Well. Its certainly been a while. Last year I stopped posting, and if you have some sense of judgment, you would realise it was because of Rosalie. And in the interest of being straight to the point; she came back. About a week ago, I walked in the front door, and she was standing right in front of me. I was speechless, she was crying, then it was a blur of hugs and comforting.
Unfortunately, she was too late to stop any of the changes that followed her departure. Helen and Jack split. Jack still lives with us, but Helen moved out. She visited when she heard Rosalie returned, but her and Jack are still on a 'hello-goodbye' basis.
Peter became increasingly violent until we were forced to throw him out, not that anyone really liked him anyway. No-one knows whats become of him.
I withdrew, and now no longer interact with any of my human friends. Lisa is with someone else, and Joe has been hanging around other friends.
And now that Rosalie has returned, we are free to move again. I've been convincing the family not to move the location of The Den in case Rosalie planned on returning. Now the problem is finding a good place within the range of the city of Sydney, as I am now attending University under the alias of an Australian citizen. Kind of a long story to how that one turned out. In a few years I'll be a mechanical engineer, and I plan to work in that post for a few decades.
What? A few decades? Yeah, you read right, but I will explain how the biggest change will make it possible.
In her time away, Rosalie met a Vampire with an incredibly useful skill. Having used to work for an intelligence agency in Europe, and faking his death, he has incredible experience with disguises. L will be 'aging' me, as I live out the life of a missing person, until I stop disguising myself, when I will be pronounced a missing person once again.
That about sums up the major changes in the past year. Maybe I'll build momentum and continue posting. I enjoyed doing this, considering there was never anyone else to talk to. But finally, everything seems to be going right.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Stranded
Visiting my old home. Every year I do it. I go back out of respect not to the land that I spoke of in and older post (Rarity, August 19), but to her. Ive spent the last few weeks out here, hours from my new home. The land hasn't changed much. It has been subdivided in to 3 separate titles, but when viewing the land from my hill, the fences are barely noticeable. I now stand over the grave...
Most mammals have parents that care for them, raising them, teaching them, in the hope that they may one day look after themselves. Most. Some lack such a lifestyle. I didn't stand a chance from the age of 5. Before then, I had a mother. As opposed to Arthur, she showed she cared. She would always be there after my nightmares, watching me return to sleep. If I was picked on by the kids at school, she would comfort me, wiping the salty tears from my blue eyes. When I stubbed my toe, or shut my hand in the door, I would crawl into her embrace, and she would stroke my long blonde hair and hum to me. Beautiful compositions from an age long gone vibrated from her chest. Bach - Sarabande, my favorite.
Climbing into the car after school, I could here mum pleading with Arthur to put out his newly lit cigarette. As the car left the school, the aroma of cigarette smoke floated into the back seat. I began humming the Sarabande to myself, attempting to block out my surroundings. Then came the crescendo of crunching metal, accompanied by the ominous screeching of tyres. A chorus of screams erupted, inside the car, and out. Soft moans from the drivers seat created a drone. The harsh melody of chaos was new to me. As the slamming of the car halted, the distinct smell of petrol joined the cigarette smoke. Another smell hung in the air, sour, unfamiliar. My neck ached from whiplash, and as I moved my left arm, a throbbing pain responded. I struggled to complain with winded lungs. I clutched it to my chest, undid my seat belt, and crawled into the front of the car. I collapsed in the arms of my mother. This time, she didn't stroke me, or hum to me. Her arms were cold, her face ashen, though she could have been sleeping... With horror, I realised the unknown smell was that of death. Before I had time to react, large arms wrapped around my body, and tore me from her. I screamed for her, reached out towards her, but I was unable to break away from the strong grasp. Arthur clambered out next, hesitantly, pausing over mums body. His foot splashed in the puddle of petrol that was under the car. Seemingly accidental, his cigarette fell from his hand and ignited the petrol.
I began screaming, crying, fighting the grip that held me from my mother, and the inferno that instantly began to consume the car. The heat from the fire began to sear my flesh, as i reached out for her. Metres felt like miles... Why did she have to burn?
She had to. Arthur was always too rational. He put the body of his wife before his lifestyle. Our lifestyle. They will never know what she was, as it is meant to be. To this day, deceased vampires have been presented with a premature cremation. It is one of the reasons we travel in groups; someone must burn the body. Arthurs comforting words: "If you ever even think about telling anyone who we are, I'll rip out your throat."
Since that daything have changed. With my mood, my hair has darkened to a dirty brown. My eyes have hardened, the innocent blue now murky green. I have not called him by his parental title in over a decade for his treason. I call him by his first name. He has developed a strong hate for humans, blaming them for his wifes need to burn, to prevent another witch hunt. I began to hold Rosalie the way her mother held me, until recent events.
Now every year, on the 15th of November, I visit the hill at my old home. Ashes of her charred body buried at the foot of the cubic stone atop the hill. I engrave a mark every year to count how long I have been stranded. 12 years, and counting.
Most mammals have parents that care for them, raising them, teaching them, in the hope that they may one day look after themselves. Most. Some lack such a lifestyle. I didn't stand a chance from the age of 5. Before then, I had a mother. As opposed to Arthur, she showed she cared. She would always be there after my nightmares, watching me return to sleep. If I was picked on by the kids at school, she would comfort me, wiping the salty tears from my blue eyes. When I stubbed my toe, or shut my hand in the door, I would crawl into her embrace, and she would stroke my long blonde hair and hum to me. Beautiful compositions from an age long gone vibrated from her chest. Bach - Sarabande, my favorite.
Climbing into the car after school, I could here mum pleading with Arthur to put out his newly lit cigarette. As the car left the school, the aroma of cigarette smoke floated into the back seat. I began humming the Sarabande to myself, attempting to block out my surroundings. Then came the crescendo of crunching metal, accompanied by the ominous screeching of tyres. A chorus of screams erupted, inside the car, and out. Soft moans from the drivers seat created a drone. The harsh melody of chaos was new to me. As the slamming of the car halted, the distinct smell of petrol joined the cigarette smoke. Another smell hung in the air, sour, unfamiliar. My neck ached from whiplash, and as I moved my left arm, a throbbing pain responded. I struggled to complain with winded lungs. I clutched it to my chest, undid my seat belt, and crawled into the front of the car. I collapsed in the arms of my mother. This time, she didn't stroke me, or hum to me. Her arms were cold, her face ashen, though she could have been sleeping... With horror, I realised the unknown smell was that of death. Before I had time to react, large arms wrapped around my body, and tore me from her. I screamed for her, reached out towards her, but I was unable to break away from the strong grasp. Arthur clambered out next, hesitantly, pausing over mums body. His foot splashed in the puddle of petrol that was under the car. Seemingly accidental, his cigarette fell from his hand and ignited the petrol.
I began screaming, crying, fighting the grip that held me from my mother, and the inferno that instantly began to consume the car. The heat from the fire began to sear my flesh, as i reached out for her. Metres felt like miles... Why did she have to burn?
She had to. Arthur was always too rational. He put the body of his wife before his lifestyle. Our lifestyle. They will never know what she was, as it is meant to be. To this day, deceased vampires have been presented with a premature cremation. It is one of the reasons we travel in groups; someone must burn the body. Arthurs comforting words: "If you ever even think about telling anyone who we are, I'll rip out your throat."
Since that daything have changed. With my mood, my hair has darkened to a dirty brown. My eyes have hardened, the innocent blue now murky green. I have not called him by his parental title in over a decade for his treason. I call him by his first name. He has developed a strong hate for humans, blaming them for his wifes need to burn, to prevent another witch hunt. I began to hold Rosalie the way her mother held me, until recent events.
Now every year, on the 15th of November, I visit the hill at my old home. Ashes of her charred body buried at the foot of the cubic stone atop the hill. I engrave a mark every year to count how long I have been stranded. 12 years, and counting.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Back in the Saddle
With the HSC now behind me, I'm free to do as I please. Not much has changed in the last month. Rosalie isn't going to come back; she contacted me and told me she grouped up with a group of vampires we've met before. Were not still in contact with them, so I don't even get to see her. As for the family thats still here, Arthurs mood has been sour, and he seems as if hes about to spit fire at anyone who crosses his path. Jack and Helen are broken. I can see them falling apart. Its a shame; they were considering producing a second child. Rosalie changed that. I can't imagine how much they're hurting right now. I spend most of my time with James. With Rosalie gone, its usually him, Lily and I trying to wreak havoc. It always falls short, a stones throw from the pond, without Rosalie.
School life is different, different meaning there is none. I'm missing not being able to see Lisa every day. I still hang out with Joe. I don't think he knows about how I feel about Lisa, he keeps trying to set me up with his other friends. Come to think of it, I don't even know how i feel about Lisa. And I suppose now we'll drift slowly apart, and not be able to see each other. Or we'll suddenly move apart when my family kicks in and moves to a farther part of the state. I don't have many friends, so I'll leave fairly unnoticed.
I'm back in the Saddle now. Moving on will be tough, but necessary. At least some things won't change, like my weekly trips to the butcher to retrieve a helping of pigs blood. Awful stuff.
School life is different, different meaning there is none. I'm missing not being able to see Lisa every day. I still hang out with Joe. I don't think he knows about how I feel about Lisa, he keeps trying to set me up with his other friends. Come to think of it, I don't even know how i feel about Lisa. And I suppose now we'll drift slowly apart, and not be able to see each other. Or we'll suddenly move apart when my family kicks in and moves to a farther part of the state. I don't have many friends, so I'll leave fairly unnoticed.
I'm back in the Saddle now. Moving on will be tough, but necessary. At least some things won't change, like my weekly trips to the butcher to retrieve a helping of pigs blood. Awful stuff.
Monday, September 14, 2009
I Still Want To Live
Its coming closer. My HSC, I'm talking about. Yes, I'm doing my HSC, even as a vampire; I want to work a career until 30. After all, I'll only ever get one shot at it, as fleeting as it may be. I'm no fool, I know my emotional state during these final exams isn't going to be of any assistance. This would be so much easier if Rosalie never left.
No need to pronounce me dead due to an absence of posts between now and early November. With everything going on, I'll need focus sharper than razor wire. I might altogether abandon this blog until then, leave it like Rosalie left me.
I'll miss you guys until then, though I may drop in to say hello. Bob, John, Sarah, and whoever else deserves a mention; thanks. Its been so much easier having total strangers listening to me. Theres nothing quite like it.
No need to pronounce me dead due to an absence of posts between now and early November. With everything going on, I'll need focus sharper than razor wire. I might altogether abandon this blog until then, leave it like Rosalie left me.
I'll miss you guys until then, though I may drop in to say hello. Bob, John, Sarah, and whoever else deserves a mention; thanks. Its been so much easier having total strangers listening to me. Theres nothing quite like it.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Breakdown
Sarabande. A song by Bach, which I learned on guitar to play for my HSC. I dedicate it too my mother, for personal reasons, and had to perform it today in front of a live audience for practice. I stepped into the room to retrieve my guitar to practice, only to discover a performer was missing, and I was the only one available to perform. Rushed in front of everyone unprepared, I quietly awaited for my introduction to be completed.
That was when my feelings began to hit me. Memories - the few i have of my mother, began swirling to the surface. My teacher, with her back turned didn't notice the first tear run down my face, and drop onto my guitar. The soft tap it made travelled through the microphone, and was slightly amplified. The front row members of the audience noticed, however, and whispers generated. I struck the first chord to alert the teacher i was ready, and my introduction was completed.
As i began to play through the piece, tears began chasing the first, and softly landed on the body of the guitar. My teacher, who had now noticed could do nothing. I played the song to the dead silent audience, accompanied by the soft tapping of teardrops on a hollow body. Fortunately, I had no friends in the audience who would later attempt to comfort me. Not even Lisa showed up, which is a positive; I hate being seen upset. I was oblivious to the clapping of the audience as the piece concluded, and before my teacher could ask what was wrong, I stood up and left.
Not looking back, I packed my guitar in its case. I heard my teacher unevenly announce my leave, and introduce the next performer.
Before she could leave the room to see me, I was gone.
That was when my feelings began to hit me. Memories - the few i have of my mother, began swirling to the surface. My teacher, with her back turned didn't notice the first tear run down my face, and drop onto my guitar. The soft tap it made travelled through the microphone, and was slightly amplified. The front row members of the audience noticed, however, and whispers generated. I struck the first chord to alert the teacher i was ready, and my introduction was completed.
As i began to play through the piece, tears began chasing the first, and softly landed on the body of the guitar. My teacher, who had now noticed could do nothing. I played the song to the dead silent audience, accompanied by the soft tapping of teardrops on a hollow body. Fortunately, I had no friends in the audience who would later attempt to comfort me. Not even Lisa showed up, which is a positive; I hate being seen upset. I was oblivious to the clapping of the audience as the piece concluded, and before my teacher could ask what was wrong, I stood up and left.
Not looking back, I packed my guitar in its case. I heard my teacher unevenly announce my leave, and introduce the next performer.
Before she could leave the room to see me, I was gone.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Cruel Hunt
Its begun. Peter and Arthur have realised the full concern with Rosalie missing. Vampires must always travel in groups. If one of us dies, the body must be burnt, lest our prescence be revealed in an autopsy. Arthur is notorius for have a flame at the ready the instant a vampire passes away. The search for Rosie is no longer a search to get her back, it has become a hunt. Rosalie must be found, in case she dies, and reveals the existence of vampires. I can't stand the thought that the primary concern is not for her well-being. Its as if they don't even care about her.
I also can't stand the thought of Rosie dying. Arthur has been checking out all the butchers he can, asking for a girl buying blood. If she gets caught, rather than returns, Arthur and Peter will permanantly keep a close eye on her. The only way out of this for her is if she finds another group of vampires, considering she is unlikely to return.
What if shes already dead? Or has been caught buying and drinking blood? I can't stand that possibility...
I also can't stand the thought of Rosie dying. Arthur has been checking out all the butchers he can, asking for a girl buying blood. If she gets caught, rather than returns, Arthur and Peter will permanantly keep a close eye on her. The only way out of this for her is if she finds another group of vampires, considering she is unlikely to return.
What if shes already dead? Or has been caught buying and drinking blood? I can't stand that possibility...
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Come Home... Please?
I just sit here... waiting. Whenever the phone or the doorbell rings, I jump at the possibility that its her. I haven't heard from her, I haven't heard of her, I don't even know if shes still alive. Everyone is still distraught. I can't believe it actually happened. Everything seems so much darker... As if all the good has been sucked out of the world. If you happen to check up on this Rosie, please come home? We all love you. We all want you here. Can't you just come home and pretend this never happened? You mean so much to me. I can't feel myself without you here.
Remember that time Lily planned that prank on us with the chicken eggs? And we figured her out and covered her in them... Aren't the memories amazing? I want to have more of those times with you. Forever. Well... forever being about 200 years.
Come home...
Please?
Remember that time Lily planned that prank on us with the chicken eggs? And we figured her out and covered her in them... Aren't the memories amazing? I want to have more of those times with you. Forever. Well... forever being about 200 years.
Come home...
Please?
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