Love to Hate, Hate to Love

He was imperfectly perfect.
The freckles that kissed his cheeks and ran over his nose gave him a look of innocence despite his being fully grown. Green eyes caught and reflected light as he cast a bashful smile at me. There was character there in the tousle of curls that gently waved in the breeze--it was clearly a losing battle as far as wanting to tame them but in it was his carefree nature.
His laughter was sure, his words thoughtful--he never said a harsh word. And his patience was remarkable even to the undeserving.




He was perfectly wrong.
His cheeks always looked dirty because of the overabundance of freckles that sat there across his crooked nose. Unremarkable was the color of his grey-green eyes and they seemed to criticize silently. He smiled at me, feigning innocence when he clearly had meant to push my buttons. His hair was a mess of mousy brown curls that he obviously left to their unruly ways, perhaps thinking that it was attractive to be so carefree--but really it just came off as lazy.
His laughter startled people who had never heard it and he took a ridiculous amount of time to say anything and it was never anything good. He gave the impression of trying not to offend but instead meticulously constructed his words to stab the deepest in a way few would catch. He was patient as far as it served his purposes, a truly detestable use of a virtue.

Pandora's Box

Nothing is worse than being unsure. Especially in regards to happiness. We are told not to "look a gift horse in the mouth". It is said "some guys have all the luck". But what about those of us who do look? Those of us who ran out of "luck" early on and have had to fight for what they currently have?
I have been told oftener lately than when I was young that I will "find" love when I cease to look for it. But what happens when you stumble across someone and things just click? What are you supposed to do when that occurs? Just look at it briefly, shrug it off, and continue on?
When this happens to me, I feel like I can understand Pandora and her box. I have never been able to take one peek and move on. Even if it is slow at first, I come back to take another look followed by another. Until it is a part of my spare time loop of things to "squander" curiosity on.
Then sooner or later I jump the gun, spill my thoughts where I shouldn't, and am left with the regret--why couldn't I just leave the lid on the box? Why did I have to open the lock because the key was left out?
How many more boxes will I spring open before I learn my lesson and leave the box alone?

Hope, though it spirals upward
Oftener meets its doom in a straight drop
Like the moth drawn to the flame
The last night of summer moving on,
On to the first bite of autumn
The arc of a leap of faith
To the sure plummet of dashed hope

Just a Prologue

This is the Prologue for a story I have been working for a while now entitled Arvalaunt's Prophecy. If you read it and like it, then you can find the rest of it on fictionpress.com under cloud9cas and the same title. Enjoy!

Tears were useless in this barren wasteland of refuse and ruin. What once was a great city had been razed to the ground, the inhabitants thereof mutilated or taken away captive to be sold into slavery. Magic had been lost to the Darkness and those who could claim it were left to toil in ignorance of their once proud heritage. The great mages who could have stopped this madness had sealed themselves away with their terrible knowledge in houses of stone, only to awaken when the world was cleansed once more and worthy of the magic they had at their disposal.

Unfortunately, the tyrant Caugran discovered the mages’ self-imprisonment and in ways unknown to the peoples of the world had located one of the great mages and freed him from his confines. With cunning deceit, Caugran led the mage to believe that the world had been set to rights and that he had been elected to receive the knowledge and right to the Great Magic. The Mage, blinded by his desire for this to be true and furthermore being blurred from his magical prison, taught Caugran all he knew, gave him all the books in his possession that pertained to magic, and then informed Caugran of his imminent departure.

Unknown to the Mage, Caugran had in his greed learned of the ability and mastered the art of sapping the power from mages and lusted for the power of the old mages. Caugran’s selfishness led to his desire to be the Ultimate Mage. He stole the Mage’s powers, killing him, and locked the books of magic faraway beneath his fortress, never to be seen by any but himself.

However, for Caugran, the power of one mage was not enough and thus he hunted down the other mages’ self-constructed prisons one at a time, awoke the mages, and sapped their powers from them stopping only when their hearts ceased beating. However, Caugran soon grew tired of his mage hunts and let those that were left sleep on…

His hunger for power left only three of the once Great Mages. This destruction of the balance of the forces of the world awoke the last mages and stirred up their hearts to anger. The Three Mages united against Caugran and challenged his power with their own combined powers. Although they were mighty, Caugran had the power of 10 such mages and therefore proved too great a foe for the combined powers of the Three Mages.

The fight, however, proved to be long and arduous, destroying Caugran’s castle in the process and many of the servants that resided within his gates. He took down one mage and then another but as the imminent end hung over the last mage’s head, the mage known as Arvalaunt, the mage released his power into the world of man to keep it from the hands of the self-proclaimed Mage King. With his dying breath, he mocked Caugran with the promise of a shining star that would rise out of the Darkness created by the final mage left in this world.

“A youth of dreams and hopes

Radiating the dew of the morning light

One acquainted with sorrow

That still has the hope for a better ‘morrow

That is what awaits you, O King of the Shadowed.”

In Caugran’s anger, he struck the mage dead and howled his rage at having been thwarted from his long awaited goal.

Caugran never forgot the prophecy made by Arvalaunt, and neither did the scribe who had lain in wait in the cover of the rubble… and that’s how this history has been related and the prophecy of Arvalaunt’s Shining Star has been whispered throughout the entire world.

Augustine and Marks

Augustine walked warily down the alleyway, the wind causing the leaves and trash to whisper about her feet. Her eyes were wide, capturing and using any bit of light that the moon and lamppost at the alley's entrance behind her would afford. The knife weighed heavy in her hand as she kept close to the wall, starting just a little when a rat ran across the way. She let out a breath slowly through her parted lips before continuing her path.
It was slow going in the shadows but after a good 30 feet, she knelt down to inspect some footprints. Her fingers sought out the familiar imprint of her partner's boot and not finding it brought an even grimmer mood than had held her to that point.
"Idiot," she murmured before standing up once more and traversing the remainder of the distance to the door that lead to what they had surmised together was the way into the boss' main hold. Augustine had warned him that they should make a supply run--their last run in taking most of their ammo. To top it off, she gripped the handle of her knife again, he had taken what was left with him on his macho, lone wolf, scouting though she had insisted they wait until morning.
Stopping outside the door, she leaned against the wall trying to settle her jitters. A rookie like herself, though she never liked to admit to it, shouldn't have to be saving her senior from his own pride. Trying the handle she found it to be unlocked. The pit in her stomach dropped further, doubting that it was carelessness on the side of the enemy that the door had been left wide open.
Another gust of wind, stronger than the last, unsettled a pile of garbage, something of glass crashing to the ground like a gunshot. She said a quick prayer before turning the handle and pushing the door quietly open. It revealed two sets of stairs--what looked like blood trailed down the descending set. Of course, she thought looking longingly at the set that went up--at least if they were above ground they could jump out a window or something.
From the light over the landing, she checked her watch. Backup was late... but she couldn't wait any longer. By her estimation, Joseph had been in enemy hands for almost 2 hours now. Giving the alleyway one more glance, Augustine slipped through the door, carefully shutting it behind her, not banking on the wind not slamming it shut before she wanted her presence to be made known. One more glance up the stairs, and she started to make her way down, carefully checking the stairs, hoping that there were no squeaky steps in this rundown place.
She nearly cursed when she found one halfway down, pausing in her descent to ascertain whether she would be discovered. After deciding no immediate alarm had been triggered, she continued her way to the landing thanking her lucky stars that it lead to another doorway, the door having been removed from its hinges at some past time.
At first she heard nothing as she pushed herself onward to the doorway, but when her ears did pick up sound, it was breathing--labored and muffled. She glanced back to the stairs, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down her temple as she crossed slowly into the room to find Joseph lashed to a chair under a light that flickered from time to time. "Marks," escaped her lips before she could stop it as she walked quickly to his side, dropping her guard.
He looked up in time to give a muffled cry of warning because of which she spun, knife at the ready and managed to slice into a meaty palm that had been aimed at her neck and she heard the attacker yell out in pained anger before he lunged at her again. Augustine managed to jump backward out of his reach only to be caught from behind by another who managed to wrestle her wrists into his hands and forcing her to drop her weapon, followed by a blow to her face.
Augustine looked up in time to see the hand raised for a second hit when a cool voice called it back. "Let's not go damaging the prettier of the two faces," he said and lights for the rest of the room flickered on but none so bright as the one held over Joseph's head. She probably would have laughed if it had been anyone else speaking--her face wasn't known for its perfection after all. However, not even Peters would have laughed when face to face with Vincent Roux.
Augustine did her best to stare him bravely in the face as he walked slowly to stand in front of her. "A little short for one in this line of business, don't you think Marks?" he directed at her partner but she didn't dare look away even to see Joseph's reaction. "Ah, but she does bear the trade well," he murmured, having taken her chin in hand to tilt her face up to the light. She was sure that he was giving her far more credit toward experience with the aged scars on her face. The real story was no less tied to the "trade" has he had referred to it, however.
Her older brother had been in the middle of a job when their parents had died and left their 12 year old daughter to his care, his being 13 years her senior. He had taken her with him to the next post only to have to shield her from the shrapnel of the bomb laid at his door. He had, indeed, saved her life--but had lost his own in the process and she bore the scars that had raked from her chin to her hairline on the right side of her face. Those who didn't know treated her with some degree of respect thinking she'd earned it in the line of duty while those who did know treated her with pity, the orphan, although 13 years had already passed.
Roux tsked lightly as he looked at the other side of her face where she could feel the already tender swelling of a bruise just below her eye but she kept her gaze on his face with unflinching determination.


Maybe I'll continue this some other day.

General Conference, April 2015

It is supposedly 45 degrees Fahrenheit outside today... and "feels like" 38. April in Utah. (And yes, my ears and fingers have been freezing all day, thank you for asking.)

Anyway, that is not what I am here to talk about today. No sir.

Today, I would like to talk about how it felt to be a participant in, first, the between-session choir (the one that stands out on the same sidewalk as the protesters between Temple Square and the Conference Center) and also to be in the Conference Center during the sustaining of the General Authorities that afternoon.

Firstly, although we were only half the numbers we'd been asked to produce from our Stake to take part in the choir assignment, I feel that we did make at least a difference for those who had to wait for the OK signal to cross the street between Temple Square and the Conference Center. During their wait, they were given the option (at least on my half of the sidewalk) to either listen to the man exclaiming his views on the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and our beliefs or join us in the well-known hymns of the Restoration (including but not limited to the Spirit of God, We Thank Thee, Oh God, For a Prophet, and A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief).

How light and bracing it was to have the opportunity to pave the walkway and see Saints singing along with us. The beauty of their gratitude for inviting the Spirit to be with them in between sessions so as to not become contentious and argumentative with the protesters! I will admit to the backs of my knees being strained after standing resolutely for and hour and a half, but it was well worth it and I truly feel I could not have been better spiritually prepared for what would occur in just an hour from the end of our service to our fellow Saints and the Church.

I, along with other women from my ward, sat together excited to be given the opportunity to sit in that large Conference Center, packed to the brim with those who shared our same beliefs! Those who had gathered to partake of the Spirit and the pleasing words of God's servants. I thought that I would perhaps have a similar experience to the one other time I was able to attend a session in the Conference Center--it was actually the October 2009 Conference, the Sunday Afternoon session that I was given the opportunity to attend with a friend of mine. The first talk being that of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland entitled Safety for the Soul in which he bore his unwavering, bold, and heartfelt testimony of the truth of the Book of Mormon and the knowledge the Joseph Smith Jr. was the first prophet of this last dispensation. How inspiring that talk was! I was moved to tears and will never forget it.

That was the experience I hoped to have once more--it didn't have to be with the same apostle, but I looked forward to it with eager anticipation.

Last Saturday's afternoon session of Conference started out as all the rest I remember ever attending in my 24 years of life. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir sang, a prayer was said, they sang again. President Henry B. Eyring laid out the first bit of the meeting for us which included among other announcements, the sustaining of the First Presidency and the General Authorities of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf took the stand and began, asking the general assembly to acknowledge by raise of the right hand if we sustained as prophets, seers, and revelators--Presidents Thomas Spencer Monson, Henry Bennion Erying, and Dieter Friedrich Uchtdorf. I raised my hand with joy for being in the presence of these mighty men called of God to lead the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, sustaining them with all the love that I have for them and the direction and love they have expressed for me and all the people of the world.

It wasn't anger that filled my heart next, but sorrow and hurt for these men, when three of the assembly, having managed to procure seats in the section that I wish to one day have the blessing of sitting it, being at almost the feet of the prophets, stood when President Uchtdorf asked that if any be opposed, to offer the same sign. Upon standing, with their hands raised, they shouted the word I have never been witness to in this semi-annual Conference: "Opposed!"

Opposed? I didn't spend much time looking for the three people (I was to be informed later of where they stood and what they looked like) for my gaze was drawn back to President Uchtdorf as he said that their vote had been noted. My heart stilled, painfully waiting for him to continue the sustainings, knowing that the names of the Twelve Apostles would be next. At the end of the reading, I raised my hand once more to sustain and I felt a determination in that moment of raising my hand, a motion that I was taught at a young age would allow my voice to be heard in the Church, that I have never hitherto felt. With all the energy of my soul, I wished that those men could feel MY support and love for them--I knew they could see everyone else raise their hands, but could they see me? Could they feel me?

Opposed! The men and woman shouted again, less together this time but no less fierce and hurtful.

I don't know if I will understand the reasoning and drive behind the opposition of these three people...

But this I do know. I know of my love for the General Authorities of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I sustain as the prophet of my Lord's church, President Thomas S. Monson. I know the Book of Mormon to be another testament of Jesus Christ and that Joseph Smith Jr. was hand chosen by Him to be the translator of the book--regardless of the fact that he was but a child at the time of the call (a young boy of 14 who had the determination and desire to ask which church of all the churches were true) and less educated than all the pastors and preachers at the time demanded a leader of any church be.

I am so blessed to have been born to parents who, though weren't always members, sure and strong, of the Church, they committed and grew testimonies so that they could raise and teach their children in righteousness and give them the best chance they could in this world of sin, corruption, and sorrow. I am not perfect but am striving. I am not sure of everything but I am sure of my Savior's love for me. And that He has called the General Authorities as currently constituted to guide and direct the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and will allow no man to lead His sheep astray.

I love Him and am thankful of His awareness of my life and the sorrows I have seen, the trials I have overcome, and the advances I have made toward being the woman He meant for me to become.

And these things I write, in His name.