Rocket Collecting

October 11th 1994,

I was helping my grandmother in the attic today by cleaning out some of her dusted antiques. There wasnt anything of particular value there, just lots and lots of old, moth ridden sheets, cobwebs and boxes upon boxes of old files and family albums. I half expected the attic to smell very dak and full of mildew, but it seemed as though my grandmother must have been burning insense periodically, which I thought was rather strange. It was very fragrant.
I caught sight in the corner of the room a beautiful full mirror, with a rather unkempt sewing mannequin aside it. The mannequin particularly stood out in my mind because it had a masquerade mask with wild black feathers on it.
The cleanup took all afternoon until the sun began to set around 6pm. The room in that instant had a very sorrowful tone to it, changing from gold to shades of lavendar and orange. Im sure grandma felt it too while she lit some candles in the distance.
Clearly shown through the attick window was a light that reflected upon a shiny object in the far reaches of the room. When I approached the shadowy corner, It appeared to be on an old draftsmans table, made of solid wood. The good kind they had back in the day. I came upon a few senseless papers, nothing important. Old accounting reciepts, old figures scribbled onto paper. Many piled up, dusty boxes with nothing in them....but the glinting surface appeared to be a small hand mirror. It was a very finely crafted mirror, very ornate. I asked my grandmother if I could keep it, and she smiled back at me in approval. But it wasnt the mirror as much as what was behind it that caught my attention.

There was a small book that I dusted off to get a better look. The dust was caked on it thick, like it hadnt been touched since it was placed up there decades before.
Before me was this cover, the book entitled :

"Rocket Collecting"
The authors name was Milla J.

I thought it was particularily interesting that the titles name was boldy set as a womans pen name. Usually back when I'm assuming the book was created, many female novelists would abbreviate thier name in order to be accepted into a predominately male industry.
I had never seen nor heard about this book before. It was safe to assume that I was correct in that aspect--The book was never published more than 200 copies, said an old note next to the flyleaf. Slowly, I began to open the book, many enticements flooding through my mind.
What kind of a book is this? The cover was very sad...there was something about her mystery that drew me to her. I felt like I was her, somehow. She was beautiful. I wish I could cure what ailed her...
Clearly shown on the front page was this excerpt in a very fancy calligraphy:

"Rocket collecting dust,
hidden from all memory,
bathed in outrage and rust,
waiting for you and me,
to own it,
watch you as you douse the ceiling,
light up all the evil dreams,
till they ignite screaming into the night,
and we run away clean...

I wish i was half electronic,
the last shreds of skin are in the sweet sunlight,
and i've turned into this smiling, snarling monster,
as i watch the walls descend,
as i watch the walls descend like stars...

half submersed,
i reach your island at night,
washed up tangled on these stones,
a gorgeous wreck crashing,
to lay here for the next 600 years,
the storm will play out there for miles on every side
so tell me who's got the dominoes...
but you'll have to leave your lightning outside...


the weeds reach the top of the trees..."


I looked back at my grandmother and instantly I was drawn back. She turned back at me and weakly smiled. Thats when I realized it...



The woman in the picture was her.


___
Song lyrics from the Underworld Soundtrack.
Written by Milla Jovovich (The Fifth Element, Resident Evil series)
Art by (me) Dustin Lara. 2007.

Ive been strangely addicted to the occult and the vintage lately. Youll see what I mean next submission...