Violet or Red_The Essence_Autobiography of My Chair_Trust
Catalog Guide:
Violet or Red
You were born on National Maple Syrup Day. Your mother names you Alcyone (pronounced AL-SEE-OWN-EE) because Alcyone means calm. It’s a cruel, unfitting choice given your family’s history of anxiety. You wish your name were something simple and easy-to-say, like Hannah.By the time you turn nineteen, you've grown tired of constantly having to correct people. It’s Al-see-own-ee, you tell them on the days you have more confidence than usual, but they don’t hear you, and if they do hear you, they forget. As far as they’re concerned, you are Alison. Sometimes Alimony. As time goes on, you accept you...
The Essence
Birth Moon reared its head over Black Mountain. It waxed nearly full as pale light spilled down the steep ridges, creeping among the dark forest. Wan light managed to flash in the cat's eyes, like a beacon turning on and off. Fearing discovery, the animal darted into dense, blooming laurel covering the mountainside.The feline slunk down the slope toward the cabin. It took a shortcut through low, thick brambles, heavy with ripening blackberries, seeking further cover. A rabbit flitted from the tangled thicket, fleeing the cat's ominous presence. The night aged rapidly. Over the eastern ridgetop...
Autobiography of My Chair
The night before they awww.onedoor.ccrrived, I was cozily wrapped in the deep green leaves, hugged, and surrounded by my other family. The dense forest we made together would often scare most men, keep them off, and keep us safe.In my growing years, I had seen the members of my family and friends leave the forest one by one. I was curious to know where did they go? Are they in a better place? Slowly the density of our forest was decreasing. And with that, the courage of these men was growing.Before we could grieve for one, the other was cut and chopped off. Our tears dried over time. Even the land holding o...
Trust
I am stepping, softly now, through the dense undergrowth. An eerie quiet has come over the forest and, like it, I am unnerved. All of my senses are on high alert. I stop and look around, probing everywhere for the slightest movement while I hold my father’s ex-army rifle ready. The only sounds are the slight rustling of the breeze through the treetops and a distant hawk-cuckoo trilling its persistent call to climax in a familiar manic crescendo.To my left, the silence is broken with an explosion of red, brown and blue feathers as a junglefowl careers out from the bush. Wings flapping crazily, ...