December 15th, 2013 (Day 1)

The plane is landing, approaching the runway, nearly hidden from sight in the vast rainforests surrounding me and to my right, just outside of this thin aircraft window, is a vast expanse of unventured land, crawling with excitement, so much that it makes me a good bit jittery just to image the endless possibilities. I close my eyes now to whisper a sweet prayer to my dead, old mother…rotting, still in her fresh grave, not over two years you know…it was she who found me my splendid job that has landed me here, I started off a professor in the local college in my hometown, a comfortable bit of an establishment in Old Cambridge. Preaching my courses of science, tectonic plate movement and the sorts to unruly career hopefuls, then sweet mummy intervened in the near research center, Caminare, owned by the famous Ronley Caminare, a successful French researcher. Perhaps on the basis of her elderly charm and jeering on of the worries of an old mother, for her helpless son, I was called in for an interview, of course, well educated in my field of study; World Geographics, I easily gained position of Assistant Field Director on this here excavation. Honestly, I am quite excited to see where this travel will take me, I was always one for adventure...Perhaps, I will uncover the unknown? Well…for now dear prospector. I bid you farewell.

December 16th, 2013 (Day 2)

A house, in the midst of all of this density, jungle, far as the eye can see…these were my thoughts exactly, alas they have made it possible...We were transported yesterday after touching down at the research headquarters on this little region. In this house an elderly woman, a pale little sight, apparently known as Mabb, prepared our accommodations beforehand. I was at first taken aback, by the size of the little shack, hidden in overbrush, but now unpacked and well rested, I have come to certain terms with it…This shack, it consists of a singular kitchen and what could almost be described as three bedrooms side by side making up what room is left in the house. Mabb took it upon herself to occupy the main room of the three, leaving us, researchers, no less than ten, to make like sardines and nearly step on eachother whilst making our way to and from the headquarters, with all honesty, Mabb’s shack is beginning to resemble a sort of beehive...

December 18th, 2013 (Day 3)

There isn’t much to do on this little island, outside of working hours… in this dirty shack on this God Forsaken plot of land, hidden in the old Kellers junction, behind God’s back, with its horrid mosquitos, dense heats and sudden vile rainfalls, it’s almost as if the planets have aligned, specifically to cause me the utmost discomfort…if it weren’t for the sake of the Caminare research department flying us out here on some wild Third World Excavation, I would have never seen myself here.

Dr. Erander Pryce

December 17th, 2013 (Day 3)

Finally, I am out in the open, exploring as my true nature calls me to do. Today we are in the Mountains of Mason. I am unsure of the origin of the name but I am quite sure only a true mason of direction, a master of the island, our, so-to-speak tour guide, Miss Esadine Walker could lead us through. We met her only this morning and yet she refers us as brothers and sisters, family through the ancestors, she speaks the queerest of phrases…the pretty doll. Barely noon and already the sun has left its horrid shade on our white skins and insects of great variety have feasted on our utmost parts. The research team is tired…a great many complaints circulate around our rest stop. Ever diligently the young Miss Esadine walked us through vast jungle terrain from the west clearing of the Mountains, so far our exact location is unknown to me. It seems this beautiful woman, youthful as she is (barely thirty I’d say by her looks) knows her every way around these parts, from what I have overheard, she was born and raised on this God forsaken plot of an island, though I am unsure if which part…born and raised, yet her skin shows it not, pale and pretty, nearly flawless, save a slight tan, a light glaze over her delicate arms. Hair long, falls behind her back, as I watch it now... black as darkest night...and I find that even in this hopeless mountain side, we are led by an angel…of yore.

Dr. Erander Pryce

December 18th, 2013

Yesterday’s excursion proved rewardless, we found in the Mountains of Mason no more than an abandon cabin and what seemed an old church. All traces of life long washed away in the centuries monsoons. Miss Esadine promised to arrange a tour of the village of her birth, in order to make up for the empty hunt, the researchers tingled with excitement at the idea, as the very thought alone was enough to lift my spirits as well. Today I am stationed at headquarters, awaiting Miss Esadine, she was successful in the arrangement and shall drop by, soon enough to provide me the details of our visit. Admittedly, I am a bit more excited, to see her just once more than finalize plans of any sort outside of a lunch date, but, prospector…I’ll take what I can get.

Dr. Erander Pryce

December 20th, 2013 (Day 5)

Her lips, my eyes lingered, resting on them every so often, as a moth would an elegant light…finally, I had mustered the courage and tropical breeze required to ask her to a lunch meet, just the two of us. So, there we sat at a local Cabana stand, seated on two singular straw chairs. Between her fingers she twirled the wooden straw in her drink, her eyes played at the scenery every so often, then they played at mine, pausing the very words in my mind, occasionally racing my heart, she described the scenery, the weather, the locals on this small bit of paradise. For the most part, as long as I nodded, from time to time and offered a humble, short answer, she continued on, her voice, being carried on the wind, drifting past my ears, so easily caressing my heart, though quite meaningless, they were genuine, her subtle attempts at keeping me entertained. The small talk went on for a few hours, into the late hours of the evening. Then she stood, speaking of a small home she had to attend to and a single child…what type of child, why would a woman of such flawless magnitude, weigh her beautiful soul with the weight of being a mother?

Dr. Erander Pryce

December 21st, 2013

It is 1:25am, the moon still shines, waning on this little island…and I recall him. Creatures of monstrous kinds, sound their cries in the night, it is all too unnerving, but far more unnerving than this wild atmosphere is the realization that my monster, too is on the prowl. He stands, tall, erotic, wishful…but what for? My lingering eyes can’t help running over my fellow researchers, guilty I must say, never before did Amy Anne’s back portions look so tantalizing…or Kellen’s arms so dainty as she rests. Jeffery Goddard, a plump old something rests beside me, his shallow snores echoing their lullaby throughout the room. My mind, he keeps returning me to yesterday’s meeting, Miss Esadine, victorious over her recent successes in the visitation arrangements, met me at headquarters, and along with her, a dazzling little creature, that surpassed any beauty this island could carry, by far…it was her beauty, times a thousand and some more, it was shy and wavering, unsure in all of its actions, but never regretting a smile, it smiled at me, this creature of angelic sorts and stained my mind, never again shall it think of anything outside of that smile. It’s hair the pitchest of black and it’s skin the purest of whites, it’s eyes, as blue as the ocean that guided us here, and the skies that held us, so diligently for long hours…this is the being that has called my night’s distresses…that has awoken my long, stagnant monster…And Miss Esadine introduced this angel with the pride of a trophy winner, “Professor…this is my son, Elian” The young man, holds beauty that surpasses that of his mother…eyes blue as the endless seas that followed us here, hair pitch as the lampless nights that encompass the dense underbrush, skin silk as the very spindling of the skilled species of Arcanian arthropods, his features alone stop human breath in its tracks, call forth the hidden horrors of a man’s mind…unsheathes the wicked bit of lust encased in overworked, underpaid, hardened hearts, such as those on our excavation grounds, so much it makes one fear for his wellbeing…fear what man is capable of thinking…feeling…I myself can hardly open my mind to the thoughts prying, forcing their way into my emotions, stirring a deathly poison where dedication to my work should be…and still, all at once it is a perfect feeling…

Dr. Erander Pryce

December 20th, 2013

The visit to Miss Esadine’s village will be tomorrow, the researchers are bustling about, excited children before a field trip, gathering equiptments and such, knick knacks to hand out to the natives. It is as if they are entranced by this game of Pocahontas, Jamestown, The New World, they, each their own little Columbus, shine their compasses and lace their boots. Me…I visited headquarters in the early hours of the morning, after I found I could not lull myself to sleep. In the back rooms, out of the sights of the workers, there is a splendid storage of forgotten treasures, unused journals, canteens, paint brushes…pencils, all of the things we modernists take for granted and pile in the back of our closets. I gathered a great deal of souvenirs for the splendid Elian, a few knitted bracelets and such for the lovely Miss Esadine, and packed them neatly in a knapsack to present, when we are all alone. With these prepared, I was ready, while all else took hours upon hours of preparation. Now, I sit outside, behind the old shack, jotting in this journal…awaiting tomorrow…and soon enough…tomorrow will come.

December 21, 2013

Forgive my writing this late, my entire day has been nothing but beautiful, beside me young Elian is overlooking the Kayava Bay, a hidden little beach, a few miles off from Miss Esadine’s village. Miss Esadine mentioned his wanting to go there ever since he was younger, and I being the youth hungry professor that I am, clawed at the chance to take him there. Of course she agreed, and he being himself, smiled his golden smile and slipped into the front seat of my open back Jeep, beside me, then off we went. Now, time finds us here, settled on the sand, his oceanic eyes reviewing the wonders of the world, mine stealing glances here and there, far too humble to stare, far too sly to show him that he has…already, captivated my soul. He has told me of this island where he was born, of the strange an elegant creatures, so much like himself, that grace the forests on this land. Young Elian, about nineteen years of age, so optimistic, so shy…a few words here and there, leaving the talking to his elders, I ramble on about work and such…still, I wonder when to reveal to him the gifts that I have brought, rewards, for his beauty…all in good time. I have spindled him into a personal excursion, just the three of us, his precious mother included, to the farthest sides of the island. Time will tell what will become of me, of him…of his mother. Alas this story can never end well, for it seems this excursion, is the tale of my unrequited love.