My Peanut Journey and Throwback Thursday

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I love peanuts. I never thought I would intentionally eat peanuts out of the container, but yesterday I did just that. My sister in-law bought a large thing of honey roasted peanuts, which I had never had, and now I’m addicted. She also bought a bag of peanut MnMs, which I hadn’t had before either. So now I’ve added peanuts MnMs and honey roasted peanuts to my list of new and exciting peanut things. I’m not sure how I survived with peanuts. They’re so good.

Ahem. Now onto Throwback Thursday.  Today I’m posting two things actually. The first piece is embarrassing, but I included it to give you a glimpse into the sort of thing I wrote in my notebook at seventeen years old. The second piece is a poem I discovered in the same notebook.

Here we go…

***

Eudoro looked down from his window into the garden, his face swathed in moonlight. It shone on the trees, outlining them in sharp whiteness, so their leaves might have been knives. There was a pain in his heart, that might have been from such a blade as that…

A breeze blew through and lifted his dark hair from his forehead. But it couldn’t lift his heart. It was too heavy. And it couldn’t be numbed. He had tried that; there were a number of goblets about the room, all empty. His fingers slid along the rim of one as he gazed into the night.

It was cold tonight, but he could barely feel it. A fire was blazing in the grate, but apart from that and a couple of candles, the room was quite dim. A great bed stood against one wall, and a number of paintings hung on the others; and the furniture was sturdy and tasteful; but besides this there was every evidence of a haunted mind and a torture that occurred every day. Indeed, Eudoro had barely left this room for nearly a month. And all because of her

He was quite a handsome figure, he was. Beneath a mass of dark straight hair, his greyish eyes were open and eager but simultaneously reserved and passionate. He was lithely built, and not very tall, and had a love of running in the open fields.

But he had not run for weeks now. For he had another love, that no one knew about, a ghostly love, spectral, even in her beauty. A spirit; and he loved her. He loved her more than breath. Loved her in such an all-consuming, tortured way he felt sick…and she despised him, though she disguised it under a veil of false passion. But he knew. And yet he could not break free from her spell.

The hoot of an owl startled him, and he jumped. The goblet fell and shattered. As he stood from his perch he was aware of laughter from the great hall; there was a banquet tonight, he realized, and he was not there. But what did it matter?

Suddenly, a great gust of wind blew through the room and extinguished the torches. In the darkness Eudoro felt a pain in his heart. He gasped, and by some unseen force turned rigidly to look out at the night.

She was there. In the garden, a white shimmering form, her long hair drifting about her bare shoulders. Her beauty stilled his heavily beating heart. And then a voice rose to him…

“Come, my love, come to me, come…”

He could not resist. Not that he desired to–but he had to go to her. Even if he met Death…

With a cry he flung himself from the room, the door banging behind him. Through the torch-lit corridors he ran, as he had through the fields–before she had haunted him…down and down…his thoughts racing with his feet…even if he met Death he would go to her…

Then suddenly, Death was staring him in the face. In the guise of a cloaked man, a hood over his face, and a glinting dagger in his hand. He grabbed Eudoro by the neck and forced him down on his knees. Eudoro collapsed on them, breathing hard, the image of her growing overwhelming to his senses.

“Please,” he gasped, frantic, “please, let me by!”

“No,” the cloaked figure hissed, “for tonight you will die.” He strode around to the young man’s back, and hissed again through the darkness. “Prepare to meet Death, bastard!”

In that instant, Eudoro felt a terrible pain at his throat. The vision of her suddenly became real, and through the haze that lapped over him like a leaden and black tide, he saw her, borne toward him inexplicably.

“Ha ha,” her voice pierced him like the knife at his neck. “Now you die, Eudoro! You who loved me! If you had not come to me…for I arranged this! I knew who lurked to kill you, so I appeared and called you! And you came! And now…you die!”

Her voice faded away. Eudoro’s body fell with a thud, blood streaming from his slashed neck. The darkness was complete.

***

I have

A stream flowing through my head

A reed in my hand, with night

As the ink that soothes the dead

To rise from where I buried them, right

Down in the clay–oh, there is a fountain

Of voices, shapes, that twist themselves

In a single form, hidden by a curtain

Of self that pretends, but dares not delve

Into the earth by the river

Like the one behind my eyes

That the light isn’t free to touch, never

Caressing the surface with its blinding kisses

But the reed that’s filled with night’s ink

Is a spade that finds the body and nudges it

To life.

 

So there you go, readers. My post for the day!

~H

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