She stands in the river of time. As if the universe has captured her in this single moment. She feels time pulling her along. The water and silt flowing over her bare feet as she puzzles the great mysteries of life.

She is not alone here.

Her shadow, her past, solid, ever present, is before her. It stretches across time to solid land. It is all she has been. All she has endured. All she has experienced. Joy and love, pain and loss. They are all part of her. She cannot escape her past, nor should she. All parts together make her. Take away any, and it changes who she is.

There is another here.

Her reflection on the water ripples with life, a living thing. It is almost translucent. It is her future. Unlike the solid shadow of her past, her future is always in flux. It does not control her, nor is she trapped by it. It will be as it will be, is her mantra. The only thing in common with the shadow, is she always has her future with her as well.

She is V³

She walks in moonlight. Even in the daytime her shadow is bathed in moonlight. It is appropriate I suppose. As, like the moon, she goes through her phases. Nor can she deviate or escape them, any more than the moon can change its path through the celestial sky.

What a force of nature she is. She effects all those who encounter her. As the moon applies its power to the tidal forces, so does she to people. It just happens. Sometimes she seems to be just as surprised at the effects as those affected.

She is celestial, ethereal, magical and possibly immortal.

She walks in Moonlight.

Prologue

Have you ever wondered about the people behind the stories? What were they really like? What drove and inspired them? Lately those questions have been coming into my mind. History is available for writers of our time, and possibly going back two hundred years. Autobiographies, biographies, antidotal writings, all tell a piece of who the writer was.  Can we find out what inspired and drove them? Is that needed to understand the context of their work? Or, is the work a stand alone item?

Recent events in my life have led to an over load of emotional energy. This energy had built to a level that I felt I would explode. In the past, I would release this energy through self destructing activities. Those would bleed off the negative energy, but the resulting mental and emotional vacuum, and dealing with any repercussions, could lead to a downward spiral.  I am sure that is a normal course of events for many people. How the energy gets dispersed may hold the key to some of the creations that astound us even today.

I found that while I was contemplating how to deal with it, (the realization that just contemplating was bleeding off some of the energy), I noticed that thought and writing ideas began to flow. Is it possible, that negative as well as positive energy, weather emotional, or mental, could be harnessed to create a work that is worthy?  I believe so.

A Journey to another country may have actual begun the Journey of self discovery.

As with all Journeys, we start with the first step………

The moon shone brightly over the barren landscape. Nothing moved in that cool stillness. You would have missed him, sitting there, staring off into space. The only sound  coming from his breathing, and the ticking of engine cooling off behind him. Funny to think that one could miss a bright pink barracuda named Jolene, especially in all the moonlight. Tonight though Jolene seemed to fade into the scenery like her owner. His mood was dark and black tonight, his thoughts barren like the deep reaches of space he pondered.

They had run hard and fast tonight, two entities working as one, a man and his machine. But Jolene was more than that. She was alive, and a big part of his soul, and she knew it. She liked nights like tonight, although the mood was something she wished she could change.

They had been partners for over 32 years, and if anything, she was winning the battle of age. Sure she had some nicks and scars here and there, but his scars were deeper. Lately the scars he had been gathering were mental and emotional, unseen but just as painful  That is what brought him out tonight. She knew the moment he arrived to pull her out, something had him troubled. He fired her up and headed out, only stopping for fuel. He ran her hard, and fast, and she responded. Usually he would get to 100, or even 120, then he would be in the zone. His pulse would slow, his mind, concentrating, feeling the road, feeling her respond to his request with raw power. His mind would clear and they would return at a normal pace. However, Tonight 120 came and went quickly, and still the needles climbed. She loved to race and run, but as the needle crossed 135, she realized he was not right. 140, 145mph the needle almost pegging. Her heart screamed, the tach read 8000 rpm and climbing, the wind wiping by the car. Suddenly they were at 150, the needle up against the stop, surely this would calm him. But he wasn’t himself tonight. mile after mile they ran, her engine screaming, flying down the deserted highway. Finally after what seemed like an eternity, his right foot lifted slowly and brought her back down to the speed limit.

Tonight he didn’t find his peace, but he knew he could only run her for so  long. Eventually he pulled off the highway and down a side road to where they sat now. He sat there, quietly, leaning up against her. He was tired. Physically yes, but more than that. His soul was tired. Slowly he stood up. His  body creaking like an old staircase as he came to his full height. He should head back, but he was just to drained. He sat up on her hood, then slid back. Her twin hood scoops cradled him gently as he leaned back against the windshield. In a moment he was asleep.

ch2.

He Dreamed. Tonight they were not of butterflies and unicorns, though they seldom were. His breathing came rushed and ragged, his body shaking, he seemed to be engaged in struggle. Indeed. Tonight he wrestled with demons. His own.