Topic: Revolution

Cassandra

Date: 2012-06-15 17:35 EST
Revolution: 1-A sudden, complete or marked change in something; 2-a procedure or course, as if in a circuit, back to a starting point

Escape is such a thankful Word
I often in the Night
Consider it unto myself
No spectacle in sight

Escape -- it is the Basket
In which the Heart is caught
When down some awful Battlement
The rest of Life is dropt --

'Tis not to sight the savior --
It is to be the saved --
And that is why I lay my Head
Upon this trusty word ?
-Emily Dickinson


The last assignment had more or less gone as planned. It had been a long undercover but meticulously planned and thought out and there had been only a minor hitch, which was resolved easily and overall, it had been a success. She?d taken the assignment to get some space from Alain and their failed relationship, and to get away from herself as best she could. But not only did Cassie not feel better after the time away, she felt worse. Cassie should have felt satisfied, victorious even. But she had felt off when she got home. Restless. Like her skin was stretched too tight over bone and muscle. Sleep became a memory and her house, her home, began to feel like a prison. She felt trapped even when she went out. Everywhere she looked there were reminders of what she had lost, what she didn?t have, her failures. There?d been too much death. Too much loss of all sorts and she had no one she felt she could talk to, not anymore. So she left. Shut the house up, closed the book store. Left the barest instructions for a cleaning company to keep the house in adequate working condition. She?d taken an overnight bag with more weapons than clothing, and Lizzie. She hadn?t been able to bear leaving the border collie behind, even though it would be more inconvenient to take her. She wasn?t coming back.

Cassandra

Date: 2012-06-15 18:13 EST
Sonnet 50
How heavy do I journey on the way,
When what I seek, my weary travel's end,
Doth teach that case and that repose to say,
"Thus far the miles are measured from thy friend!"
The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,
Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,
As if by some instinct the wretch did know
His rider loved not speed being made from thee.
The bloody spur cannot provoke him on
That sometimes anger thrusts into his hide,
Which heavily he answers with a groan,
More sharp to me than spurring to his side;
For that same groan doth put this in my mind:
My grief lies onward and my joy behind.
-William Shakespeare


She ended up in London. After a bit of wandering, Cassie had finally gone back to her maternal roots. With her hair a strawberry blond color, she could pass for human. Very few people even considered that there might be any other possibility, so it wasn?t difficult. She made no contact with her family; they would have only rebuffed any contact anyway. Better to acknowledge what she had known for a while: she had no family. Instead she found a dingy, too small flat that allowed her to let without references, as long as she paid cash, and an under-the-table job cleaning, both of which allowed her to use an assumed name. She worked hard, trying to exhaust herself. And when her long hours of work were over, she ran. All over the city, usually until late into the night, until finally she might sleep when she went home to collapse with Lizzie on the cheap, faded pull out couch. Then she?d get up and start it all over again.