The underworld is my temple; it is my sensual, tactile engagement
with all that is above and below, without and within; the sanctuary of
my impassioned meeting with the depths of my lover’s embraces.
I understand the complexities of wild cravings, the decisions made
from passionate abandon. I am no one’s victim or concubine.
I am sovereign, clear, the one who chose to eat those pomegranate
seeds. Do not underestimate the fierce power of a maiden’s desires.
I wished to become queen of the underworld, the vessel between the
realms, ascending the stairway between light and dark, the only place
I am unaccompanied. I own the depths of my existence—
can you say the same for yourself?
”Dear Mr. Vernon, we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. What we did *was* wrong. But we think you’re crazy to make an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us… In the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is a brain…..and an athlete…and a basket case…a princess…and a criminal…Does that answer your question?… Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club.”
Then I am pushing through the crowd, just as I did before. Trying to shout her name above the roar. I’m almost there, almost to the barricade, when I think she hears me. Because for just a moment, she catches sight of me, her lips form my name. And that’s when the rest of the parachutes go off.
You can run but you’ll never escape, Will we ever see the end?