Until the divorce. It seemed that every time I went there, Miri would show up five minutes later, so I would leave. A restraining order is needed when a person will not leave someone alone, or if the person is violent. But they also make an excellent light saber against one in the duel of a divorce. Miri wielded it triumphantly. So I had to find another second home, which I did immediately. It was private, and it had a cave...
I sat at the farthest table in the back of that cave, behind a dried up mini-fountain. I took a long drag off a cigarette and continued to write. Peace. Quiet. For the first thirty minutes. That's when I heard her shoes walking up. She was coming back here. If I could grow small and jump into that fountain I would have. I crushed out the smoke and prepared to leave. That was my only option. I felt ridiculous.
Only it was Morrigan who walked through the door. Strides with that air of confidence, not conceit. Fluid movement. My heart raced with relief and suspicion. She stood still for a moment after noticing me. She was wearing a long, to the feet, black rayon skirt, with a red shirt that laced up in the front with a black strip of leather looping through small silver grommets. It was the kind of shirt you could make as loose or tight exposing as much cleavage as you wanted. Her hair was up in a bun with two long black chopsticks holding the whole thing together. She was carrying a notebook, and a small case of pens.
"Hey."
"Hello Morrigan. Where's Miri? She coming up next?"
"No. I know you want to be alone, so I'm making this brief. I think you can use this more than I can." She put the notebook and pens on the table, "See you around, okay?" She smiled and walked out.
I remained motionless, staring at the door she left through. I could still smell the perfume from her, lingering in the air. I waited, about five minutes. No Miri. I looked at the pens. They were my favorite. JIMNIE medium retractables by Zebra. I picked up the notebook and found it to be hardcover leather bound. This was no Mead notebook. I opened the cover and read an inscription:
Our drive, our reason to live
Our passion, our happiness
What drives us mad with desire
Gives us a sense of completion
Our one true gift, our love
Inside each of us
The flame that burns bright
What makes our souls glow
Has grown dim inside you
I want to see it back
To it's burning rage
Non Omnis moriar, amor
Furor Poeticus
Furor Scribendi
Amor furor
Cupidus, peritus, conscius...
Potestne hoc fieri? Case Unum?
Haec nobis facienda sunt.
Si quid vult, ad me venire oportet.
I read the passage again. I wondered where she copied that. The paper was of course acid-free. Then something caught my eye. I wouldn't have noticed it at first because my hand covered the corner. A very minute number nine was on the first page of the book. Numbered pages? Then the first eight were missing. I turned the page. No number. Here is another, I thought to myself. The book was closed and went back on the table as I lit another cigarette. Screw this. She's getting this back. I stood up and rushed back into the coffee shop. No Morrigan here. I went out to the front. She was nowhere in sight. I turned and went down a side way when I heard a loud pop. I looked to the right in time to see the van nearly five feet from me. Not even time for a scream. Only one thought before the brown van punched me through a plate glass window.
<---Previous Next--->