Post by Black Sakura on Sept 15, 2006 2:11:14 GMT -5
This is absolutely horrible. Don't kill me, but you can roast this story. I originally just started it as something random and odd describing what I hear and see in my bedroom, but then I decided to make this...well, this. Well, enjoy...if you can. Just as a side note, this excuse paragraph was probably a whole lot less bad than the story, so just a slight warning to you...
...............
The organ blasts resound in the night as I listen for the calls of the coyotes beyond my windowpane. The dark cloak I wear is black, lined with velvet of a crimson color. I glance at what I consider to be my impressive, wan figure in the mirroring sheen of the face on the mantel clock, trying to not be too satisfied. The organ booms on. The wolves continue to howl. I grin at the chilling spectacle of the moon peeking through the parting rain clouds outside, which shines brightly into my otherwise quite dim room. It is so large where I reside that it seems almost to be right on the windowsill. With another complacent smirk at it, I close my eyes, enraptured as my fingers fly over the keys...of my laptop computer keyboard. The small built-in speakers on the computer shudder beneath my limp wrists with Bach's Toccata and Fugue. My cloak is just my dad's old Dracula costume. The wolves would be better termed 'wolf'...rather, the neighbor's dog who resents being put out in the elements.
All right, so I'm a wanna-be vampire. What of it? Crush a girl's dreams, would you...kill a girl's fantasies, would you? All by saying that vampires don't exist. Well, even if you were so cruel, I would not scarce believe you. For, you see, I have seen the all the evidence I'll ever need, with my own two eyes. I've touched the very proof. And yet you try and convince me that I'm delusional. Is that so right? Is that so just? No, of course not, you assure me. But in your eyes and mind, I know you still have your doubts. I shan't delay my explanation any further, then. I may as well salvage what of my sanity that I can by passing some of the insanity to you, my friend.
I know they exist. I know they exist, and, furthermore, that they exist very near to my own hometown of Gettysburg, PA. Emerging from the battlefields, the result of one monster who had lived in the area at the time of the Civil War. The Union men were staunch and hardy, never believing for a moment in such mundane stories as vampires. They little doubted the tales were but the imagined ideals of the simple farmers. Scarce did they know that slowly, day by day, more and more of their very own men--fine men, honorable men, sane men, healthy men--were joining the minions of the monster's leagues. The first man to be stricken with the symptoms was a young lad by the name of Peter Shortman, a drummer boy. Presumed, after a few short, agonizing days, to be dead, he was tossed into an irreverently shallow grave. Days later, they came by to bury another man, only to find that the earth in Shortman's grave was strewn about everywhere, and the corpse gone. They attributed the loss to body-snatchers, but I know better. Peter simply rose from his grave the night of the day that he 'died' and went on his merry dead-undead way. They lost very many men in a similar manner, this Union company.
Call me a lunatic if it makes you feel more superior, but I have seen one of the descendents of Peter Shortman, if not the boy himself. I was walking one morning in one of the many drying battlefields, carrying a bag of groceries I had purchased. At one point, I found myself stumbling across an oddly-placed log in the midst of nowhere. Looking down, I came to realize that this was no log at all, but, rather, a human being...or so I thought at the time.
Instinctively, I turned over the body and looked at the face, all while feeling for any sort of pulse at his neck and wrists. There was none, by the way. Now, his face was rather interesting, I must confess. I need scarce describe it, for you probably are familiar with the appearance of such as Dracula. His skin was drawn and wan, and his eyes were closed in the sleep of the nocturnal. His hands were long and spiderlike, and there was a hint of blood at the man's lips. For some reason or another, this man was absolutely tragically beautiful, even though he should be technically very ugly as in the manner of vampires and such monsters. I barely noticed his fanglike teeth. This man was the man I only wished to spend the rest of my life with.
He did not awaken, as might be expected, by my pleading. Thus, I decided to wait until dark, that I might be there for his awakening. I knew the stories of vampires, and I was well aware that when he saw me, he would be hungry for blood, and, coincidentally, he would attack me. I did not care; rather, my point was for him to attack me. If he was to ever fall in love with me while I was a mere mortal, then there would be scarce a chance for either of us. But, if I were to become a vampire when we first met, things would be different...
Twilight came, and with it came the rising of my vampire. Eagerly, I stood with him and greeted him with a smile and a nod. But then, to my utmost surprise, as he surveyed the landscape and noticed me, he took one whiff of me and walked away. I chased after him, entreating him to stop and not leave. He ignored me, wordlessly. I was unaware why he was so revulsed by me...and why in hell was he not trying to suck my blood yet?
I discovered too late, after he finally escaped from my presence, that I had, in my grocery bag that I kept by my side, a large clove of elephant garlic. That was very smart of me, indeed.
So now, at night, I roam the fields and nearby forests of Gettysburg, searching for him still. Maybe I shall find my vampire. Maybe I won't. But I shan't ever know until I die. That is...if I ever do.
...............
The organ blasts resound in the night as I listen for the calls of the coyotes beyond my windowpane. The dark cloak I wear is black, lined with velvet of a crimson color. I glance at what I consider to be my impressive, wan figure in the mirroring sheen of the face on the mantel clock, trying to not be too satisfied. The organ booms on. The wolves continue to howl. I grin at the chilling spectacle of the moon peeking through the parting rain clouds outside, which shines brightly into my otherwise quite dim room. It is so large where I reside that it seems almost to be right on the windowsill. With another complacent smirk at it, I close my eyes, enraptured as my fingers fly over the keys...of my laptop computer keyboard. The small built-in speakers on the computer shudder beneath my limp wrists with Bach's Toccata and Fugue. My cloak is just my dad's old Dracula costume. The wolves would be better termed 'wolf'...rather, the neighbor's dog who resents being put out in the elements.
All right, so I'm a wanna-be vampire. What of it? Crush a girl's dreams, would you...kill a girl's fantasies, would you? All by saying that vampires don't exist. Well, even if you were so cruel, I would not scarce believe you. For, you see, I have seen the all the evidence I'll ever need, with my own two eyes. I've touched the very proof. And yet you try and convince me that I'm delusional. Is that so right? Is that so just? No, of course not, you assure me. But in your eyes and mind, I know you still have your doubts. I shan't delay my explanation any further, then. I may as well salvage what of my sanity that I can by passing some of the insanity to you, my friend.
I know they exist. I know they exist, and, furthermore, that they exist very near to my own hometown of Gettysburg, PA. Emerging from the battlefields, the result of one monster who had lived in the area at the time of the Civil War. The Union men were staunch and hardy, never believing for a moment in such mundane stories as vampires. They little doubted the tales were but the imagined ideals of the simple farmers. Scarce did they know that slowly, day by day, more and more of their very own men--fine men, honorable men, sane men, healthy men--were joining the minions of the monster's leagues. The first man to be stricken with the symptoms was a young lad by the name of Peter Shortman, a drummer boy. Presumed, after a few short, agonizing days, to be dead, he was tossed into an irreverently shallow grave. Days later, they came by to bury another man, only to find that the earth in Shortman's grave was strewn about everywhere, and the corpse gone. They attributed the loss to body-snatchers, but I know better. Peter simply rose from his grave the night of the day that he 'died' and went on his merry dead-undead way. They lost very many men in a similar manner, this Union company.
Call me a lunatic if it makes you feel more superior, but I have seen one of the descendents of Peter Shortman, if not the boy himself. I was walking one morning in one of the many drying battlefields, carrying a bag of groceries I had purchased. At one point, I found myself stumbling across an oddly-placed log in the midst of nowhere. Looking down, I came to realize that this was no log at all, but, rather, a human being...or so I thought at the time.
Instinctively, I turned over the body and looked at the face, all while feeling for any sort of pulse at his neck and wrists. There was none, by the way. Now, his face was rather interesting, I must confess. I need scarce describe it, for you probably are familiar with the appearance of such as Dracula. His skin was drawn and wan, and his eyes were closed in the sleep of the nocturnal. His hands were long and spiderlike, and there was a hint of blood at the man's lips. For some reason or another, this man was absolutely tragically beautiful, even though he should be technically very ugly as in the manner of vampires and such monsters. I barely noticed his fanglike teeth. This man was the man I only wished to spend the rest of my life with.
He did not awaken, as might be expected, by my pleading. Thus, I decided to wait until dark, that I might be there for his awakening. I knew the stories of vampires, and I was well aware that when he saw me, he would be hungry for blood, and, coincidentally, he would attack me. I did not care; rather, my point was for him to attack me. If he was to ever fall in love with me while I was a mere mortal, then there would be scarce a chance for either of us. But, if I were to become a vampire when we first met, things would be different...
Twilight came, and with it came the rising of my vampire. Eagerly, I stood with him and greeted him with a smile and a nod. But then, to my utmost surprise, as he surveyed the landscape and noticed me, he took one whiff of me and walked away. I chased after him, entreating him to stop and not leave. He ignored me, wordlessly. I was unaware why he was so revulsed by me...and why in hell was he not trying to suck my blood yet?
I discovered too late, after he finally escaped from my presence, that I had, in my grocery bag that I kept by my side, a large clove of elephant garlic. That was very smart of me, indeed.
So now, at night, I roam the fields and nearby forests of Gettysburg, searching for him still. Maybe I shall find my vampire. Maybe I won't. But I shan't ever know until I die. That is...if I ever do.
