She does not ask why I only meet her at night, why I do not try the recipes she teaches me, or why I do not sleep when I lay next to her. Her silence serves me well since the answers would corrupt our time together. And I do not wish to expose my true self to her. I do not intend to end the life of such a beautiful creature. Particularly not after she has given me such an immense gift. It is not love but benevolence. Somewhere amidst these dried cranberries, she has given me that fraction of myself I believed was gone long ago. The part that is capable of seeing humans as more than sustenance.
The Soulless Series
Monday, January 2, 2023
May 11, 1698 – Venice
She does not ask why I only meet her at night, why I do not try the recipes she teaches me, or why I do not sleep when I lay next to her. Her silence serves me well since the answers would corrupt our time together. And I do not wish to expose my true self to her. I do not intend to end the life of such a beautiful creature. Particularly not after she has given me such an immense gift. It is not love but benevolence. Somewhere amidst these dried cranberries, she has given me that fraction of myself I believed was gone long ago. The part that is capable of seeing humans as more than sustenance.
Sunday, December 11, 2022
February 12, 1415 – Budapest
I remember my
humans looking up at the stars. The ship cutting through the waters as the cool
wind lapped mist onto my face. The sky and the horizon each stretching on with
no end and no beginning. Sailing across the, beautiful and cruel, inky abyss,
seeking the peace that I did not have.
I remember scribbling them in my journal, plotting the night sky
as though it might reveal something of my course, my future. But nothing among
them pointed to this. No hidden message telling me of the horror that would
find me.
Now, I look upon them, not with questions but with serenity. An
ever-constant reflection of the life I once held. I am comforted by the light
they bring into my dark world and the stillness they offer amongst the screams.
Wednesday, November 9, 2022
May 22, 1997 - Kula
It is the way the moon shimmers across the water, dancing its way from one tiered pool into the next as the illuminated water delicately spills into itself like the tattoos along her spine. Paw prints, simple and calm, tumbling down her back and tempting me to trace my fingers over her skin and feel the chills rise on her flesh in their wake. To hear her gentle gasp at my touch. Alone in our isolation, with no souls to hear us, I watch her because I simply cannot force myself to look at anything else.
Monday, October 17, 2022
May 12, 1893 - Chicago
Sunday, October 9, 2022
October 20, 1419 – Beijing
Marcella watches me sternly. Her displeasure with, in her eyes, my flagrant display of weakness and ineptitude radiates from her severely. Her anger with my inadequacy brushes against me in a most abrasive way, urging me to my feet. Pulling my protesting body from the cool floor, I stand; not because I believe I could do better but because I know that I must continue to improve. It is not possible for me to win today, only a fool would hold on to that false hope. No, I will fall again today, and I will fail tomorrow; however tomorrow I will be better than I am today. Tomorrow, I will not fall so easily.