a tiny vampire story ~~ anna hood
It was after midnight.
The girl sat quiet in the deluge, not fidgeting, not even brushing away the rain that dripped from the points of her hair onto the curve of her cheek then slid under the collar of her jacket. The wind blew the rain fiercely, sideways, upwards. In the yellow park light it clung to her hair like brilliant drops of sweat.
The Vampire stood, also motionless, under the overhang of the cupola watching her.
If someone were observing him they would see his eyes usually sharp and so grey they sometimes appeared colourless, soften. Even his arrogant nose, a nose like a royal would wear, seemed to lose its fearsome curve as he watched the girl. She was a beauty no doubt, with a face like a Botticelli angel, brows framing eyes dark as ripe olives. And slim with that lushness of youth.
Could she be the one, he wondered. Even after all this time, and as cynical as he’d become through the years, he still liked to think that there could be someone for him – a soul mate – someone he could go through eternity with. There’d been other relationships in his life, of course, but they had failed, miserably; it’s difficult to keep the glow through countless centuries.
They’d met in the park, right where she was sitting. There’d been a concert, Mozart – the Vampire had always loved Mozart – he’d been watching her then too. The orchestra played Pa-Pa-Pa-Pa Papagena; her eyes filled and spilled over; he’d leaned over and offered his handkerchief. She’d wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “The Magic Flute always makes me weep.” He’d fallen immediately in love; who could resist, especially with a girl who looked like her?
He’d taken her to a dark little coffee house across town. As she sipped her cappucino she said, “You’re a vampire aren’t you?” Very seldom was he at a loss for words but he was then – he was speechless. “It isn’t anything to be ashamed about,” she continued, perhaps taking his little gasp of astonishment for shame, “I’ve known a few vampires.” He thought this to be a lie, or at the very least a mistake; vampires are solitary, they’re too belligerent for one thing and spiteful and jealous for another. They very seldom associate with their own kind and never with mortals. “Tell me about them,” he’d said.
She did and in great detail and it seemed she had been acquainted with vampires. Some of the younger ones these days were propagating without rhyme or reason. They were lonely and thought they needed a companion.
He’d been truthful with her, telling her of the loneliness and the tedious boredom, of being the hunted and the hated. “You realize you’d never see another sunrise, never feel a babe at your breast, never know the joy of grandchildren and always, always, always, wondering if you are truly safe.”
“I don’t care,” she’d cried as she clung to him. “I don’t care about these things and who is ever safe anyway? I just want to be with you. I love you, you know that, don’t you?”
He did know it and this was why he hadn’t told her of the extraordinary things: how he could touch a musical note, how colours had texture, that when the first drops of warm blood pumped by a still living heart touched his lips the feeling was the same as an intense sexual climax. No, he hadn’t told her these things.
“What about how we live?” the Vampire continued. “I’ve seen you weep over a dead animal. How will you survive?”
“But we won’t eat animals, will we?” she’d said laughing.
So he stood hiding in the shadows of the park gazebo, watching her, listening as her blood coursed through her veins, listening to the thud of her heart.
As if she knew his thoughts, she called out into the darkness, “Jules, I know you’re out there.” He smiled as she called his name; as many times as he told her the correct pronunciation was Zhooles, she still called him Jewels. It was one of the things that charmed him. He knew in perhaps a hundred years or so he might find this annoying but then perhaps one evening they might wake up and she would have learned.
“Jewels,” she called again, "I love you. Let me face the fire with you.”
The Vampire went to her. He tasted her breath and knew that he loved her.
“Close your eyes and count slowly to one hundred.”
She pulled her hair back, lifted her throat and counted. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.
It was after midnight.
The girl sat quiet in the deluge, not fidgeting, not even brushing away the rain that dripped from the points of her hair onto the curve of her cheek then slid under the collar of her jacket. The wind blew the rain fiercely, sideways, upwards. In the yellow park light it clung to her hair like brilliant drops of sweat.
The Vampire stood, also motionless, under the overhang of the cupola watching her.
If someone were observing him they would see his eyes usually sharp and so grey they sometimes appeared colourless, soften. Even his arrogant nose, a nose like a royal would wear, seemed to lose its fearsome curve as he watched the girl. She was a beauty no doubt, with a face like a Botticelli angel, brows framing eyes dark as ripe olives. And slim with that lushness of youth.
Could she be the one, he wondered. Even after all this time, and as cynical as he’d become through the years, he still liked to think that there could be someone for him – a soul mate – someone he could go through eternity with. There’d been other relationships in his life, of course, but they had failed, miserably; it’s difficult to keep the glow through countless centuries.
They’d met in the park, right where she was sitting. There’d been a concert, Mozart – the Vampire had always loved Mozart – he’d been watching her then too. The orchestra played Pa-Pa-Pa-Pa Papagena; her eyes filled and spilled over; he’d leaned over and offered his handkerchief. She’d wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “The Magic Flute always makes me weep.” He’d fallen immediately in love; who could resist, especially with a girl who looked like her?
He’d taken her to a dark little coffee house across town. As she sipped her cappucino she said, “You’re a vampire aren’t you?” Very seldom was he at a loss for words but he was then – he was speechless. “It isn’t anything to be ashamed about,” she continued, perhaps taking his little gasp of astonishment for shame, “I’ve known a few vampires.” He thought this to be a lie, or at the very least a mistake; vampires are solitary, they’re too belligerent for one thing and spiteful and jealous for another. They very seldom associate with their own kind and never with mortals. “Tell me about them,” he’d said.
She did and in great detail and it seemed she had been acquainted with vampires. Some of the younger ones these days were propagating without rhyme or reason. They were lonely and thought they needed a companion.
He’d been truthful with her, telling her of the loneliness and the tedious boredom, of being the hunted and the hated. “You realize you’d never see another sunrise, never feel a babe at your breast, never know the joy of grandchildren and always, always, always, wondering if you are truly safe.”
“I don’t care,” she’d cried as she clung to him. “I don’t care about these things and who is ever safe anyway? I just want to be with you. I love you, you know that, don’t you?”
He did know it and this was why he hadn’t told her of the extraordinary things: how he could touch a musical note, how colours had texture, that when the first drops of warm blood pumped by a still living heart touched his lips the feeling was the same as an intense sexual climax. No, he hadn’t told her these things.
“What about how we live?” the Vampire continued. “I’ve seen you weep over a dead animal. How will you survive?”
“But we won’t eat animals, will we?” she’d said laughing.
So he stood hiding in the shadows of the park gazebo, watching her, listening as her blood coursed through her veins, listening to the thud of her heart.
As if she knew his thoughts, she called out into the darkness, “Jules, I know you’re out there.” He smiled as she called his name; as many times as he told her the correct pronunciation was Zhooles, she still called him Jewels. It was one of the things that charmed him. He knew in perhaps a hundred years or so he might find this annoying but then perhaps one evening they might wake up and she would have learned.
“Jewels,” she called again, "I love you. Let me face the fire with you.”
The Vampire went to her. He tasted her breath and knew that he loved her.
“Close your eyes and count slowly to one hundred.”
She pulled her hair back, lifted her throat and counted. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.
posted by anna at 8:43 AM
2 Comments:
where are you this little vampire story?
again Jason! many thanks
Vampyres can do unexpected things
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