This is a story I've had rolling around in the back of my mind for a while. I feel like I need to say this, and I'm sorry. HE'S NOT A GODDAMN VAMPIRE. Okay, enjoy.
Disgusting.
Everywhere I
look, these disgusting beings surround me. I am quickly becoming
claustrophobic, choking on the very air I breathe. These humans are rapidly killing their own
planet, their own home. How could any
parasitic race such as this be so very unkind to its own host?
Yes, I was alive
once, but that was a very, very long time ago. When I was alive, it meant
something entirely different to be able to call yourself “human”. It was an
honor, and accompanying that honor was the knowledge that we were simple,
humble beings.
Humans
today? Disgusting.
“You’re
scowling again.” Annie’s voice, a sweet chirp coming from behind me.
Of course. She
always knew where to find me on bleak days like these. Annie and I met on a day
with weather just like this. The weather outside resembled something out of a
morose poem, written in the dark without the use of a proper understanding of
the English language. It was, however, typical weather for the city of New
York. Annie was young, she still is in a sense, and alone. She is also human.
I have been
dead, if death could ever be this restless, since the early 1800’s. By the time
I met Annie, I had barely begun to control my anger. Lying in the gutter of the
streets of New York City, Annie looked beyond death. Annie had eyes sunken into
her head not unlike those of a skull, disgusting clothes wrapped around her
thin, brittle frame, and lips that looked as if they had not known a smile in
years. This pathetic, beautiful, creature could not have been more than five
years old at the time.
“Why are you
scowling?” Annie’s voice brings me back to the present, to the bleak weather
and the fire I am scowling in front of.
“I am
scowling because of the weather. This weather always brings ugly memories back
to me.” I try to answer casually, not letting any hint of emotion escape my
lips.
“Why are the memories ugly?” Annie
tilts her head slightly, the curiosity of a child lighting her eyes up like the
full moon on a clear night. “The memories I have of weather like this are
always good!”
A smile threatens at the edge of my
mouth. She always has this effect on me. “The memories themselves may be ugly,
but the outcome of what happened in them isn’t necessarily ugly.”
“Oh. Okay then!” With a sudden Jump,
Annie has set off towards the door. “What would you like to eat tonight? I feel
like cooking up a big feast!” So much enthusiasm, so much care for a girl as
young as she is, sixteen. Even with all the food she is constantly preparing
for me, she knows I will never eat it.
The thought of food brings back
another unpleasant memory. A very long time ago, my parents had arranged for me
to marry the young daughter of a wealthy family. I was only seventeen, the ripe
age for someone to marry in that day. The woman was not at all unattractive.
She carried herself elegantly, even spoke properly. On the day that we were
arranged to meet for the first time, her family prepared a feast for the
occasion. The air amid the plantation seemed to breathe of its own accord,
inhaling and exhaling as human lungs might. The weather, in all its mischief, was
sunny and pleasant. For the time, the scenery was extravagant. As the memories
come flooding back to me, I can taste the ash in my mouth, smell the sulfur hanging
in the air.
One of the cooks had fallen asleep in
front of the fire. Within ten minutes of leaving the fire unattended, the cook
had been incinerated, and the fire quickly spread towards the tent in which the
guests were mingling idly. I smelled the burning flesh before I became aware of
the fire itself, but what a magnificent sight it was. When I had seen the fire,
I was just leaving the large house in which I lived with my parents. The tents
were set up a few yards away from the house, allowing room to socialize.
I can
clearly remember people running, crazed and screaming, in every direction. The
sky was black with the rising smoke and soon even the screaming of children and
adults alike were drowned out by the majestic roar of the fire.
“I really
wish you wouldn’t scowl so much, Luke!” Again, Annie’s sweet voice drags me
back to the present, away from the roar of the fire and the smell of burning
flesh. By the time I regain myself, I notice that I am now sitting at the table
we share, with a large plate of what looks like macaroni and cheese in front of
me. I try to hide the flicker of disgust on my face, for Annie’s sake. It is
not the food that brings the taste of bile to my mouth, but the smell of the
fire still lingering in my nostrils.
“Of course,
Annie. How could I be so unkind as to show any hint of unrest in front of a
wholesome meal such as this, that you have so expertly prepared?” I smile my
best smile, but even Annie will notice the utter lack of joy behind it.
Annie is alive and growing quickly,
getting smarter every day. After that meeting on the streets of New York when
she was younger, and I still unsure of how to care for someone so frail, she
became very weak. I am not sure what it was that made me scoop her small,
pathetic body into my arms and hold her so carefully - perhaps it was the fact
that I knew she must be alone in this world, just as I was, and this world is
no place for a human to be alone.
I took her to the first hospital in
the area. When I told them I would pay cash, they looked at me as if I were the
patient needing to be admitted. When she was finally taken in, I learned that
she was merely severely malnourished, and very dehydrated. The doctor pushed an
I.V. into her arm, and without any warning the screaming began.
Never have I
heard something so small make such a piercing, loud sound. The doctor and I
both stared in utter shock at this small girl screaming as if she were a
banshee. The small girl was quickly sedated and treated properly, but I still
remember those screams to this day. The screams were so full of pain and
torture, the kind of sound that resonates in your heart, rather than your ears,
until the day you die.
It is, however, only Annie that can ever
make me show any hint of emotion at all. Her beautiful, sweet, voice brings me
contentment, a far cry from the emotions any other living person has been able
to usher forth. The way her eyes look when she asks a question she knows the
answer to, the way she walks, carefully,
as if she were trying to avoid stepping on any ants, and her laugh.
Annie’s laugh will always remain with me.
The time for us to separate is coming more and
more quickly every day. Surely, Annie will notice the fact that I never age.
She will notice that though I never eat, I remain seemingly healthy. She will
notice just how different I am from
everyone else, if she hasn’t already. In all honesty, I should have found a
home for her years ago. I have the determination of a God, but even I cannot
simply say, “Goodbye,” to my dear, sweet, Annie.
