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A commonplace book—-?  With it titled like that he definitely wasn’t sure of what it was;  however,  from the context of that the little one wrote in it gave him an idea.  Jason’s inquisitive about the possible words on each of those pages,  but alas..  He doesn’t know how to completely read. As a child,  Jason was doing his best on learning his ABC’s,  but his hydrocephalus caused him to learn at a much slower pace than the average child.  Pronouncing and focusing proved to be severely difficult due to the way his mouth was shaped,  affecting his tongue and teeth placement.  As far as focusing,  after a while of looking over the basic’s he either ended up falling asleep or getting to dizzy that he just toppled over onto the floor.      The killer wasn’t a book-smart man,  but when it came to survival he knew how to handle himself just fine.  He knew the camp,  the surrounding woods,  and neighboring locations  BETTER  than the back of his hand.  Adventure is what he strives for ever since he left his house for summer camp,  but he didn’t know the harsh toll he had to pay to have the ability to do so.  Even now, Jason couldn’t wander off  TOO  far.  Mother needs him…  She may not be  ALIVE , but she needs him.  She told him so.

Lowering his pitchfork some,  Jason took an easy step forward.  Though he couldn’t read,  he was interested if there was pictures within the journal…  It’s been a long time since a new  “book”  has been brought to the camp.

         from the minuscule hole in the man’s burlap sack, it is almost impossible to determine  the color of the male’s eyes, but what quig can see—      is a glint ... a light so easy to spot, that whether the man’s eyes be brown or green,    quigley would know that he was curious.   and so, as the pitchfork lowers,   the young quagmire smiles, though small, and offers his book forward.           ❛ would you like to see ... ? ❜ 

quigley quagmire is a boy of thirteen, with hair dark as night,  and eyes brown like the fur of a bear.  but it is his smile, that is his most defining feature—  even as small as it is now, aimed at the mysterious figure.    for it is bright, and he shares the exact same expression with two other souls.  his brother, and his sister.  they were the same, three bodies with one heart,  or one body with three hearts.   quigley was never alone, not like he suspects the figure before him is ...   and he feels something behind his heart twinge at the thought of someone being promised to such ... such desolation.

maybe that is why he offers his book with such little hesitation,  despite the clear danger the mysterious stranger poses.  because being alone ... ?      quigley would have to say,    is a fate worse than death.  

                    ‘ you left me pieces of a map !! it took me forever to piece it all together – it took me so long i wrote a couplet about it ! ‘ isadora cried, waving her notebook at him with wide eyes and a smirk etched onto her lips. amused, euphoric, these could be words used to describe the quagmire girl at the moment, and in the near future of the triplets she will hold onto this moment as if it were something precious; and it is, the memories she holds of her dear brother are closest to her heart.

     with his purple journal tucked safely into his coat pocket, the boy’s grin doubles—    a laugh lifting from the back of his tongue, to the rose stained swell of his lips.           ah, the quagmire’s had their own talents indeed, but together they were a jack of all traits; a mess of poetry, journalism, and maps.  he had no doubt isadora would solve his little puzzle—    she, duncan and their parents       , being the only ones left to indulge quigley a game meant for small children.  though he made it far more confusing than nessacary, with scraps of paper left behind scattered across their home.  a child attempting to find quigley, would certainly grow frustrated and tear to pieces, the map he had created.