Go. He was quick with the lines though it was charming in his extremely disingenuous fashion. We had a couple of drinks, we talked politics for a bit and I could tell by the way that he kept attempting to always say the right thing that he was just trying to get a pretty girl into his bed. I declined his invitation to join him in his apartment that night though I did get his number. I called him a few days later and we meet up again. Once more with the lines and the snappy patter. He was slick, there was no doubt. I asked him about the consilium of the city and he seems surprised then we started talking about more mystical politics and the snappy patter stopped and he became serious. This was the Go that I wanted to see and so we talked a few more time before he took me to the consilium where I was introduced to the Hierarch and council. After that, we began sleeping together.
Los Angeles was quiet, for the most part. Go and I stopped seeing each other and meet Azreal, who was an intense and passionate lover. Then, I meet Elias and the whole world changed.
He wasn’t a member of the consilium or even staying all that long at first. I saw his beautiful form sitting across the hall at a meeting on a sweltering July evening in two thousand and four with Papa Twilight. I watched him for a long while as we were listening to the Hierarch speak on the events of the city. He had to have felt my eyes on him because he turns her head casually and looked back at me. The world seemed to fall away at that moment. I blinked and he was standing at my side and we were inseparable from that moment forward. Well. Until he left on his never ending treks of business and such. Which was in November. But from July to November, we spent every moment, waking or not, together. I feel in love with him, and so that meant it was not to last. It was a happy time for me however.
Elias left, Azreal, once again, became my constant companion. Only this time, I actually paid attention to what he meant to me and how much he really cared about me. Sure, he was a whore; he slept his way through entire cabals, male or female. He was always there when I wanted him to be there for me though and that was very comforting. Comforting indeed.
Cheshire is dead. All that remains is darkness.
“People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it and the soul can't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to put the wrong things right.”
“I believe there is a place where souls wander, burdened by the weight of their own sadness, waiting for a chance to set the wrong things right. Sometimes, a crow shows them the way, because sometimes, love is stronger than death.”
“Life is just a dream on the way to death.”
So much has happened. So much it seems like it’s not real. Sunshine is gone and all that remains are the shadows of what could have been. The police report said it was suicide. According to the hasty autopsy, blood loss due to self inflicted cut to the femoral and brachial arteries.
Yeah. I did it good. Humans are so easily fooled.
Everything started and ended with Donavon. Though, a good beginning is really just the end of something else…and of course the end is merely a new beginning. So. To the beginning. We meet him in an IRC room one fitful October night. It was the first time we had ventured into the world of cyberspace on the network for insomniacs. Cleaver. It was conversational at first, always with the snappy patter. We discussed many things that night and she felt connected to him in a way that she had never felt connected to someone. They shared a fate, yes. Threads tangled. Things would happen between them and that would change the both of them.
She flew to Cincinnati the next day and spent the week with him. He shared his soul with her and she with him. Love wasn’t even strong enough to describe how they felt for each other. It was like something out of an epic fairytale. Or so she thought.
The details are inconsequential. He purposed to her. She accepted with her own proposal. They looked at houses. They spoke of children. Then she disappeared. Missing for two weeks, taken by darkness and broken. Raped, beaten, cut, bleed dry and left with only the memories of her ordeal. Ill equipped to handle her sorrow, he pulled away….
Or did he pull away long before. Did he lie to her and make her own fears come true at a time when she needed him the most? A month later, he was dead and it was more then she could bear. Her shattered soul cried out for release and so, it was done. There is a place where souls wander burdened by the weight of their own sadness. She sat in the bathtub, just as the corners report stated. She cut herself, bleed the sorrow from her body, let it wash away…
But did not die. I was born then. I am Rook.
There are many myths about the fae. One such a myth is that there are two different types of fae-good and bad. Good fae, being all together made of things like sunshine and laughter, do good things, are good to people and generally are happy and shinny. Bad fae, well, bad fae are just that. Bad. Made from nightmares, hollow and broken souls, depraved creatures who haunt the night and forgotten places. When one who walks the path of thistles is forced into terrible circumstances, they change. Adaptability is a hallmark of the path we walk and those that tread it are adept at making changes when necessary. Like Summer to Autumn to Winter, I am the result of the strain on the soul we shared.