Blood Ink (The Archives Book I): Editing

Chapter 02: A Lonesome Memoir

+ A Lonesome Memoir +

.....

September 14th, yr. 1785

      I have received word from my good friend Don Juan late this evening. He writes to me of his recent conquests and ventures on the new world. The Black Journal, with which I am writing with, was a gift from him saying that writing his fondest memories and of his journeys had invariably helped him cling unto sacred sanity. Ah, the great oceans, vast and in clear depthness, sometimes, do wreak such havoc in a man. But alas, the infinite waters had never so much interested me in the way it sparked a curious light on Emeraldie's brilliant onyx eyes. 

   Emeraldie...

      It has been years since I have last spoken of her name since I resigned never to walk in the misery of her memory lane. Emeraldie... Perhaps I shall dream of her tonight. Perhaps she'd come and visit me in my sleep and offer a lullabye...

.....

"Why are you still reading that book?" Ivy suddenly, again with her chumminess, slapped me on the back.

"Geez Ivy! I was halfway through a good read here!"

     I was ofcourse, finally able to see the contents of the Black Journal and just when the entire class had gone out for lunch break I decided to stay behind and read it. Unfortunately for me, Ivy had also decided to go through a special diet this week. So she skipped lunch with me. It's not that I don't enjoy her company - she's the only one who can get through to me. But still, lay off the chumminess...

"It's not like that has anything to do with the history assignment." she rolled her eyes.

     I took off my shoes and had rearranged a pair of chairs to suit my liking.

"Actually, the Black Journal mentioned Don Juan. I think this maybe one of his close friends. Who knows, I might find something interesting. Like a secret case of Don Juan or a dark history that was never written in our history books." I shrugged.

     Maybe it was a decent escape from Ivy's point juncture. In any case I just wanted to get on with my reading. It was first-degree suicide to try and cut me from a good read I just poked my nose in. It’s like trying to slice skin from the underlying fat tissues. I would’ve skinned her alive. But I didn’t. I was humane, after all.

…..

     The nights had stretched considerably longer than usual and the days were fleeing as if in melancholic reverie of her. Ah, I remember the first we have met under the newly planted cherry tree. I remember it well. For it was when she had first spoken my name. I remember the gentle voice and the knowing eyes that saw through me...and Joseff.

…..

     The entry had ended with a wry blot - a big black dot that seemed to tell that the writer was taken aback with the memory this Joseff brought up. Perhaps the next entry would tell me why.

     But the next class teacher came in, just in time ... Great.

     The afternoon was plain and boring like most days and Ivy kept bugging me about doing the assignment together and whether she could come with me after class to The Archives - the underground section of the school library, where I had found the Black Journal, and Yuuzel. I placed the Black Journal into my bag and patiently waited for the lessons to end.  No way am I letting Ivy gushing up such a great find. I’m not a bad friend. I just know how to put certain limits and that was that.