Blood Ink (The Archives Book I): Editing

Chapter 04: Yoh

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                                                                            + Yoh +

    It takes a certain level of understanding to be perceptive of a certain level of profoundness. Sometimes people are unaware of such an obvious, debatable truth when they fail to hold that suitable level of understanding – or more likely, the level is questionable.

   To start with, Saturday is the day when a high school kid should be able to – should be able – to rest up and sleep away all the hassles and troubles of the week before. But this Saturday was an exception.

   I got up early.

   You don't know how weird, and utterly dire, the situation of getting up early on a Saturday morning is. This, I had to go through with such profoundness I almost changed my mind three times before reaching the bathroom. The big exception was that I actually, on my own iron will, wanted to. This was of course, for the ultimate purpose of hanging out with Yuuzel in The Archives.

   I got out and hopped onto my bike.     

   I live a few blocks away from our school, SMA or Saint Maria’s Academy. The neighborhood is full of old folks and everyone knows everyone – and everything there is to gossip about everyone.

   A small white butterfly flew across the bike handles and up into an old cherry tree to where the front school gates are.

   So this is what Saturday morning is like.

   I thanked the guard for letting me in, saying I had a history assignment I needed to complete by the end of the coming month. This was semi true ofcourse. We were given the task to outline the voyages of Don Juan for our history report. It just wasn’t my ultimate purpose for coming.

   I peddled my way into a clearing amongst the trees and parked the bike there.

   There were a few students here and there and a teacher or two, but the school was unusually mellow today. I passed by the hallway to where Don Juan's portrait was, wondering for the sixth time when the ‘Crying Lady’ would show up. And then the spiraling stairway that led down, deep underground, to where Yuuzel was---wasn't. For when I got there, all that greeted me were the towering bookshelves and the dusty old candelabras.

"Yuu?" I called out. Where the heck is he?

   But all I got were the same eerie light casted by the candelabras that hung from the ceiling.

   I plopped myself down to an empty chair and used a pile of old books as foot stool. The Black Journal lay on top of the writing desk where Yuuzel placed it last night. I grab hold of it and thumbed through the pages to find the third entry as nothing but descriptions of his travels towards the kingdom of France. He spoke of the Dauphin. He spoke of Emeraldie – she was always part of his entries. I kept on reading for I don't know when, when Yuuzel came out from the shadows. 

"You're here?" he said, dipping his hand into a pool of strewn books.

"Yeah, told you I would be." I shrugged.

      Yuuzel smiled and then dragged the chair I was sitting on, to the other side of the long table where he sat, so that our chairs were placed closely together.

"Keep me company today will you?" he asked.

    Yuuzel was really a mixture of things, doubtfully frail-looking, really tall, like really-really-tall, silent, and a wee bit enigmatic. But through all of these things I just felt oddly comfortable around him – like my favorite spot in the old sofa nailed infront of the T.V. back home.