Escape from Love's Prison, or, Storygate

         Her eyes shone like two brilliant sapphires, beautiful, light blue pools of crystal clear refreshing water, and John was drowning in them. Her hair flowed down past her shoulders, dark brown curls encircling her face and gently embracing her from around the shoulders down her back. Those curls had John's mind hopelessly entangled in them. That smile, those perfect white teeth which shone with the brilliant white light of heaven, those pearly white bars were his prison. The parts each were immeasurably valuable, yet somehow the sum of them could not compare with a hundredth part of the value of the whole. The difference is to be accounted for by the warmth, humor and joy which radiated off her very person. Yes, John was possessed, but by the memory of a most devilish cherubim whom the angels had let loose to wreak havoc on his heart. Such was the pleasant misery and glorious torture to which John's heart had unbidden subjected him to for the six months past. Such was the trap with which his mind was ensnared as he walked through the park with his best friend William.
         William had been chatting amiably for some time, apparently oblivious to John's preoccupation, but secretly marking every clue he could find upon John's face. The object of his friend's thoughts was not secret to William, nor to anyone else for that matter. John's eyes were drawn towards a particular girl at all times that she was present, as if it were that by not watching her she might vanish eternally from his sight. He burned her beauty into the very depths of his memory. All had noticed this, except, perhaps, this fair angel whom his thoughts revolved around.
         Finally, satisfied with his conclusion of his friend's distraction, William offhandedly said to John, "You know my cousin is getting married next week, would you like to come to the wedding?"
         John simply made a small grunt deep in his chest, as he had been doing all day.
         William, amused by the answer, and his own wit, said, with the same offhand tone, "Just as well. Elizabeth will be there, and the fewer men there are, the more likely she'll be to dance with me."
         John's head suddenly shot up, and breathlessly asked, "What? Where? What are you talking about? Elizabeth? ur, uhm, I mean..."
         At this William laughed a deep, throaty chuckle, fit to shake the trees. "I thought that would get your attention!", he exclaimed. "You've been fawning over that girl all morning."
         John scowled at his friend, and feeling his cheeks redden in sudden shame, turned away from William and said, sullenly, "I was not. I just have a lot on my mind."
         "Yeah, a lot of Elizabeth," William mocked, smiling.
         John seemed exceedingly peeved at William's mockery, and defiantly asked him, "Oh, yeah, Casanova, well what would you have me do? I can't get her out of my head."
         William stopped walking and pondered this a moment. Then, apparently making up his mind, he looked John straight in the eye and asked him, "Tell me, what is a woman's deadliest weapon?"
         John thought immediately of the ache in his chest whenever he would see Elizabeth, and said unhesitatingly, "Well, her beauty of course."
         At this William threw back his head and gave the same booming laugh as before. "My, you are a sorry one, aren't you?"
         John looked annoyed and replied hotly, "What's so funny about that?"
         William wiped his eyes, as though he had been crying, and says, "Beauty is not even a weapon in a woman's arsenal. It is only the cause for which men go to battle. Aye, for truly, the strongest weapon in a woman's arsenal is her tongue."
         John appeared exceptionally confused at this. "Her tongue?"
         "Aye, boy, her tongue, her words, her discourse. Never has a cannon shot so devastated a man as an unkind word from the mistress of his heart. And, quite truthfully, a woman with an untrained tongue who tries to protect your heart can do far more damage than a woman with a sharp, biting wit that tries to wound you. For when a woman intends to be kind but is instead exceedingly cruel, she cuts at the deepest parts of your heart and tears at the most basic thread of your emotions. Indeed, a woman who tries to leave your emotions intact can instead cause your very soul to unravel."
         John, slightly unsettled by this sudden outpouring of sentiment from his normally jocular friend, withdrew slightly from his companion. He asked, "How does that have anything to do with me?"
         "I'm telling you that if you wish to bandy words with Elizabeth, you need not only to train your tongue to take down her defences and oh so delicately touch her heart, you need also to train yourself to shield your heart from any careless blows on her part. You need to learn to take no careless words to heart, to steel your emotions against any onslaught she might make. That is what this has to do with you."
         "So, learn to manipulate her?"
         "No, not manipulate, to fence with her, love is a dance, and one misstep can send you reeling to the floor. So be careful how you present your words, leave no open holes for an attack, real or imagined."
         John thought about this for a moment, and then nodded his head. "I'll keep that in mind."
         William's face suddenly turned stone serious, without a trace of humor in it. "See that you do. I've seen what a woman can do to a man who is unprepared, and I don't want that happening to you."
         After giving this warning William suddenly turned and started back they way they had come. John, too stunned to move, merely followed him with his eyes, unsettled by his friends uncharacteristic earnestness. Finally recovering from his shock, he hurried to catch up with William as he walked down the forest trail.


         The past week was a fog to John, nothing stuck clearly in his memory other than his thoughts of Elizabeth. He was unable to tell what he had done just that morning, for he had not been paying attention to anything but finding a way to show Elizabeth how much he cared. As he readied himself for the wedding he frantically reviewed what he would say, and what he would do if she rejected him. To his dismay, everything that he had spent the last week preparing to tell her had flown away with the wind. A wave of nausea swept over him, and he sat down on his bed, looking at the mirror in front of him, and wondering how she could possibly accept him. He saw nothing but the flaws in his face, and reflected on nothing but the flaws in his character. He was sure now that no one could ever love him, much less an angelic creature like Elizabeth.
         Steeling himself against all the fear, nerves, and nausea which assailed him, he finished buttoning up his suit, and with a sense of finality and dread, exited his bedroom. He walked down the hall toward the front door, his heart both fluttering and stone dead. Such a mixture of nervous excitement and utter dread and terror can only be experienced in a few situations, and none more potently than in a young man prepared to face the young woman he loves.
         As he went out the front door he took a quick deep breath of the clear Kentucky air, attempting to calm his nerves. Yet even this tonic, smelling of freedom, sunshine, and good times, could do nothing for his condition, except to add a longing for times gone by, when the only thing you had to worry about was getting home in time to keep your parents from tanning your hide.
         He shrugged his shoulders and nervously fidgeted with his tie as he walked over to the family's Ford model T. He put the key in the ignition, and turned it. Thunk.
         "Oh, come on, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO!" he shouted as he continued to turn the ignition and hear the same disheartening thunk. The wedding was going to start in less than an hour, and his car had just failed him. He fell back into the seat, on the verge of tears. His thoughts turned back to Elizabeth, and suddenly rage filled him, at his own inability to impress her, his car impeding his progress, and even at William for even mentioning the wedding. Infuriated he flung the door open got out in front of the car and kicked it with all his might. As his foot slammed into the steel grill he cried in pain and bent over to grab his injured foot.
He cursed the machine with a ferocity never seen in the world before. Indeed, he took every oath available in his vocabulary, and strung them together in such a tirade as would make a sailor gaze open mouthed and visibly disquieted. He stomped up to the car and slapped the steel hood. To his amazement, the car gurgled to life. Screaming in excitement and triumph, he ran into it, and just as he sat in the seat, the engine fell back into silence. He fell into a stunned silence, and started to silently weep to himself. Suddenly resolved to make it to the wedding at any cost, he opened the door and immediately started to walk down the old dirt road.
Two hours later, the sun setting behind the ridges, he reached the wedding after the ceremony was over, and the dance was well under way. His eyes scanned the crowd, desperately seeking the object of his affections. Upon finding her, his heart leapt, only to stop dead a moment later. Elizabeth, sweet, beautiful Elizabeth, his Elizabeth, was in the arms of another. What was worse, it was someone he knew, someone he despised. His own angelic Elizabeth was in the arms of Syd Thompson, that bullying spawn of hell. And she was laughing, that tinkling, musical laugh, and smiling that smile that had so often melted his heart, but now inflamed it with rage and hatred. Suddenly Syd stopped dancing, looked Elizabeth in the eyes, bent down and....
It was too much. John couldn't watch. He turned back and ran home, tears streaming down his face and his whole soul within him being torn by that great beast called jealousy and his companions, hatred and despair. He made it halfway home before he collapsed. He sat there for almost an hour, sobbing openly and unable to breathe. When he finally composed himself enough to sit up, he began to let the rage build, and let the despair have free reign in him. And suddenly, he knew what he was going to do. With a sudden sense of purpose he picked himself up, dusted himself off and walked back home. When he finally reached it, he went up to his bedroom and opened the dresser door. Inside was the Colt Dragoon his grandfather had carried in the rebellion, alongside John Mosby. He loaded each chamber with trembling hands, leaving the one under the hammer free like his father had taught him. When he was finished he headed back out the door and walked to the end of the driveway. Here, apparently on second thought, he walked back to the car, turned the key, and smiled to himself to hear the engine roar to life. He put the car in reverse and drove off into the night.
Shortly before dawn, over the hills of Kentucky as the eastern sky turned slowly from black to purple, a shout was heard. This was followed by the creak of a door opening and a return shout. Then came four short, explosive retorts, each echoing off the surrounding hills. When these echoes had died, another, louder retort was heard. This was followed by one last pop, similar to the first four, and then silence. The spell of an angel was broken, and in the eastern sky, two more stars were lost in the purple of the new day.