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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2021-04-10 20:35:04 -07:00
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writing/sawtooth/limerent-object/prequel.md
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@ -6,9 +6,9 @@ The story of Dee leaving seminary
## Outline
* [ ] Act 1
* [ ] ...
* [ ] Dee studying, head overfull
* [ ] Prayer
* [ ] ...
* [ ] A late night walk and conversation with God
* [ ] Decides to leave
* [ ] Act 2
* [ ] Meets with advisor (Rev Dr Borenson)
@ -21,3 +21,19 @@ The story of Dee leaving seminary
* [ ] With the same numbness, applies for MPsych
## Story
Dee cupped his fingers over the bridge of his muzzle and pulled down gently while pushing his snout up. The isometric stretch served to highlight every bit of tension within his neck, and as he held the pressure, he closed his eyes, counting the knotted muscles. Pressed, pushed, and held until he could feel the lactic acid burn deep in the tissue, and then released. With his targets thus marked, he ducked his muzzle down and slid his paws back, fingers kneading along sore muscles.
Not for the first time, the coyote wished that he could simply disappear within the written word. Wished that he could relinquish the very idea of physical sensation and surround himself in successive layers of scripture, commentaries, notes. Wished, most of all, that he could wrap himself in the warmth of his faith.
If, at the end of time, faith and hope are to fade, there would be a final sense of completion, but until now, his faith was a comfort.
Dee shook his head to try to clear the clinging rumination, closing the book of Pauline commentaries and the notebook that he'd been attacking with a highlighter and pen. "Too much Corinthians," he mumbled, then laughed to himself.
Standing from his rickety chair, he stretched toward the ceiling, claws brushing up against the off-white-towards-gray paint momentarily before he leaned to the side to stretch.
If there were any one place that Dee belonged, it was here. Here in one of the study rooms in the seminary library. There were books here. There was the quiet contemplation of knowledge, the surety of faith, and the heady scent of aging paper.
*And,* he mused. *Far fewer people.*
He had five minutes until the library closed, which, he figured, was enough time for him to return the book and start the walk back to the dormitory without needing to endure any encounters with the pages sweeping the stacks for lingering students.