Writing in Blood

Chapter One

     I don't know who or what made it, such a stunning piece of calligraphy finery, and I am now the lucky owner of it. The real copper, hand carved, nib stamped with a beautifully scrawled "B.S." stamped into the top. Let's not forget the perfectly carved bamboo handle that it was attached to, most likely also hand carved and sanded into the right shape. This fountain pen was truly a work of art, and how I managed to snag it for only $3.45 at a thrift store is beyond me. Maybe the last owner was near that slippery mental slope we call dementia, and accidentally donated it.
     It must have been some sort of mis-donation, because even the two antique ink wells, that sat snug in the red velvet lined case, were untouched, not even a drop missing. Who would waste such a glorious crimson colored ink is mind boggling, but I do suppose that not everybody is a teacher like myself. But seeing as I am indeed a professor and use plenty of red pens to grade, edit, critique, and leave feedback to my students. I have to remind myself that, not everybody has a "red pen tab" at the office supply store, not everybody has to deal with these "teacher problems." For a moment I was lost in the world of questions and day dreams of the past lives this pen has lived. It wasn't until I snapped back into reality by the old lady shoving past me to the check out counter.
     Clearly I was not paying attention to the clerk repeating "next customer, please."  That's okay, I'm really not in a rush anyway. Upon checking out and giving the meek, chestnut brown haired girl my $4, I almost felt bad that I made this frail looking girl raise her voice in a failed attempt at getting my attention. She blushed with embarrassment as I apologized for being lost in thought.
     "Oh.. it-it's okay. Here's your change sir."
I dropped the coins in a donation cup by the end of the counter, she said thank you and I took my new pen. Did I even intend on using it? Probably not. It was far too pretty and I'd never seen this shade of crimson ink in my life. It would be a shame to waste it grading papers that end up in my recycling bin at the end of the period. Perhaps I'll use it as a paper weight or desk ornament at work.
     If I can dig up some history or lore on this thing, maybe I can even use it to teach. Usually that's what I try to find at thrift and antique stores anyway. Cheap and effective teaching tools have always been a staple for teaching mythology, yet so hard to come by for under $100. But every so often, I will find a mint condition of a first edition mythological tales from the 1600's ($8.99 at an antique store by my school.) When I asked the old lady at the antique store if she knew anything about the book, to which she replied it was found as a decoration at an estate sale, I bought it without a second question.
     I must admit that I really do not feel bad about purchasing these treasures for myself. I don't intend on selling them for what they are actually worth, I simply have a love for history and slightly more money than I know what to do with. Sure, I could always inform these people that unknowingly sit on practical gold mines that they are selling $12,500 books for $9, or WWII pocket watches made of real precious metals for $3.50 because "they don't work". But who am I to appraise anything if it's not my job to do so? Nobody has ever asked me why I buy the strange trinkets and "odd smelling" old books, so clearly they do not see the value that I do in them.
     I think my interests are heavily influenced by my loving and wonderful grandfather, who was more like a dad to me than my own estranged father could ever be. He loved everything from times past, anything that could tell a story caught his eye. These stories he would then tell to me as a child, regardless of their exact truth or amount of evidence. I playfully blame him for my current career and hobby of mythology and mythological history, and he always smiles. Looking for items that speak to me and tell me the stories my grandfather would tell, is my way of keeping the knowledge spirit alive.
     I know that my personal drive for knowledge also benefits my students, as each year I've had students come to me asking for more references, complimenting my lesson plans, or generally enjoying my class. Not once have I had to deal with sleepers or late assignments, two most common complaints among co workers. I can't help that I get into my subject matter and the students follow suit. I think I'm just lucky I don't teach Scientific Calculus, or god(s) forbid Art History B. 
     That reminds me that I need to figure out the lesson plan for Monday. Right around October, I usually focus on the classic favorite, Hades and all kinds of Greek mythology about the obscure, macabre, and of course a good third of The Odyssey by Homer. My personal favorite because I can transition so effortlessly from a man eating cyclops and the retched sea monsters for Halloween and into the island where his men become pigs for November. The students love it, but every year I get stuck trying to figure out what to do for the rest of December after they return from winter break.   
     This year I think for October we are going to cover most, if not all, of The Odyssey then move to some some classic horror for Halloween. But what is better than The Odyssey? Dante's Inferno is the answer. What's better than studying the Nine circles of the Underworld for Halloween. Perhaps I will even be able to inspire a costume or two. If I am lucky enough, I might even be able to work this strange pen in somehow, since I can't bring myself to use it.