So beautiful. Her legs. her promise of eternal life. Her busom. So stupid.
The Moonlight Sonata (1987)
Eternal life, the promise of endless fun without care. Ah but she was beautiful. I forget. I think she even said she loved me.
She brought me to her house. It was a quaint little place about three or four miles out of town. Two stories with an old "compelling" Victorian look to it.
She led me upstairs to her room. It seemed like an eternity. Ha, irony. Anyway, we were standing there, bathed in the moonlight which streamed through a pair of double windows.
The moon, it was like it is tonight. forbodding, yet encouraging. I guess they're right, a full moon does make you crazy.
And she kissed me. She kissed me and we made love. And I knew I'd made the "right" choice. Then the bite and I was unconscious.
Soon after. I don't know how long, I felt a ting and then I noticed light. You know, like when your eyes are shut and a light comes on. You can tell that its on even though your eyes are closed. The light...it shines through your eyelids.
Then, one by one, my senses seemed to pop back.
I remember having an itch on my back which I couldn't quite get.
I was covered in dirt. I could feel it in my shoes. It was a little uncomfortable and I kept moving my toes around to try and get the pebbles to fall out from between my toes and let them fall into my arch. Funny that there was dirt in my coffin. I suppose burials for "bums" as my pa used to call me, aren't so hot. Then...her face came to me. So beautiful. The contours. I started frantically digging, driven by my love. I know now that love doesn't "drive" anybody.
I was standing in the woods looking at the door to her house. The dirt in my shoe still bothered me but I hadn't taken the time to get it out. Sprinting there had taken me about ten minutes. The graveyard wasn't far. I was excited as I moved to the door. It was open.
There were twenty three steps. Each one had its own desire to add to my frenzy. Her bedroom door was open. I brushed off my hair. She stood in front of the double windows, her white neglige draping from her outstretched arms. We began to kiss. Her hands found my breast. She pushed me away, her nails raking my cheek. I was stunned and fell back out the door. "Silly boy. Of course I don't love you. I love the hunt."
I rented the room from an old, fat man with a bad smell and a large hole near the bottom of his soiled T-shirt. The bed was hard to sit on. I could feel the sweat of my palms condense on my forehead. The dirt in my shoe still bothered me. Another pain. I lurched forward, grabbed my stomach and cried. I was a stupid, ignorant fool and grabbed the first dog I could find. It didn't put up much of a fight. They never do. He was black with a white spot on the nose. he smelled of alleyway. I drank and cried. ten minutes later, after the dog had turned white, I threw up. I was still hungry.
It was like a void. I grabbed the first stray dog I could find. I didn't even bother to look at her face. It was dark. It was very dark. I didn't care. I wasn't able to care. The hunger was all that mattered. She was eighteen. I knew her boyfriend. Chris played wide receiver for the tigers. She was a Catholic and they were to be married in July after her graduation and birthday. Gossip isn't scarce in a small town. She was wearing a light dress that hung to her calves. It had little red flowers scattered about that had been embroidered by her mother. It got torn. The blood was warm. It felt like a fire does when you've come home after a long day sledding with your friends. I remember my friends. I doubt they remember me. Childhood friends are like that. Chris was my friend. The kind of friend you can talk to when you feel like driving your car off a cliff instead of bearing the weight of the hell hole you're living in. the kind of friend who remembers you but moves to New York and becomes an executive.
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