Soul Seers Complete Set (6 page)

A blanket of stars reflected in her amethyst eyes, like
sparkling crystals among a rippling body of water at sunset. I’ve never
experienced a woman more stunning than the beauty that haunted my dreams.

Amethyst. What an odd color for a
woman’s eyes. Odd… yet absolutely breathtaking. I couldn’t get her stare out of
my mind. They were the most captivating eyes I had ever seen… or dreamed about.
I didn’t actually see them, although my dreams had every feeling of reality.

Each emotion, image, and sensation
of my dreams over the past six years had been nothing short of lifelike. Every
morning, I woke up feeling torn with such a mixture of sensations… hope, love,
sorrow, loss. But the amethyst eyes of my nightly obsessions kept me in a
constant stupor throughout my high school and college years, and continued to
entrance me during my days and nights.

Not only did she haunt my dreams,
but also my every waking moment was captivated by the memory of her gaze. She
was in everything I did. Everything I created had a piece of her. Whether
blatantly obvious or humbly subtle, she was the foundation of all my thoughts,
decisions, and creations. Her beauty was my constant. And even though I didn’t
know her name, I was determined that one day I would find her. I had to.

At first I thought I was pathetic.
Thriving on the possibility of finding the love of someone I only dreamed about
seemed juvenile and weak. Yet, I had grown to realize my determination to seek
out the one thing I desperately wanted and needed in my life made me stronger
than any man who just settled for normalcy. I was now strong enough to know I
didn’t want to be another sheep in the masses of conformity.

I wanted her. I wanted to know she
was real. And keeping that goal active in my mind proved to be more challenging
than anything else I ever had to face in this trial we call life.

At the age of twenty-four, I was
hurdling through art school, completing my final and most brutal semester of
the prestigious sculpture program at the university. I was a favorite amongst
the professors and most of my classmates, yet I had never felt so conflicted.
My sketchbooks, all full of beautiful amethyst eyes, were like keys to my
essence… as if the purple irises could see right through me. I was certain she
could dig deep into my soul.

Even though I was still studying,
I managed to land several locally commissioned jobs throughout the years and
began making a name for myself. For the past several months, I’ve been working
on a commissioned job for the nature museum. It took all the strength I had to
deviate away from the color purple. It’s as if nothing seemed complete without
it. The color had unintentionally become my signature throughout the years.

So, with my plans in hand and the
sculptures ready to glaze, I began to brainstorm over how I could somehow
incorporate amethysts into my pieces without making it blatantly obvious and
still adhering to the specifications of the museum director. I needed to use
amethyst to mark my work somehow, but it had to be subtle.

Closing my eyes to think, I saw
her staring at me, expectantly. As if she was waiting for me to come up with a
plan to somehow incorporate her into my work.

Totally whipped. Whipped by a
woman I didn’t even know. Forget that. I knew her. I may not have known her
name, but I was not ashamed to say that I knew the woman who had consumed my
every thought for the past six years.

I had an idea. Even though this
idea was likely going to drain every cent I would make on the job, it would
also bring me the unique reputation I was working hard to build and desperately
needed as a new artist.

And not just for my reputation,
but to represent the color that hazed my vision. Amethyst.

The entire sculpture was made up
of dozens of frogs, some large, some small, which would then be arranged in
various groupings across the wall adjacent to the museum entrance. It would
start off with a large grouping, then the frogs would spread further apart as
they scattered away from each other. The wall would become their playground. I
could just imagine dozens of tree frogs slapping their weight against the heavy
structure as they hopped along their haphazardly planned path.

The museum director wanted the
frogs to look almost bronze in color… as if they were old, tarnished, and
antique. Even though my specialty was clay, I seriously considered making
bronze bas-relief sculptures. My instincts told me to stick with clay and I’m
glad I did. Turns out the museum director picked me specifically because of my
clay sculptures and experience.

I knew by her thoughts that she
was fairly lenient with how I would arrange them throughout the wall, but I
wondered what she would think about every frog having a pair of amethyst eyes.
The eyes would be small and hardly noticeable unless you looked closely. Or,
unless the sun happens to shine directly upon them, which, in my opinion, would
make the entire wall look absolutely stunning.

An entire wall full of glittering
amethyst eyes. Just the thought was enough to make me jizz in my pants. I was
that far gone over her.

Luckily, my dad has been very
supportive of my line of study. He had seen the outcome of my art and the
demand already put upon me by local businesses wanting to commission my work.
He felt the need for me to have my own studio and I quickly realized how many
other students needed the freedom away from school to work on their art as
well. Not long after, we started a community ceramics art studio, at which I
spend most of my time.

I named the studio Lavendine,
although I found out quickly that not many people know the meaning behind the
word. All the better. As much as my art screamed differently, I honestly
desired anonymity in my life. No one needed to know why I was fascinated with
the color purple. No one needed to know my secrets.

Only the people who were close to
me, or had seen my sketchbooks, would know of my addiction.

She was my addiction. Like a drug
habit I didn’t want to shake.

Walking into my apartment after a
twelve-hour stint at Lavendine Studios, I looked forward to crashing in my bed
and never emerging again.

Glazing eight-dozen frogs with a
tarnished-bronze coloring was methodical and rather tedious. I had to burnish
and rub at each one just right in order to get the look I desired. I had been
working tirelessly on the unique glazing application for several days now, but
today was the longest I’d spent in one sitting so far. My neck and shoulders
ached after being hunched over the workbench all day.

Sluggishly dragging my ass into
the door, I dropped my bag on the coffee table and immediately headed for the
kitchen. Damn, I was starved.

I received a few text messages
from my father today, asking me if I had eaten and telling me to call my mom. I
did neither.

“Dude, you’re finally home. I was
wondering when the zombie would come out of you. Did you finish?”

I turned my head listlessly and
looked at my roommate through my foggy vision. Jay was a good roommate and a
cool friend, too. Not only was he in most of my classes with me at school, but
he also worked for me at Lavendine, helping keep an eye on the place and
helping members while I wasn’t there.

“Ahh, yeah. They’re all in the
kiln. Although, I’ll be lucky if I remember anything by tomorrow, I’m so
fucking tired,” I said as I turned back around and headed for the fridge. “It
would be great if you could peek in on the kiln in the morning. Make sure it
shuts off and all. The cone sitter has been acting wonky lately and I’m worried
it may not shut off automatically when the cone melts.”

“You sure it’s the sitter and not
the cones?” Jay asked, making me realize I was more tired than I thought.

“Shit, you know what—you’re
right. That is a new box of cones. We should check and make sure it’s properly
bent once the firing is complete. I’ll keep documentation over the next few
firings so we can see what’s up.”

Opening up my fridge and praying I
had some sort of edible food, I noticed a small plate with a sandwich, wrapped
in clear saran wrap. A handwritten note stabbed with a toothpick said:
I figured you would be hungry and I know
you’re not taking care of yourself. Don’t make me come over and treat you like
a child. I love you. Mom.
The toothpick was embellished with a purple star
at the top.

Her note and thoughtfulness made me
smile. I quickly grabbed my phone and, noticing it was now eleven at night,
decided to text instead of call her.

“Yeah, your mom stopped by about
two hours ago with dinner for both of us. Makes me wish I grew up in your
house,” Jay said as he lightly clapped me on the shoulder and ambled over to
the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

“Well, I guess I should thank you
for saving me some,” I said with a light chuckle. It was all I could manage
with how tired I was.

Jay laughed loudly and said,
“Shit. Don’t thank me, thank your mom. She threatened that she would never
bring me food again if I ate your sandwich. So, you better let her know I was a
good boy.”
I totally would have eaten it
if she didn’t threaten me with food deprivation.

I definitely know from experience
he would have eaten my food had my mom not scolded him. I nodded at his
request, while shoving a heap of yumminess in my mouth, as Jay said his
goodnights and headed to his room.

After shoving my face and sending
my wonderful mother a thank you text, I received a text in return, but it was
from my father instead.

I would like to talk with you, but I know you are probably tired.
Please set aside some time tomorrow to meet with your old man.

I responded with a quick,
yes
sir,
and headed off to take a well-deserved shower.

Looking in the mirror, I saw a
dreadful excuse for a man. My eyes were sunken in and bloodshot. My chin was
covered in scruff. I definitely needed a haircut.

Then I imagined her standing next
to me, gazing at me in the mirror. I really needed to get my act together. What
would she think of a scruffy, hollow of a man like myself? She probably
wouldn’t give me a second glance with my appearance being so desolate.

As I waited for the water to warm,
I thought about how sexy she would look with her silky skin covered in suds as
they trailed slowly down the curves of her perfect body—tiny little
bubbles popping as they skimmed around every sleek curve and crevice. That line
of thinking was going to get me off rather quickly. My languid muscles were
saying I was too tired for any sort of physical exertion, but my lustful mind
was arguing that I needed the release.

Steam rose from the heated shower
and I sighed in sheer bliss as I positioned myself directly under the spray.
The hot water cascading down my body definitely made me feel more alive, if
that’s even possible.

Every time I closed my eyes under
the surging water, I saw her face. Her eyes were more vivid at this moment than
ever before. Maybe it was my exhaustion. Maybe it was my lust-filled
imagination. Whatever the reason, I didn’t want to open my eyes ever again and
run the risk of losing sight of her beauty.

Touching myself while thinking of
her touching me, I knew I wouldn’t last long. Within mere minutes, my visions
of her had me climaxing.

Once sated, my body began to lull
to the side and I caught myself on the cold tile wall. Falling asleep while
standing in the shower was not a good idea. Startled by the sudden jerk of my
head bobbing, I quickly finished up.

After I was clean and my belly was
full, I let lethargy take over me. Lying face down in my pillow, I quickly
created a rather large pool of drool as I lightly snored myself to sleep.

She was breathtakingly beautiful, which never surprised me
but still had me gasping for air. Golden blond curls sprang around her face as
she smiled, while riding a sleek, brown horse through a thicket of trees. The
muscles of the horse tensed and flexed beneath her as she maneuvered the animal
with affluence, causing its brown coat to shimmer in the moonlight. She guided
the horse along the path with power and ease. Her splendor knows no bounds.
What I wouldn’t give to be the one to put that smile on her face.

As much as I tried not to be the typical hungry male, I
couldn’t help but notice her large, perfect breasts beneath the tank top she
wore as they lightly sprang with the rhythm of her riding. Her heart-shaped
backside in her tight jeans glided effortlessly against the saddle, bouncing in
sync with the horse’s gait. Her taut legs hugged around the belly of the
beautiful creature, controlling each and every move and holding on as if the
horse was her life raft.

Wispy, amber waves danced behind her as the wind caught the
locks. With grace and precision, she commanded the horse to stop, allowing the
creature a moment to prance around before finally coming to a halt and settling
into a powerful stance. When she turned her head to look at me, several curls
wrapped around her face, causing her to flip her head back before looking in my
direction again.

My vision quickly zoomed in to view her striking amethyst
eyes. The shimmering purple irises delved into my soul, learning every secret,
knowing every thought. Her eyes smiled and beckoned me to follow as she turned
and urged the horse to trot forward again. I didn’t have a choice. Nor did I
hesitate as I trailed behind her, unexpectedly on a horse of my own. I would
follow her anywhere.

Suddenly, we were in front of a lake, glistening in the
light of the moon. The way her silhouetted figure contrasted with the bright,
shimmering reflection caused me to stop and take a deep breath. Even in the
darkness, she was breathtaking.

Although she slowed the horse to a walk, she didn’t stop.
She kept riding beyond the banks of the lake and further into the water. I
watched her slow some more, thinking she would soon turn around. Instead, she
unhurriedly, steadily, walked deeper into the lake, never turning back for me
or to see if I would follow.

Within moments, her head sank under the low, lapping waves and
her golden curls disappeared in the black water, like she had never existed.
Not even a ripple disturbed the consistent crests of the water. The only light
was the moon reflecting off the shimmering caps.

Desperate to see her again and frantic to save her from the
cold, dark depths, I leapt off my horse and ran into the icy water after my
heart. My love. My life.

Shock radiated through my bones
and I was suddenly pulled back to reality. I woke up drenched in sweat, yet
cold and shivering like my skin was covered with ice. My arms flung the sheets
from my naked body as my teeth chattered in rhythm with my heart’s every beat.

I sat up and dangled my feet over
the side of my bed, burying my face in my hands and attempting to calm myself.

A tear threatened to slip down my
cheek and I immediately wiped it away, completely denying the fact that a dream
caused me to lose control of my emotions. The fact was, though, she did this to
me on a nightly basis. I was totally fucked up over a girl that didn’t even exist.
Hell. I was in hell.

I sprang from bed and yanked my
sweat-drenched sheets onto the floor in frustration over being so goddamn
sensitive. The clock read four in the morning and unfortunately, there was no
way I could get back to sleep now.

Turning on the lamps in the far
corner of my room, I made my way to my easel and quickly turned my large
drawing pad to a new page while simultaneously grabbing a piece of charcoal.
Vigorously, and still without a stitch of clothing on, I scratched the charcoal
all over the blank sheet until I could see her again.

My hand worked feverishly over the
surface of the paper. Charcoal dug into the tooth of the Bristol, smudging only
when I deliberately pressed the side of my hand and fingers against its
surface. Little specks of coal rained down on the easel’s lip and onto the
floor, turning my already soiled white drop cloth even more of a dingy gray
color.

My hands were soon covered in
black charcoal and smudges covered my face and arms as I occasionally wiped the
sweat from my brow.

Once I felt she was nearly
complete, I thumbed for a deep purple pastel and made the finishing touch.

“There,” I whispered as I wiped my
hands together on a nearby rag.

Never taking my eyes off my new
masterpiece, I backed slowly toward my bed and curled up on my pillow,
continuing to stare at her magnificence and not caring that I now soiled my
sheets with the coal that still lingered on my hands.

The horse was a truly majestic
creature, but ever more resplendent was the rider. Even my rendition of her
attractiveness took my breath away, although it didn’t do her beauty justice. I
continued to lie there, staring at her loveliness, until it was time to get up
for class.

Classes were of the norm the next
day. I enjoyed going to school. So, overall, my day was fairly agreeable.

A girl in my advanced pottery
class seemed to be enthralled with the new, commissioned job I had going, but
unfortunately, I couldn’t tell whether she was attracted to the “reputation” I
would gain from such a project, or if she was truly interested in me. Although,
it really didn’t matter. She had no chance.

Her thoughts were a muffled state
of disordered confusion, causing a headache to form in the base of my skull as
she babbled on both verbally and mentally. I was thankful when our teacher told
us we could spend the rest of the class working on our projects… which meant I
could get the hell out of dodge.

Just as I was planning my escape,
Miss. Blabber stopped me by grabbing my hand and asking if she could write her
number on my palm. Totally against anyone marking me, I attempted politeness
and handed her one of the Lavendine Studios business cards, which had my name
and number displayed professionally on the front, stealthily avoiding the
intrusion of ink on my skin.

“Thanks! I’ll call you later
today,” she chirped as she turned and bounced away excitedly toward one of her
girlfriends.

I rolled my eyes. Throughout all
that, I didn’t even get her name—probably because I didn’t really care
to.
I guess I will be screening my calls
today.

The glaze firing I started last
night had already shut off that morning, but would take several more hours
before it was cool enough to vent. So, I camped out at Lavendine in order to
keep an eye on things and crack the kiln lid when necessary.

I spent my idle time searching the
Internet for decent prices on small amethyst gems. They wouldn’t do her eyes
justice, but they would still be a great addition to the museum’s wall. Finding
some that were a perfect size and a decent price, I didn’t hesitate as I placed
the order and even paid extra to have it overnighted to my apartment.

Pressing the order button, I felt
accomplished. Well, at least one thing got accomplished today.

Just as I got off the phone with
the museum director about our upcoming meeting, my dad came walking into the
studio with his mind wide open for me to read, which was odd for him to do.
However, there were several other members in Lavendine that day and I imagine
he was here for a reason other than to shoot-the-shit with me… He was here to
talk about something important, I was sure.

I know you are busy, but I really need to talk to you
, he projected. The problem was that this would end up
being a completely one-sided conversation if I couldn’t talk back to him out
loud. My dad was very talented, but he was not able to read minds like I was.

“I’m just hanging out here to
watch the kiln, which should be ready to vent within the next hour or two.
You’re more than welcome to keep me company,” I said in an attempt to let him
know I wasn’t purposefully trying to blow him off. “I’d actually like to tell
you about my current project and an idea I have that I want to run by the
museum board.”

“I would like that,” he said out
loud as he pulled a stool up to my desk and sat across from me—a smile of
pride spread across his face. Then it dawned on me… my father had never been
here to watch me work. He came for the opening over a year ago and that was the
last time he had stepped foot in this place. I knew he was proud of me, which caused
me to wonder what his reason was for keeping his distance.

I gently closed my laptop and
began rambling. “Well, you heard my plans for the sculpture… with all the
frogs, right?” He nodded, so I continued. “They are in the kiln now. Should be
cooled enough by late tonight,” I said as I gestured over my shoulder toward
the firing room with my thumb.

I continued, telling him about the
amethyst eyes and how I hoped the museum board of directors would approve it.
The museum had a huge, octagon-shaped skylight at the very top of their foyer’s
vaulted ceilings. The way the light would hit them through the windows in the
vaulted ceiling would be breathtaking, for sure.

“Sounds magnificent, son,” he said
with honesty as he continued in his thoughts.
I actually wanted to talk to you about the very same subject.
Once
he ended his thoughts, he placed my most recently filled small, tattered
sketchbook onto the desktop, propping his fingers atop the cover as an emphasis
towards its contents.