Phoenix of Dawn

Castles

For one to turn the clock back would be impossible and the consequences of such an act would cause drastic altercations to the world. To stand still, however, how could that possibly bring any sort of ill fate upon an individual? It couldn't, could it? Perhaps it was only wishful thinking to surmise that anyone could engage in such a selfish act of standing still in their favorite moment without recourse. In fact, some would say it was a childish notion to live with a morale that would bear such indulgent thinking. In my life it was all trivial anyway. 

Which is why I avoided moments like this as if they could somehow release an airborne pathogen meant to kill me. Wasn't that exactly what hope was? A disease sought out by fools and nurtured by those experiencing their first taste of true happiness. 

That was me. 

Sitting in the hall, losing myself to the harmonious moments that passed between the woman I thought I'd lost and myself, I started to hope. The simplicity of those brief, uninterrupted minutes with her gave me hope that maybe I had a shot at a happy life. That there may be some slim chance that I was deserving of comfort.

Complicated shit aside, it was easy between me and Claira. As easy as breathing.

"I have something for you."

She reached down for an object I couldn't see allowing her soft tone settle between us with it's indicated secret. Slowly she placed a wrapped rectangular package on the table and slid gift towards me. The brown paper encasing the gift crinkled under my fingers and gave easily under my insistence at knowing it's secret. 

In my hands sat a blue leather bound notebook with worn pages and careful script noted on each page. I didn't take my time when flipping through the pages, uncertain as to why I'd been gifted what seemed to be a used diary. 

Claira, noticing my perplexed expression, explained, "It was your mother's. She wanted me to give it to you when you were ready to go back."

My mother's?

Inspecting the old journal in my hands with new eyes I felt rather conflicted. It didn't seem like these were secrets I wanted to hear. My mother had died along with our pack and to have the inner working of her mind in my hands after all those years? It seemed unreal. What if I didn't like the things she had to say?

"It explains everything you need to know," Claira added with a tender tone, "There are things that you need to know about who you are and where you're from."

"Like what things," I pressed.

Her fingertips traced the lines in the dark oak table, "You have to understand. We agreed it would be best not to tell you the truth until we were sure you could handle it."

Nothing about her words provided me the solace or  comprehension I needed to ease the disquiet in my chest. The aqua blue of her gaze held such trepidation as she assessed my current state, attempting to read the thoughts behind the stoic mask I'd perfected. 

"She always wanted to guide you but I think she always knew she wouldn't have the privilege of watching you grow up. This was a labor of love for her your first year of life and then... well the rest is in there."

Working the inside of my cheek I wondered why she couldn't just tell me herself. The woman who wrote these words on these pages was no more than a stranger to me. Not to mention the ominous words from Claira about the truth. My life was already an assortment of fucked up truths, how was I meant to handle any more? 

"Thanks," I provided a strained smile before setting the journal aside, "I'll look into it later."

Maybe.