of the gods. I know the effects will burn off within seconds, but enjoying something that has no benefit brings a smile to my face. I balance the cup and casually stroll to the window over the kitchen sink, soaking in the haunting backdrop of snarled trees wrestling with a mild wind.
I miss the sunlit mornings with their vivid colors and dawdling warmth that pierced windows. Yet, the night has always been my favorite child. The days brought innocence and fresh beauty, but the nights were lascivious, unknown, and wild. Nearly a month of training, of feeding, of acclimating to this new life—and in spite of all its demands, I still feel sedated by the greeting nightfall. I take a mental journey through the last several weeks, as they have been blurred with a hectic pace. Although I have accepted my role as newly knighted predator, the feedings continue to bring emotional discomfort. I could deal with a small gulp or two, perhaps even draining one a night, but sacrificing two humans a night for my hunger seems inordinate. It’s a twisted metaphor; as I drain the life out of others, they drain the life out of me. The mixed feelings versus primal urges duke it out in a battle royal. I wonder if they have a vampire counselor hotline.
Locked in a dream-like stare, I command my eyes to refocus on the steamed window. My mind settles on reality; it’s time for practice. I look into the mug at the one last sip, knowing it’ll be the cold shadow of the satisfaction it once was, so I fling the remnants into the sink, place the cup in the dishwasher, and once again leave Mrs. Comfort for Mr. Out of Control.
The front door has developed an annoying little creak that announces my entrance to the outdoors. This evening, instead of the usual grumpy Weapons Master, I’m greeted by about thirty vampires. The numbers have gradually increased since the initial battle a month or so ago, and with everyone cramming in bedrooms with inadequate sleeping conditions, tensions are elevated, to say the least. Most of the anger is directed my way due to Cassius’s insistence that I remain alone in my quarters because “He is processing the Resurrectio and must be allowed privacy to be effective in the coming war!” No one buys it, of course, but he doesn’t seem to care as long as they obey. Most were suspicious to begin with, but now that he has planted seeds of doubt, they believe me to be a spy, a genetic mutation, or an inferior, undeveloped vamp. I think he has an impressive strategy: Isolate and ostracize to ensure no one speaks to me, which in turn places him in the unique position of having my fullest attention. Perhaps he thinks that there will be some variation of kidnapper-victim psychology where I develop deep feelings and loyalty to him. All of this is making me very suspicious.
It is that moment he chooses for an entrance. His long hair is pulled back in a ponytail, not the modern version, but one from centuries ago with the ribbon tied low on the neck. Just give him a white wig, powdered face, and some piano lessons to complete the costume. I think I’m the only one who appreciates the situation, as the others seem suffocated with his heavy presence. Cassius leisurely, but with intention, makes his way to the center of activity as a wave of vampires part the sea for their beloved Moses. As usual, I’m on the outside looking in. He says, “The waers are testing our boundaries and our commitment. They have infiltrated the hunting grounds, killed Jeffrey and Brian, and molested our prey. They are animals with no conscience or value in this world. We must stand united with discipline!” I hear the approving murmurs of excitement. He continues, “I am meeting with the Council of War and we are near a battle plan that will finally rid the world of their filthy kind. Be strong and resilient; our time is near.”
It was short and sweet, but those around embraced his words with rabid shouts. “Now go. Be cautious, and if you happen
I miss the sunlit mornings with their vivid colors and dawdling warmth that pierced windows. Yet, the night has always been my favorite child. The days brought innocence and fresh beauty, but the nights were lascivious, unknown, and wild. Nearly a month of training, of feeding, of acclimating to this new life—and in spite of all its demands, I still feel sedated by the greeting nightfall. I take a mental journey through the last several weeks, as they have been blurred with a hectic pace. Although I have accepted my role as newly knighted predator, the feedings continue to bring emotional discomfort. I could deal with a small gulp or two, perhaps even draining one a night, but sacrificing two humans a night for my hunger seems inordinate. It’s a twisted metaphor; as I drain the life out of others, they drain the life out of me. The mixed feelings versus primal urges duke it out in a battle royal. I wonder if they have a vampire counselor hotline.
Locked in a dream-like stare, I command my eyes to refocus on the steamed window. My mind settles on reality; it’s time for practice. I look into the mug at the one last sip, knowing it’ll be the cold shadow of the satisfaction it once was, so I fling the remnants into the sink, place the cup in the dishwasher, and once again leave Mrs. Comfort for Mr. Out of Control.
The front door has developed an annoying little creak that announces my entrance to the outdoors. This evening, instead of the usual grumpy Weapons Master, I’m greeted by about thirty vampires. The numbers have gradually increased since the initial battle a month or so ago, and with everyone cramming in bedrooms with inadequate sleeping conditions, tensions are elevated, to say the least. Most of the anger is directed my way due to Cassius’s insistence that I remain alone in my quarters because “He is processing the Resurrectio and must be allowed privacy to be effective in the coming war!” No one buys it, of course, but he doesn’t seem to care as long as they obey. Most were suspicious to begin with, but now that he has planted seeds of doubt, they believe me to be a spy, a genetic mutation, or an inferior, undeveloped vamp. I think he has an impressive strategy: Isolate and ostracize to ensure no one speaks to me, which in turn places him in the unique position of having my fullest attention. Perhaps he thinks that there will be some variation of kidnapper-victim psychology where I develop deep feelings and loyalty to him. All of this is making me very suspicious.
It is that moment he chooses for an entrance. His long hair is pulled back in a ponytail, not the modern version, but one from centuries ago with the ribbon tied low on the neck. Just give him a white wig, powdered face, and some piano lessons to complete the costume. I think I’m the only one who appreciates the situation, as the others seem suffocated with his heavy presence. Cassius leisurely, but with intention, makes his way to the center of activity as a wave of vampires part the sea for their beloved Moses. As usual, I’m on the outside looking in. He says, “The waers are testing our boundaries and our commitment. They have infiltrated the hunting grounds, killed Jeffrey and Brian, and molested our prey. They are animals with no conscience or value in this world. We must stand united with discipline!” I hear the approving murmurs of excitement. He continues, “I am meeting with the Council of War and we are near a battle plan that will finally rid the world of their filthy kind. Be strong and resilient; our time is near.”
It was short and sweet, but those around embraced his words with rabid shouts. “Now go. Be cautious, and if you happen
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