Περσεφόνεια

Anne -- no, Persephone had been avoiding it, had been doing as many other things as possible to avoid the situation at hand. The journal she had come to carry around with her at all times had not been opened for over a week now, anxious procrastination having set in. She would often find herself yearning for it, wanting to reach into her satchel and pull it out, eyes longing to read through its pages, long fingers reaching for a rollerball pen and start to write in her small script.

But she had stopped herself. How she had managed to hold out for so long, she had not the slightest idea, but the dreams she was having each night were of no comfort. They had gotten worse, more vivid, more frequent, such that it seemed that every time her eyes shut, visions flooded her. She had buried herself in work, tried to preoccupy herself with the mundane mortal matters of everyday life. And it had worked, for a time.

Not forever, though, I’m afraid. So now, with an evening’s engagement on her mind, she opened the journal, to see what she had missed. And then, with a breath, she plunged right into writing.

This might seem a rather odd question, but almost everyone here does not appear to be Greek, so I don’t know how many out there might be familiar with the Greek characters on your journal. That having been said, if anyone can’t quite decipher what is on their journal, and would like to know what it says (and obviously doesn't mind sharing), you can write it down here, and we can try to help one another out. How does that sound?

-- Anne

Anne sat in her study at home, turning over the events of the past several days, her fingers twitching, itching to reach for the journal. Classes and her day's work were long since finished, and the sun nearly setting, shades of orange and pink, red and purple scattering across the sky, tinting the clouds here and there, like some sort of painting, a beautiful backdrop for the many-colored flowers she could see outside her window, in her small garden.

She hear Orpheus make a sighing sound, placing his head on her lap, an action he had taken to whenever he saw her in a state of perturbation, and she started petting the white bull terrier. He made another noise, and she chuckled, a smile finding its way to her face.

"Oh Orpheus," she said, shaking her head, "I don't know what to think anymore..." Her eyes found their way to the journal, on her desk. "What do I even write?"

She took the journal and opened it after a few moments of thought, grabbing a green fountain pen and starting to write, her small, loopy script filling the page.

Well, I hope this works, and I'm not crazy, or anything... at least, not crazy enough for rooms with padded walls and excesses of white, that is. White has always been a little unhinging to me in copious quantities. It looks lovely on flowers, however.

Speaking of flowers: my dreams, the past couple of days, have begun to include them. There are meadows and fields -- white violets and lilies all around, an endless spring/summer sort of ambiance, with dancing and singing, sunshine and clear blue skies. It's such a stark contrast with the dreams I've had before, but all have the same strong feelings associated with them, as though I've... well, lived it. I am not sure what to make of it, but would be intrigued to hear if anyone has experienced anything similar.

Στο δικανικό συνεργάτη παθολογίας είχα την ευχαρίστηση της συνάντησης της άλλης ημέρας: το γυροσκόπιο ήταν αρκετά ευχάριστο ευχαριστώ πολύ. Ελπίζω ότι ήσαστε καλά, και ελπίζετε να λάβετε νέα πίσω από σας. (To the delightful forensic pathology fellow I had the pleasure of meeting the other day: the gyros were quite enjoyable; thank you so much. I do hope you've been well, and hope to hear back from you.)

-- Anne

It had been one of the more pleasant sort of days, the start of the autumn semester bringing increased liveliness to the campus that Anne had come to call 'home.' Even at this hour in the evening, the faint sounds of laughter and shouts now and then could be heard through the open window of her office, complimenting the breeze that blew every so often. She leaned back in her black rolling chair, stretching her arms back, blinking her eyes and resting them for a moment after what had probably been too much time in front of her laptop. Her arms hit some of the books on her shelf inadvertently, causing them to shift about, and one to topple onto the floor.

With a soft "Bugger!" she lent down to pick it up, frowning as she noticed its contents. She closed it, reexamining it. The leatherbound journal had long since found its way to her possession, but not until this moment had she seen any sort of writing in it; in fact, she was absolutely positive that it had been completely blank, with no sign of language whatsoever on it save the nameplate on the cover, when she had... found it? Received it? Noticed it? Well, she was not entirely sure what to call it, really.

Her frown deepened, and she flipped through the entries, perusing them, bewildered and perplexed. She reached for a little bottle in her satchel and opened it, taking a small capsule and drinking it, with her pomegranate tea. She shook her head, sighing, unable to restrain herself from grabbing her green pen and beginning to write.

Call me Anne. Some days ago -- never mind how many precisely -- having gotten to my home after time spent in the library, with nothing particular to interest me in hand, I thought it curious to find this journal. I do not quite know how to explain this all; it was quite empty when I first looked through it. But now, I can see that there are others out there not unlike myself.

So alright, I can do this, as well. Good morning. Call me Anne. I'm a lecturer at the University of Athens, also doing some work of my own in Philology.

But more important than that: I have dreams. I've had them ever since I can remember, and I'll admit that when I was much, much younger I used to think that there was something behind them, but that was long ago. What, really, could they possibly mean? I will admit, though, that it's comforting to see others who seem to have something similar going on.

She paused, thoughtfully, before writing down a last sentence after some inner debate.

I'm going to be working on some lesson plans and such tomorrow afternoon at the Starbucks closest to the University, if anyone would care to join me. Cliche, I realize, but I find the Pomegranate Frappuccinos exquisite.

Friends Only.
greekswim
this is almost awesome