NARRATIVE of WARD COURIER
February, 2011
RUSKIN, NY
It was a late winter weeknight and I was restless enough to go walking solo in Ruskin village and drop in again on the pub we all called "The Tom." It was eleven. It was nearly two months after I had last seen Lys, and I was still shaken by the sight of her in her wounded condition. I did not think I would see her that night, and I didn't want to. My journal and I took a seat at the bar.
I was thinking about Lys, though, aghast as to what had become of this beautiful woman and shocked that I had been so affected by her. I meant to visit with my journal a good long time, at least until I had some answers to the situation or had expiated the questions through self-dialogue. It was as if I had lost faith in my own understanding - again.