Before you read this, NO I am NOT emo,
or suicidal, or anything like that.
I just like Vampires and grotesque
things like that ;]
THE POEMS HAVE BEEN REMOVED,
MY MOM AND I AGREED THAT THEY
WOULD MORE THAN LIKELY BE STOLEN
OR SOMETHING, SO I DECIDED TO TAKE
THEM OUT.
[short story part1]
"The smell, the taste. Warm and sweet to my senses, engulfing me whole. Although my newer, more acute senses have made this so- I still seem to taste it as I have before. In other words, as a mortal would. Sour. Bitter. Unpleasant in every which way. This is the taste I was used to, not what I tasted now, what I longed for more of. The sweet sensation that was blood.
I dropped the man I had been clutching to, drinking from. As he hit the ground in one swift motion, his head bent at an awkward angle, exposing the fresh wound in his neck perfectly. I felt fulfilled. No. As I looked down at my hands, they were drenched in blood. I cried out, was I really guilty of murder? I knew I shouldn't think this way, only making things worse.
I had done it. I had killed him. And for what objective? The warm, elusive sensation of his blood flowing through me. The blood that only moments ago, ran through his veins. But no longer. Blood had always forced me to succumb, out of fear. The scent, the taste. The blood. Red as wine, dousing the white of my blouse, I began to sway. I felt nauseous. The dark blue of the sky overhead spinning. Turning and turning. Was I going to fall?
I was so unsure of everything around me. The blood, still there.The man's limp, soon to be rotting body still at my feet. The wound still exposed. The urge for more took over me, but how can I? How could I? I regained what little composure I had in me, I ran. From that smell. The sight. The man's blood.
The glazed look of his lifeless eyes still haunting me- I ran. Faster and faster, can I run faster?
I felt I should. But I stopped. What should I be so afraid of? Blood just as that engulfing my hands ran through my very veins, the essence of my life. What was there to run from? Why . . .
I heard and eerie round of applause from behind me. I turned, and it was him, Gabriel. He's still here, still following me! How did he find me again and why did he doe this to me? I glared at him, resentful, cold. Words couldn't express my hate for the. . . thing in front of me. A laugh emitted from him, he was wallowing in my misery!
I knew now that he could read my very thoughts, so I kept a careful mind on shutting him out. "Isn't this what you've always wanted, what you've always dreamed of?" He startled me when he said this. "You know damn well this is nothing like what I wanted! I wanted freedom and you've bound me, Gabriel."
I practically spat his name, the venom in it. The hate I had for it. He's no angel, only Lucifer in disguise, dressed in human skin. "My dear, dear Anthea, you belong to me now," My eyes widened, and my voice rose in rage, "I belong to no one,"
"But alas, my dear," He cut me off, "Only I can teach you the things you need to know in order to survive. Things you can only learn form me," He circled me, eyeing me like he did only days before in the back office of the Museum. As he spoke, I felt blood from my kill, now cold, dripping down my chin. I tried to think not of it - he had my full attention.
And to think I'd fallen for someone such as himself. To think he'd fooled me all this time! Seems the Devil wears Prada afterall. . ."
[short stort part2]
"Me.
I am myself. I do have a name, Anthea Oleander. However I'd rather not use it. I'd better not catch you using it. Names are of no importance to me anymore. What I am, that is what you must know. That is now of the utmost importance. . .
The Devil's Child. What I am called and what I am. I who live and feed off the lives others. Drinking their lives away one by one... One mortal at a time. For 50 years I have continued on with this pattern. For 50 years I have killed. Nightly, sometimes one sometimes four. But each night I made my chose, and at least one unfortunate mortal would fall.
And to think I was once afraid of blood. . .
To anyone, 50 years may seem a very long time. Especially to a mortal. But then again, I have all the time in the world! Centuries upon centuries I shall live. Possibly even more. I shall live until the drive to drink and the ever-changing world surrounding me push me to the edge. Until it drives us insane.
Us. Vampires. The Devil's Children. . .
How I came to be. Ah, I was once a mortal. At the tender age of 23, I was a free woman. Was. I was in the late 19th century, France was all so beautiful then. But, as I was rebellious, I wanted something new. Something different. I wished to grow and branch out to something unexpected, to get away. Some where exciting.
The New World, America. Although it wasn't as "New" as it may seem, as it had been around for quite some 200 years. But to me, it was a land of new adventure, new journies! Wonderus and exciting, I was ready to give up my life and family in France to begin a new chapter in my life. The new World. . .
My mother, oh how I knew her well, thought completely opposite of me. "You will not, can not go to America. I don't care about how you want new things, there are pleanty of exciting things in France," but oh, how little she knew. Being a kept woman all of her life, my mother knew no freedom.
I wouldn't live like that, I decided. I will not stay in one place my entire lifetime, short as it seems, I wanted to travel the world on my own. No one could hold me back. I was going. And that was final.
Late on my final night in Paris, I snuck into my mother's bedroom, and as quietly as I could, I found her jewelry chest and grabbed as many handfulls as I could possibly hold, stuffing my pockets to the brim. It should be enough to get me there, and may be enough to support me there aswell.
As I took my luggage and was headed to the door, I felt someone watching me. I turned and saw my father, his eyes distant, though he was looking straight at me. He approached me and embraced me, something I had never done before, and although it was awkward, I enjoyed the foreign feel of it, his arms. And although I never knew my father well, at that moment I could tell he regretted not knowing me closer.
Before I walked out the door, he slipped a note into my hand. It had all of his bank information on it! "Keep it safe, I'll always support you whenever you need me to. I hope it will make up for all my neglection.." He smiled warily, obviously not wanting me to go, but knowing I had to. "I love you," I told him, gave him a parting kiss on his cheek, and headed out with no regrets.
I boarded the ship to America, and it was very cramped. More people with my beliefs, the want for new things I suppose. The men on the ship all seemed drawn and attracted to me, but in them I had no interest. All of them either heavy drinkers or the kind who gambled deep into the night. If I were to ever marry, they would not be the type I would look for.
I was to arrive in New York, a city of lights, of new beginnings, and of entertainment gallore. It took many a day to arrive there, and from far away on the deck of the ship, I saw it. Far across the horizon, there laid the lights and sounds of New York City. How small it seemed from so far off, and for the hour it would take us to land there, it seemed to grow larger, more exuberant, more exciting!
I stepped onto the dock, and oh! The city was much larger than left to mind, lights gleaming in the night all around. I wanted to taste the food of every cafe, visit every theater, meet all the people!
Although I knew I could wait, I needed to look for some way to make a living. Although in those days, women working was looked down upon, I may be able to find a job somewhere. A woman needs a steady income to stay alive, my mother's jewelry and full access to my father's bank account won't last forever.
I wandered the streets, looking at all the people and their mixed style of dress, their different colored skin, their accents. The resturaunts that served food from anywhere in the world, the ballets and plays, everything just drawing me to them, and I wanting to learn more!
I virtually gave up on finding a job this night, and as I was going to begin searching for a place to settle, I saw it. Brooklyn Museum. A Museum of the Arts. I walked in and was in awe. So many different pieces of art, so many styles, statues, paintings, vases, I couldn't believe the beauty in it all.
Heiroglyphs from ancient Egypt, paintings from modern France, even early Japanese arts. From all over the world, all different styles. Different textures, and a different unique attribute to each piece.
I must to get a job here. I didn't care if they declined me, I would insist! It wasn't as if I cared what they would accept. I went to the main desk, where a man sat organizing and filing paperwork. I tried to seem as polite as possible as I said, "Would you happen to have any jobs on the market at the moment? I would be very interested in working here." The man looked at me. He must have thought I was mad by the expression he gave me. Either way, he told me to see the owner of the museum, and pointed to a little door on his right.
I headed back, and upon entering the door, I saw nothing but a barren hallway leading towards a larger door. The hallway was quite narrow, which was a little unpleasant. The heavily-patterned wallpaper adorning the walls making it seem even more petite. I walked down and opened the door on the opposite end. As it creaked open, I saw a large man.
He looked at me with piercing yellow eyes, standing out and glowing against his porcilean skin. His black hair making him seem paler, more inhuman He invited me in, and I sat down in front of his desk. He looked me over, my blonde hair falling graciously down my back, my piercing violet eyes and dominationg features. Surely he found be striking, but a master at masking his emotions, it seemed.
"I would love to have a job here," I told him, almost pleading, hoping he would accept me, "I have no previous experience, but the art is fascinating to me. I want to be around it more, to study it."He looked at me still, it seemed as if he could see right through me, and his eyebrows arched as he said, "I think I'll be able to use you. I'll try to find you a place here."
I couldn't contain my excitement, I shook his hand and thanked him, telling him how he wouldn't regret this. I thought I would faint onto the floor from talking so rapidly. I suggested we sit down and talk about what I could do well, but I realized. . .
I still needed tiem to find somewhere to take refuge for the night, and I didn't want to be rude by walking out so soon on him. As if he read my mind, he offered me to room with him for the night. I gleamed, it would be wonderful. We could talk about so many things.
Seeing as to how I would be staying with him, he told me that we had no reason to stay here. It was late, nearly midnight, and as we turned to leave, as he was behind me to follow me out the door.
It was then that I saw it.
A large spot on the cream carpetry, red. Wine red. It was blood. It seemed fresh, and as if someone had attempted to clean it, but failed. Now, you must know that in my mortal years, I had what is known as "Hemophobia", or fear of blood. I was deathly afraid of it. The moment I saw it upon the floor before me, I became weary.
I stopped for a moment, though it seemed longer. How. . ? Where had it come from, what had he done? I looked up at him, he smiled generously and touched my shoulder lightly. He silently urged me to move on. I turned, forcing myself to keep my eyes from wandering towards the floor.
I didn't want to offend the owner, he had offered me a job and a place to reside already.
I walked down that narrow hallway feeling dizzy, afraid. Nothing accidental could have caused a stain that large. I tried to push it to the back of my mind, but it always crept foreward. . . I told myself of all the positive things, anything but murder, that could have possibly caused it. Maybe he cut himself on mistake?
We began to talk as we strolled down the block to his apartment. He told me of the arts that he contained in the museum, and how, together, we could study it all. Of how he came only some months ago to purchase the Meuseum, and restore it and all of its valuables. And another thing he told me. Although I didn't ask for it. His name.
Gabriel Maundrell.
The name of an angel, and although I had not known it, he was quite the opposite. . ."
Comment and tell me your comments, criticism, and what you'd like to see me write about :'D
[ Everything I write about it Vampires for the time being, it's the only thing that inspires me to write.
At all.
So if you have a suggestion for something else I could possibly try writing, don't forget to add that in your comment :] ]