Clear, crystal memory. Memory from before. Memory from ignorance.
It told me a story. A story that wasn't a story until I grew a conscience. It became a story when they tried to rip its pages from the book.
But the Wolves forgot one particular page.
This page smells of fear, and feels like lemon air freshener. It looks like arguing voices, and it sounds like blood. But most of all, it tastes like the colors black and blue. It is a page coated in diamonds that aren't actually diamonds.
It is a page that is so much more than a page. Now.
On this page there is a total of three words conjugated in a particular order that gathers all that I am and all that the page itself represents.
The first word on this page is elaborately simple, as are most of the words we speak; "I".
Me. Myself. This body, this soul.
Or is it me?
Is the I someone else? Is this book coated in a layer of clarity invisible by the unclean, the selfish, the fallen? Am I not I? Is I not I? Even "I" cannot grasp these questions, for "I" knows not who looks back in the mirror.
And so the next word is another that is elaborately simple; "will".
My two meanings, the many perspectives. Too many meaningful perspectives. Yet all are graciously correct.
"They will hunt for me."
"My will to find Alice in this great Wonderland is more than the Wolves can understand."
And my will will prevail.
Which brings us to the final word, a word that does not fit in with the other two. It is like the plague to them, but it is also their antidote. It is not elaborately simple, it is simply elaborate.
Continue, persevere, proceed. Stay alive, stay alive, stay alive, stay alive, stay alive.
S t a y a l i v e.
The Wolves cannot define this word nor the book it resides. The Wolves cannot rip its pages out and delete this clear, crystal memory. The Wolves have failed to burn the pages.
The wolves do not deserve capitalization.
they attempted to poison the ink which writes the book. they turned their fangs inside out and punctured their own gums just to bleed all over every elaborately simple word, and every simply elaborate word, and every word outside and in between. But they did not succeed.
Because they never bled on the word "persist". they never poisoned the ink that traced each letter. That is why this word has become a disease to the others, when really, they are the diseased ones.
Slowly, slowly the memory will fade. Quickly, quickly the wolves will find it, and stab their own gums once more to bleed onto the page. Never, never shall the word be contaminated. Now, now it has a new definition.
Because the I that is not I has found a will which will persist into a new book. A new book that they can never reach.
A book with a clear, crystal memory, with a page that smells like lemon air freshener, feels like fear, looks like blood, sounds like arguing voices, and tastes like the colors black and blue. A book with a page coated in diamonds that are actually diamonds.
A new book which is only two letters away from completi-